Secret Secrets

((Can I just say... I'm in love with these two.))

It was beginning to make sense, in the way that things did after all the facts were presented. She felt stupid for not piecing it together before, despite the fact that it would have been impossible to predict, it was so out of left field. How often had she imagined F.W. to be kicking up his feet on a cluttered desk, throwing darts at a dart board or folding paper airplanes - in her mind, always doing anything but being productive. And yet, she had learned that the man could do his job. Though she liked to think of him as an overconfident, lazy trust-fund baby who was actually clever enough to get results every once in a blue moon when he decided to actually get down and work. And from the brief impression this man had made on her, the image just seemed to fit.

His words hit her - how did he always manage to do that? How was he always just... so clever. Clever enough for his little digs to be forgiven, because how could she get mad when he was that clever. She tried to maintain an irritable look on her face as she stared at him, but the corner of her lips twitched - she had to admit, his response was fairly amusing. Control won, however, and her mouth wrangled itself into a fine line, an eyebrow quirking. "I apologize. It will be my last lapse of control... and judgment."

Ah, it was back to this. Refreshing.

He continued on and she clasped her hands before her, rocking once on her heels. "Of course - I'd never think of letting something like this come between our professional relationship, I assure you."

(( I fell a long time ago xP ))


Her mouth quirked up, just for a second, and the surge of triumph following it was ill-concealed. Success. Fred crooked an eyebrow upward, corners of lips still stretched out in satisfaction, as if to say- I saw that.

How Fred liked challenges....that was something a professor in Birmingham with nothing better to do with his time could write a thesis on. Puzzles too hard to crack......a riddle proving to be suspiciously resistant....notoriously hard computer game levels....reticent young women....Fred thrived on any, and all of these. And somehow C. Bishop's- Claire, Claire Bishop's- one concession, one barely there flash of ill-repressed, inspite-of-herself amusement was far more satisfying than any make-up painted, miniskirted woman's advances could be. Easy obviously, wasn't quite his thing.

Last lapse? I wouldn't bet on it.


"I'd never think of letting something like this come between our professional relationship, I assure you."

"That's very kind of you." Slipped out, and Fred couldn't bring himself to regret that either. Of course, the words were completely innocuous in themselves, even tending to-dare he say it- humbly gratified. This of course, was ignoring the fact that humble was another thing that Fred Weasley had never had sufficient practice enough to pull off. As far from his colour spectrum as Slytherin green. As once well put by one Jaquellene Dyllan- "Fred Weasley, you don't have a bashful bone in your body." Blunt, but brilliantly apt.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. The words which would have sounded almost obsequiously apologetic in another's voice, sounded downright audacious from his mouth. Maybe because they both knew that while Fred incited a lot of the snarking in the memos, Claire didn't leave any room for dissatisfaction either. They had equal shares in the entire thing, so Fred thanking her for her kindness in forgetting their little spat really wasn't too many steps away from sarcasm.

But she couldn't accuse him of it right now. That would just be hypocritical. And plain childish.

#Win.

(What? Being childish inside your own head was completely acceptable).

Now, that that little thing was over, something that had been clinking around his head, quietly, ever since she had announced her name. "Not that I mean to intrude Miss Bishop...." The Remembrall spun for a last time, before landing and stilling on his desk with a clatter. "But how precisely did your work land you up in this country?" He was British by birth, and most of his family resided here. Better offer. He, had a reason. As far as he knew it, C. Bishop was as American as they came, and more importantly successful and influential in her post back in the States, or so the office gossip went.

So, the question remained. In an unknown land, among complete strangers. What was she doing here?

Claire really could have smacked Fred for the smug look of satisfaction he gave her; forget magic altogether, she would have much preferred to take the smile off his face by hand. But in doing so, she would be drawing attention to the very thing she did not want him to remember, making a scene. Furthermore, he had right to look that way, as much as she hated to admit it, and smacking him would hardly seem fair. Call Claire Bishop what you would - a hard ass, a bit overly tenacious, sure -  but she was typically fair and just.

Typically.

"That's very kind of you." She quirked an eyebrow, her very expression flashing Danger : Warning across it. Oh, she had just agreed to play nice and he was already breaking out the sass - he was just asking for her to match him, wasn't he? She ran a tongue over the ridge of her teeth, the muscle absolutely begging to be let loose and allowed to say its bit. Her eyes shone with all the potential snark she could bring him and yet she closed her mouth. She supposed she could let him get away with it.

Just. This. Once.

His next question seemed sudden and she felt a small internal flurry, the smallest cold trick of dread inside her stomach that these personal questions always seemed to incite. Outwardly, an eyebrow raised, as if asking the question why are you so interested? She brushed back a fallen strange of blonde and tilted her head. "Promotion and a change of scenery. Enough of a motivation, don't you think?" A quick quirk of the lips to help seal the deal.

Her real motivation was not something she talked about, especially on a first meeting with someone. Being high up in the American Ministry had its perks, yes - she had a tidy salary, she had some lovely discounts at her favorite boutiques, the whole fear and intimidation thing that came with the respect of being the right hand woman to the Minister - but it also had its perks. Such as, when the American Minister needed someone he could trust to go spy on the British Ministry... what choice did a girl really have?

She smiled a little smugly, seeing an opportunity to dig back at him finally. "Besides, your Ministry needs all the help it can get."

There were very few things in life which you could truly relish. The Diner burger in Brooklyn, replete with a slice of cheddar and the best-seasoned beef you could ever find. Sneaking out with Lys past curfew hours in Hogwarts, to steal a few breaths of forbidden air and a Chaser-Keeper game. Pranking Rookwood, or any other particularly snotty Slytherin- and their looks of comic surprise after. Waking up at 3 a.m. with a jerk, then rushing out of bed and working furiously on your case files under wand light in naught but your boxers, because you've just had that brilliant breakthrough. Throwing up your feet on the couch and readying yourself for the ultimate computer game showdown, stretching till the wee hours of morning. Dueling. Molly Weasley's mince pies. Shagging.

It was with a lot of pleasure that Fred realised he just had a new addition to the list. Watching Claire Bishop restrain herself.

You could see it- in the flare of her eyes, in that singularly pursed mouth, those fingers that twitched, just a little. Oh, how she was longing to give it back to him. She couldn't possibly know how much that entertained him, Fred mused almost absently, like a cheeky, errant child goading his school teacher into a reaction. Except here, they were both fully-grown adults, maturity notwithstanding, playing a game that snarked and winked and danced around, drawing them in and warning them to stay out in equal measure. Winning or losing was itself not the prerogative. Defeating the other, was.

Claire Bishop answered his question with the cool raise of an eyebrow, and an almost flippant manner of speaking that would have fooled most. Fooled most parts of Fred too, it did. Except his eyes, which noticed a pause where there might not have been one, and the almost unnoticeable shift from professional to throw-away casual. So the Unspeakable said nothing. Just filed away the perhaps-there, perhaps-not fact away for later perusal, while a tiny voice behind his head that delivered most of the breakthroughs in his cases, whispered: Bingo.

"I started my career in the American Ministry, much like you, Miss Bishop." And there his eyes paused again, looking for evidence. "I've worked in this Ministry for only so long as you have, perhaps a week more. So really, this is as much of your Ministry, as it is mine." Which is to say, that none of us give a flying f*ck for it. And all the while, his eyebrow quirked up to match hers, almost gently, as if to say- do better, please.

And so the bell placed in the shelf just behind his back chimed, and the appointment time was over. Fred stretched his legs outwards beneath the desk, flexing out kinks, then smoothly pushed the heavy chair in which he was seated back; using his heels as leverage. Almost as if responding to the thoughts of their enchanter, the papers that had been flying about the air of the office all this while came to an abrupt still, then fell into neat, little piles and shelved themselves. The quill marking his signature on the papers wiped itself off on the nearest tissue with a flourish, then drifted down to lay gently next to the re-capped ink bottle on his table. The drawers banged shut, the broom gave up its fight against dust-mites and flopped over to the corner, a distant clicking sound signalled that Manning had gone out for his inter-office duties. Everything seemed strangely still, all of a sudden. Signing off on the fifth and final track of the Cacophony album, his boot finally stopped tapping, and with very little economy of movement; Fred pushed himself to his feet.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss Bishop. Truly." And this surprisingly, was absolutely devoid of sarcasm. Hell, Fred meant it. He hadn't had this much fun in an official meeting in a long time. Well, at least not ever since that leggy brunette. In the absence of the Remembrall, his wand now spun lazily in his grip. "Time's up, and I must be off for my daily sparring session in the training rooms. Hence, I must take your leave. Hope we get to meet in an official capacity once again, soon enough." He would hope. And she would dread, or at the very least dislike the prospect; if not, then Fred had utterly failed in his life mission and would never be able to see himself in the eye again.

But then again.......Fred Weasley had a very, very slight tendency towards hedonism. And if something could be had right now, why wait? So he paused and trailed...."But if you're free right now.....you're welcome to join me in the spar." A slight look of doubt, right here. Yes, perfectly done. "Of course, if you wish to decline, I understand completely."

((This is how I feel about these two sometimes.))

She did not like discussing things so close to personal. Claire would be the first to admit that she did not have much of a personal life. She depended on the best friendship of Elsie Norton, clinically insane New York socialite, but her social contact had been limited since her graduation from Durmstrang. Losing Robin on graduation to her sense of responsibility had not taken her first love from her. All of the friends she had collected had all been Robin's, and they had all rallied around him  - as they had every right to do. A few of the girls had attempted to be civil, as they had almost understood her reasoning. Almost. When it came down to it, no one had truly understood - not even Elsie. But it had to be done.

Since then, her social contact had been restricted to her fellow Ministry employees and the criminals she dealt with. Now that she had moved across the pond, she was feeling even more a slave to work, as her one release (Elsie) was still back in New York. It kept her busy, though, and focused. She was finding purpose, meaning, and a twisted sense of identity in her secret mission. It had become more than her professional life, seeped into every corner of her being, and was becoming all parts of her. It was incredibly personal, and that they had almost delved into the corner where it hid made her very uncomfortable.

She did not know what she would have to do to the person who discovered her secret, but she was sure it was not pretty. She would hate for it to be her new contact in the Department of Mysteries.

She kept a straight face, remained as untelling as she could. She had to remind herself that she should have more patriotic spirit, now that she was working in the British Ministry. It was hard to not resent the place that had stolen her from her best friend and the city she loved, but she would have to try harder. So she responded to Fred's comment with a simple, "I suppose you're right." She hoped he would not let it get to his head - but she had hoped in vain before.

A bell ringed, signifying them both to be conscious of the rest of their scheduled day. She gathered herself, her mind quickly giving her a run down of the rest of the day. The woman was rarely idle, and her schedule was always tightly and neatly packed with assignments and tasks to be done. He told her, without any affectation in his voice, that he had enjoyed their meeting, and she allowed an amused expression of gentle surprise to flicker onto her face. She kept it short though. "Likewise."

Sparring. She had her own slot for training, naturally, but she usually began those early mornings, to get her mind sharp and ready for anything the day would give her. He surprised her by inviting her along and for a moment, Claire was tempted. But she was the woman with the unforgiving schedule, and she simply would not be Claire if she did not attend its needs. "I have a meeting with a man on parole," she said, as means of explanation. "My schedule is a slave driver, unfortunately." She paused. "But I hear there is going to be Ministry Wide Training soon. If you need a sparring partner, save me a spot."

Inner Claire had only one question : why?