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rarepair_shorts2008-04-08 10:57 pm
tristesses.livejournal.com) wrote in rarepair_shorts2008-04-08 10:57 pm
Entry tags:
Ficlet: Midweek (Rufus/Tonks)
Title: Midweek
Pairing: Rufus/Tonks
Prompt: This is Wednesday
Rating: PG-13 for a few minor swearwords
Word Count: 1150
Summary: In which Tonks disapproves of paperwork, Rufus finds her amusing, and lunch dates ensue.
Author's Notes: I don't have any. Sorry.
Link to Prompt Table: [link]
It was Wednesday, and Nymphadora Tonks was not amused.
It had been three weeks since she was sworn in as an Auror. These should have been three weeks of excitement – keeping the peace, protecting citizens, chasing down drunken gits in sleazy pubs for disturbing the peace and whatnot – but instead, she’d been stuck here, in this cramped little cubicle in the crassly illuminated Auror Department, filing the paperwork assigned her by Rufus Scrimgeour, the head of the division and a man who appeared to be carrying on a love affair with the rules and regulations of the driest pieces of legislature Tonks had ever read. She did not enjoy it.
Tonks gnawed on the end of her quill and stared at the blank wall opposite her desk, then decided she should probably look busy in case her supervisor happened to pass by. She sat for a moment, then carefully scrawled on a piece of scrap paper: Eagle feathers are not good snacks.
“Very self-evident, Tonks,” she murmured, then glanced at the clock. The time was leaking by, slowly but persistently, like ink out of a cracked inkwell. The second hand ticked along busily in a very misleading fashion. Tonks watched it out of the corner of her eye. First time around. Okay, one minute’s passed. Now a minute and twelve seconds. Thirty seconds. Forty. Wait for it…the second time around! Now two minutes and ten seconds! And fifteen! And seventeen!
“Nymphadora.”
At the sound of Kingsley’s deep, slow voice Tonks jumped, banging the desk with her leg and tipping her inkwell onto the floor.
“Bloody buggering hell,” she said with feeling, and scrabbled for her wand. Kingsley flicked his once, and the stain faded. Tonks smiled at him weakly.
“Scrimgeour wants you to deliver your report personally,” he said, in a voice that could have been called a drawl, if it had had a little more derision and a little less sympathy. “He does it to check up on the newest arrivals. He’ll probably be calling you within minutes. Thought you might want a warning.”
“Thanks, Kingsley,” Tonks called after him as he departed down the hallway.
Within minutes. Damn, double damn and triple damn. She’d barely been paying attention to – well, to anything regarding the paperwork, really. And now she had to pull herself together and go give a report on it, to her boss, and she had to make a good impression because by Merlin it was only her fourth week and she’d be damned if she was fired!
A slip of paper came flickering through her cracked door. Her summons, already? It appeared so. And it was marked urgent. Tonks spared a moment to thank whatever god sent Kingsley to warn her before she hastily gathered her papers into a somewhat orderly pile and fled the room, scattering unnecessary documents around her office and quite accidentally crashing into that redheaded assistant to Crouch as she went. He narrowed his eyes at her and stalked away like an offended cat, mumbling about clumsiness. In any other situation Tonks would have set him straight on the matter, but time was not on her side (as always) and she was probably already late by Scrimgeour’s scrupulous standards.
The flustered witch paused a moment outside his closed office door with the intention of prodding her thoughts into some semblance of order, trying her best to recall exactly what her task had been and how best to explain what she didn’t actually know without looking like an idiot.
“Come in, Auror Tonks,” said a clipped, brisk voice from behind the door. Tonks chewed her lip for a moment and turned the knob.
Her first impression of Scrimgeour was that he was considerably scarier in person than she had been led to believe; it might have been the feeling that beneath the pleasant exterior was a positively feral thing, or maybe the way he stared at her, as if she was a gazelle his leonine self would pounce on. Her second was the realization that his sharply angled face was actually rather attractive, in a raw, intimidating way, and that fact did not help her unfreeze her joints or unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
He sized her up with yellow eyes and beckoned her closer. Tonks stepped forward, clutching her papers to her chest, trying her best to look courageous.
“You needn’t look as if you’ve stepped into the arena with a lion, Auror Tonks,” he said mildly. “I don’t bite. Unless you deserve it.”
Tonks considered darkening her skin to hide her blush, but felt that would be rather too obvious.
“Well, sir,” she began, and was proud of her strong, unshaking voice. “I have to say, the papers you gave me to file were, er, dense.”
“To say the least,” he responded, and steepled his fingers, giving the effect of a mad potions master observing a special brew. “How far did you get with them?”
Tonks was good at all manner of deceptions, but lying had never been one of them. “Not very, sir. They’re just too – I suppose – ” She revised her sentence. “I had just expected more field work when I went through training. That’s all. Sir,” she added hastily.
“You’ll get it eventually,” said Scrimgeour. There was an undertone of amusement in his voice. “But first, I require paperwork.”
Tonks attempted to apologize, but he shook his head. “No need to splutter. All recruits skive off their filing at first. I merely expect you to do it from now on.”
She forced herself to meet his disconcerting eyes. “Of course, sir.”
He examined her for a moment, eyes flickering from her feet to her face, then said with a hint of disapproval, “Precisely what good would purple hair do you in the field, Auror?”
Tonks thinned her lips. Reprimanding her on her procrastination was one thing; critiquing her appearance was another. Honestly, she got enough of that from her sadist of a mother.
“Well, sir,” she all but snapped, “I’d tell you first that I’m a Metamorphagus, so my hair color doesn’t matter, and I’d say second that my enemies would remember the hair and not the face under it.”
A corner of his mouth quirked. Tonks was rather distracted by it.
“Excellent, Auror,” he said. “Come in at lunch and we’ll discuss your paperwork.”
She was dismissed; it was clear from the way he adjusted his glasses and bent his head to his work. Tonks left in a similar state she’d entered in: flustered, disorganized, and completely taken aback. She was unsure about Scrimgeour; he was the kind of man she disliked, dictatorial and unyielding, but at the same time, there was definite hints of sarcasm in their conversation and oh Merlin, that smirk.
It didn’t matter. She was still employed. There was time to make a decision about him. Plus, they still had lunch.
Pairing: Rufus/Tonks
Prompt: This is Wednesday
Rating: PG-13 for a few minor swearwords
Word Count: 1150
Summary: In which Tonks disapproves of paperwork, Rufus finds her amusing, and lunch dates ensue.
Author's Notes: I don't have any. Sorry.
Link to Prompt Table: [link]
It was Wednesday, and Nymphadora Tonks was not amused.
It had been three weeks since she was sworn in as an Auror. These should have been three weeks of excitement – keeping the peace, protecting citizens, chasing down drunken gits in sleazy pubs for disturbing the peace and whatnot – but instead, she’d been stuck here, in this cramped little cubicle in the crassly illuminated Auror Department, filing the paperwork assigned her by Rufus Scrimgeour, the head of the division and a man who appeared to be carrying on a love affair with the rules and regulations of the driest pieces of legislature Tonks had ever read. She did not enjoy it.
Tonks gnawed on the end of her quill and stared at the blank wall opposite her desk, then decided she should probably look busy in case her supervisor happened to pass by. She sat for a moment, then carefully scrawled on a piece of scrap paper: Eagle feathers are not good snacks.
“Very self-evident, Tonks,” she murmured, then glanced at the clock. The time was leaking by, slowly but persistently, like ink out of a cracked inkwell. The second hand ticked along busily in a very misleading fashion. Tonks watched it out of the corner of her eye. First time around. Okay, one minute’s passed. Now a minute and twelve seconds. Thirty seconds. Forty. Wait for it…the second time around! Now two minutes and ten seconds! And fifteen! And seventeen!
“Nymphadora.”
At the sound of Kingsley’s deep, slow voice Tonks jumped, banging the desk with her leg and tipping her inkwell onto the floor.
“Bloody buggering hell,” she said with feeling, and scrabbled for her wand. Kingsley flicked his once, and the stain faded. Tonks smiled at him weakly.
“Scrimgeour wants you to deliver your report personally,” he said, in a voice that could have been called a drawl, if it had had a little more derision and a little less sympathy. “He does it to check up on the newest arrivals. He’ll probably be calling you within minutes. Thought you might want a warning.”
“Thanks, Kingsley,” Tonks called after him as he departed down the hallway.
Within minutes. Damn, double damn and triple damn. She’d barely been paying attention to – well, to anything regarding the paperwork, really. And now she had to pull herself together and go give a report on it, to her boss, and she had to make a good impression because by Merlin it was only her fourth week and she’d be damned if she was fired!
A slip of paper came flickering through her cracked door. Her summons, already? It appeared so. And it was marked urgent. Tonks spared a moment to thank whatever god sent Kingsley to warn her before she hastily gathered her papers into a somewhat orderly pile and fled the room, scattering unnecessary documents around her office and quite accidentally crashing into that redheaded assistant to Crouch as she went. He narrowed his eyes at her and stalked away like an offended cat, mumbling about clumsiness. In any other situation Tonks would have set him straight on the matter, but time was not on her side (as always) and she was probably already late by Scrimgeour’s scrupulous standards.
The flustered witch paused a moment outside his closed office door with the intention of prodding her thoughts into some semblance of order, trying her best to recall exactly what her task had been and how best to explain what she didn’t actually know without looking like an idiot.
“Come in, Auror Tonks,” said a clipped, brisk voice from behind the door. Tonks chewed her lip for a moment and turned the knob.
Her first impression of Scrimgeour was that he was considerably scarier in person than she had been led to believe; it might have been the feeling that beneath the pleasant exterior was a positively feral thing, or maybe the way he stared at her, as if she was a gazelle his leonine self would pounce on. Her second was the realization that his sharply angled face was actually rather attractive, in a raw, intimidating way, and that fact did not help her unfreeze her joints or unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
He sized her up with yellow eyes and beckoned her closer. Tonks stepped forward, clutching her papers to her chest, trying her best to look courageous.
“You needn’t look as if you’ve stepped into the arena with a lion, Auror Tonks,” he said mildly. “I don’t bite. Unless you deserve it.”
Tonks considered darkening her skin to hide her blush, but felt that would be rather too obvious.
“Well, sir,” she began, and was proud of her strong, unshaking voice. “I have to say, the papers you gave me to file were, er, dense.”
“To say the least,” he responded, and steepled his fingers, giving the effect of a mad potions master observing a special brew. “How far did you get with them?”
Tonks was good at all manner of deceptions, but lying had never been one of them. “Not very, sir. They’re just too – I suppose – ” She revised her sentence. “I had just expected more field work when I went through training. That’s all. Sir,” she added hastily.
“You’ll get it eventually,” said Scrimgeour. There was an undertone of amusement in his voice. “But first, I require paperwork.”
Tonks attempted to apologize, but he shook his head. “No need to splutter. All recruits skive off their filing at first. I merely expect you to do it from now on.”
She forced herself to meet his disconcerting eyes. “Of course, sir.”
He examined her for a moment, eyes flickering from her feet to her face, then said with a hint of disapproval, “Precisely what good would purple hair do you in the field, Auror?”
Tonks thinned her lips. Reprimanding her on her procrastination was one thing; critiquing her appearance was another. Honestly, she got enough of that from her sadist of a mother.
“Well, sir,” she all but snapped, “I’d tell you first that I’m a Metamorphagus, so my hair color doesn’t matter, and I’d say second that my enemies would remember the hair and not the face under it.”
A corner of his mouth quirked. Tonks was rather distracted by it.
“Excellent, Auror,” he said. “Come in at lunch and we’ll discuss your paperwork.”
She was dismissed; it was clear from the way he adjusted his glasses and bent his head to his work. Tonks left in a similar state she’d entered in: flustered, disorganized, and completely taken aback. She was unsure about Scrimgeour; he was the kind of man she disliked, dictatorial and unyielding, but at the same time, there was definite hints of sarcasm in their conversation and oh Merlin, that smirk.
It didn’t matter. She was still employed. There was time to make a decision about him. Plus, they still had lunch.