*Sirius is sitting at his desk and working--the truth of the matter is, he's working even harder, as if through some force of will and dedication he could repel this oncoming doom. But when the Minister appears, something drops out of the bottom of his stomach, and he puts his quill aside and pushes away from his desk so he can meet them standing. There's no mastering his face; he's angry, mutinous even, and it shows.*
Mr. Black. I'm satisfied to find you inside at your desk.
*The 'Mr.' is distinctive from his lips. Crouch Sr. can make a rank or a title sound as natural and as a part of a person as their first name. 'Auror' is not a title awarded lightly, and, were this any sort of even marginally good news, an Auror would be addressed as such.
Around the room, there are attempts made to spare Sirius some shame, to go about one's business as usual - they are a strange and brutal sort of family, after all. However, as firings are rare and always handled by the Department Head, Crouch Sr.'s presence brings enough suspense with it that even some of Britain's best trained stealth experts being onlookers.*
*Sirius glares at the folder in Crouch's hands. But even if he could just do a bit of wandless, wordless magic and set it aflame, it would only be delaying the inevitable. This is it, then; it's all come crashing down, and here's the end to all of it--to following James, to being in with the Ministry and all the power and information that brings, to having whatever safety being an Auror might confer on a wayward overgrown weed like Sirius Black.
But if Crouch has come in person, it's not because he wants to wish him well. He wants this to be a warning to the rest. Well, it can be a warning, all right.
Sirius lifts his gaze from the folder to Crouch's face, slowly mastering his tone and face until he is placid and neutral--even respectful--once more.*
I've found there is sometimes some 'lack of clarity' in circumstances like these. Papers wind up misplaced for some reason, duties slip through the cracks. Those sorts of errors aren't acceptable the way things done now.
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Sir.
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*The 'Mr.' is distinctive from his lips. Crouch Sr. can make a rank or a title sound as natural and as a part of a person as their first name. 'Auror' is not a title awarded lightly, and, were this any sort of even marginally good news, an Auror would be addressed as such.
Around the room, there are attempts made to spare Sirius some shame, to go about one's business as usual - they are a strange and brutal sort of family, after all. However, as firings are rare and always handled by the Department Head, Crouch Sr.'s presence brings enough suspense with it that even some of Britain's best trained stealth experts being onlookers.*
I've come for your signature.
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But if Crouch has come in person, it's not because he wants to wish him well. He wants this to be a warning to the rest. Well, it can be a warning, all right.
Sirius lifts his gaze from the folder to Crouch's face, slowly mastering his tone and face until he is placid and neutral--even respectful--once more.*
What would you like to have me sign, sir.
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I've found there is sometimes some 'lack of clarity' in circumstances like these. Papers wind up misplaced for some reason, duties slip through the cracks. Those sorts of errors aren't acceptable the way things done now.
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