The Impatient Man and His Suit

The Burning Paper

"(y/LN)!"

Being startled by the sound of my last name, my heart leaped then sank at the sight of Finnary, the man I met at the Ministry the other day. He smiled warmly and stepped aside to avoid being carried away by the crowd.

"But what brings you to London?"

"I had a meeting with Cleverdeux," I admitted immediately. Finnary suddenly took in a great big sigh and seemed amused.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes! Yes, of course. It was just regarding the next couple of months, is all..."

"Ah," he replied. I noticed that he was gripping the daily prophet in his hand. I pushed it from my mind and carried on.

"What about you? Are you coming from the Ministry?"

"Oh! No, no. Today is a Holiday for the entire office, thank God. I'm only here to do some shopping and meet up with friends. Haven't been able to get to it this past week with all the..." he paused then motioned the paper in his hands "Drama—as I'm sure you've seen?"

"Yes," I nodded embarrassed. Although it was an awkward topic, I was relieved to find that Finnary regarded it as nonsense, therefore I felt slightly at ease.

"Do you have any more business in London?"

"No—actually I'm on my way to King's Cross..."

"Cleverdeux, didn't he send for a car? I'll call you one—" he said seriously before I cut him off.

"No—he did. Shamefully, I was angry so I naturally declined his offer."

After witnessing my defeated attitude through my admittance to anger, he took a moment of thoughtful silence and tried to gently convince me.

"Please at least let me help?"

I realized for the first time that me and Draco weren't alone in all this mess. Finnary was in no way obligated to get his hands dirty. He was, after all, in a completely different division than Malfoy! Yet he, Clark, and Kinglsey were readily at my disposal. They were noble and kind and dedicated to their work.

"Yes of course," I gave in.

Finnary offered me some company during our short wait, which I expressed gratitude for. In the meantime, I asked him about his position on a "magical jury", as I then put it, which was a question he answered gladly. He informed me that his division was officially called the "Wizengamot", or British High Court of the Ministry of Magic and that he sat on a panel of elderly wizards and witches.

"Why are you the only young wizard on the panel?"

"I got there a little faster than the rest of them, I suppose," he smiled comically.

Just before we parted ways, I popped my head out of the car window, "I'm terribly sorry that my actions have caused you extra work."

"It's not you, it's the balloon-headed papers. Happy Christmas."

"Finnary," I called once more, "Are you going to use that?" I motioned at the paper still in his hands.

Handing it to me, he gave a concerned yet reassuring nod.

My time with Finnary calmed me down to an almost alarming state. All the feelings of stress and anger I had boiling over had settled with serenity. The only thing left was a cooled-down basin of melancholy, which brought fat tears crashing down to my lap. Remembering the daily prophet still gripped tightly in my hand, I folded it neatly and stuffed it into my pocket. Making effort not to cause my driver any type of displeasure in my company, I simply looked out my window, gazing at buildings and all the various types of muggles inside them, and let my tears stream silently. Each time the nameless wizard cab driver made attempts at initiating conversation, I merely replied with a sequence of cul de sac sentences. They led to no conjoining discussion.