The hard edges of the world soften
Date: Monday, June the fifth
Time: 1:30 p.m.
Character(s) Involved: Deirdre Burke and N. Tonks
Location: Office of D. Burke, Ministry of Magic
Complete or Incomplete: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 (estimate--all depends on what Tonks needs to get off her chest)
By all accounts, Deirdre Burke was a professional. She even had her own office, to make it official.
Today was, by all accounts, another day at the office. Granted, “the office” was the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic, and Deirdre’s average day typically consisted of several one-on-one sessions or in-depth profiling of the headliner of the Ministry’s latest supposed enemy. But there you are.
She had made an early day of it, with the intent of getting a bit of paperwork done before her first appointment. It was always lovely to walk the final few blocks to the Ministry’s discreet entryway along with the rest of the burgeoning foot traffic. It allowed her to get her head straight, as it were, rather than crackpopping in the midst of a crowd without a how do you do.
At present, the clock was now ticking steadily into the afternoon hours, and progressively closer to her impending appointment with a one Nymphadora Tonks. Burke had, over the time since the initial scheduling, realized that her own understanding about the nature of the upcoming session was vague at best. However, as it was far from her to cancel an appointment based on her own ignorance--that would be admitting to a misstep--, she had decided to wait it out. No doubt the girl would explain when the time came.
Deirdre’s office, or at least, the adjoining room in which she carried out her meetings, was not quite as harsh as one might have expected, given the name printed on the door. There was a traditional sofa facing a simple chair; everything of a Freudian persuasion, including the reclining couch, was absent. In fact, Deirdre had a small square of parchment fixed in a drawer of her desk that read “If we stand on Sigmund Freud’s shoulders, we find we are only looking further in the wrong direction.” The floor was carpeted in a neutral color, and one side of the room was faced with windows, allowing for a soft illumination during the day.
She sat at her desk, absently filling out a few forms while she waited for the Auror. The fact that the two of them worked in the same building hardly excused the tardiness that was quickly approaching.
Time: 1:30 p.m.
Character(s) Involved: Deirdre Burke and N. Tonks
Location: Office of D. Burke, Ministry of Magic
Complete or Incomplete: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 (estimate--all depends on what Tonks needs to get off her chest)
By all accounts, Deirdre Burke was a professional. She even had her own office, to make it official.
Today was, by all accounts, another day at the office. Granted, “the office” was the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic, and Deirdre’s average day typically consisted of several one-on-one sessions or in-depth profiling of the headliner of the Ministry’s latest supposed enemy. But there you are.
She had made an early day of it, with the intent of getting a bit of paperwork done before her first appointment. It was always lovely to walk the final few blocks to the Ministry’s discreet entryway along with the rest of the burgeoning foot traffic. It allowed her to get her head straight, as it were, rather than crackpopping in the midst of a crowd without a how do you do.
At present, the clock was now ticking steadily into the afternoon hours, and progressively closer to her impending appointment with a one Nymphadora Tonks. Burke had, over the time since the initial scheduling, realized that her own understanding about the nature of the upcoming session was vague at best. However, as it was far from her to cancel an appointment based on her own ignorance--that would be admitting to a misstep--, she had decided to wait it out. No doubt the girl would explain when the time came.
Deirdre’s office, or at least, the adjoining room in which she carried out her meetings, was not quite as harsh as one might have expected, given the name printed on the door. There was a traditional sofa facing a simple chair; everything of a Freudian persuasion, including the reclining couch, was absent. In fact, Deirdre had a small square of parchment fixed in a drawer of her desk that read “If we stand on Sigmund Freud’s shoulders, we find we are only looking further in the wrong direction.” The floor was carpeted in a neutral color, and one side of the room was faced with windows, allowing for a soft illumination during the day.
She sat at her desk, absently filling out a few forms while she waited for the Auror. The fact that the two of them worked in the same building hardly excused the tardiness that was quickly approaching.