Bench

[Administrator]

Tired of walking from shop to shop? Take a seat!

[George Weasley]

[NEW DAY]

George dropped down on to the bench. He ran a hand along the smooth wood. It looked like the bench had just recently been replaced. George was glad. He wasn’t a very big fan of getting an arse full of splinters.

He had spent the day up at Hogwarts visiting Ron and Ginny. Neither of them had been anywhere near Hogsmeade during the attack, but Mum had been in near hysterics demanding that someone go check on the younger Weasley children. Dad was obviously busy at the Ministry, Bill was the bank, Charlie was off flying with dragons, and Percy obviously wasn’t going to do it – if he would even respond to Mum’s owl. So, the task fell to George and Fred. After a bit of arguing and a nosebleed nougat fight, George had agreed to go. Fred was back in Diagon Alley, minding the shop. Lucky git.

After concluding that Ron and Ginny were both healthy and alive, George felt free to wander into the village, while they sat in their lessons. George thought maybe he would bring some snacks back for them.

Or maybe not. It depended on his mood. Leaning back against the bench, George drummed his heels on the ground. He wondered whether he wanted to get a proper lunch or just stock up on chocolate frogs. He absent-mindedly touched a finger to the small red pin on his robe. Luckily, he had remembered to take it off before talking to Mum. She would have taken it at as an attack against Dad. George snorted, rolling his eyes. That was just ridiculous, though. Dad wasn’t like all those other Ministry gits.

[Bethany Rockwell]

Beth tugged her cloak tighter around her as she wandered through Hogsmeade. In her hand, she clutched a stack of papers: Ministry surveys. Though she’d never say anything to her superiors or co-workers about the matter, Beth was quite peeved that she’d been instructed to pass out surveys on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She specialized in regulating brooms; why had she been sent out into the cold to pass out surveys?

Sometimes Beth wondered if the Ministry employees actually knew she worked there and wasn’t just an intern. Most of the jobs she was instructed to do involved brewing coffee and filing papers. The head of Beth’s department rarely remembered what her name was. Beth sometimes contemplated wearing a sign around the Ministry that read, “HELLO, MY NAME IS BETHANY ROCKWELL AND I DO, IN FACT, WORK WITH YOU.”

As she trudged down the street, a head of flaming red hair caught her eye. Figuring she might as well try to coax the man into taking a survey while he didn’t appear to be doing anything, Beth made her way over. She smiled pleasantly as she approached the man and was about to sit down next to him, but then realized how awkward she might appear. Beth didn’t think she’d care much for a broadly grinning stranger to slide up to her while she was taking a rest and decided that she probably was not alone in that department. Instead, the blonde approached the man and stood awkwardly in front of him. She mentally cursed her apparent inability to behave like a normal person.

“Er, hello there,” she began uncomfortably. “My name is Bethany Rockwell and...” She trailed off. Her eyes rested on a small, red pin on the man’s cloak. A half-full mug of Butterbeer had been thrown at her last time she presented herself as a Ministry worker to someone wearing one of those pins. Worried this man might be hiding a half full glass of something else, Beth hastily changed the direction of her survey proposal.

“And I noticed you’re wearing a Resistance pin, sir. I’ve been collecting data on the political views of the Resistance, radical members and, er, not.” She thought she was doing quite well, considering she’d turned her Ministry campaign into a Resistance one as fast as one could flip a knut. “If it’s not too much trouble, sir, would you mind sharing some of your thoughts with me?”

She shifted her surveys into her left hand and plunged her right into the pocket of her cloak, hunting for a quill. It was not an easy task for one wearing mittens. Beth clumsily pulled out a fistful of self-inking quills and promptly dropped them all over the street. “Oh, bugger! I knew that would happen!” Beth knelt down and snatched up her quills, which didn’t go as well as she’d hoped, as she was still wearing the mittens.

“I’m awfully sorry,” she said to the red-haired man. “It’s rather hard to get a good hold on these when you’re unable to use your fingers.” She waved a covered hand at him. “I’ll just be a minute. Don’t mind me. I’m terribly sorry about this.”

[George Weasley]

“Er, hello there,” she began uncomfortably. “My name is Bethany Rockwell and…And I noticed you’re wearing a Resistance pin, sir. I’ve been collecting data on the political views of the Resistance, radical members and, er, not.” She thought she was doing quite well, considering she’d turned her Ministry campaign into a Resistance one as fast as one could flip a knut. “If it’s not too much trouble, sir, would you mind sharing some of your thoughts with me?”

George had been half-asleep when the stranger has started speaking, so it took him a few seconds to catch up with her. “Resistance pin? Oh!” He looked down at the red pin on his lapel, quickly checking that he and Fred had removed the charm that changed it into an unfortunate picture of Percy every few seconds. It wasn’t that he felt bad about it – if anyone deserved to be labeled as a Ministry Git, it was Percy – but he supposed it might do some harm to the cause. After all, the pin wasn’t about Percy, really; it was about the Ministry losing its bloody mind.

Sitting up straighter on the bench, he prepared himself to launch into the speech he and Fred had prepared in case anyone ever asked them about their pins. So far, neither of them had gotten much of a chance – unless Fred bellowing at Verity counted – because almost everyone they knew wore one of the pins themselves (and had bought it from the shop, for that matter). It made Mum a little mad, but then, so did everything. “Well, you –”

George’s speech was interrupted when Bethany suddenly sent a small army of self-inking quills falling from her pocket. “I only write with the one hand, you know,” he told her as she scrambled to collect them. “So I’ll only need one.” Then he thought of something. “Unless you’re giving them away. I’ll take one if you are.” They were always losing self-inking quills back at the shop. Yesterday, George had needed to finish taking inventory the old fashioned way – by leaving it for Val to do when she got back from her break.

“I’m awfully sorry,” she said to the red-haired man. “It’s rather hard to get a good hold on these when you’re unable to use your fingers.” She waved a covered hand at him. “I’ll just be a minute. Don’t mind me. I’m terribly sorry about this.”

George tried to restrain a smile, then, remembering he’d never been much good at that, laughed instead. “Don’t worry about it.” He bent down to help her collect the quills. “Maybe you ought to get some proper gloves,” he added when he gathered up the quills. “You won’t be able to write down my answers wearing those floppy things. Now, what did you want to know?”

[Bethany Rockwell]

(Lalala...this is still here! Figured I'd leave it open to continue if you want, Weasley. :])

“I only write with the one hand, you know...So I’ll only need one.”

Beth laughed as she snatched at the quills. “I like to cover my bases. You never know when you’ll need an interview with the Giant Squid. I wouldn’t want to offend by only having one quill to offer.” She assumed the man knew what she was talking about; he didn’t sound foreign, so Beth figured it was safe to assume he, too, was a Hogwarts graduate. No one attended Hogwarts without at least hearing about the Giant Squid. Bethany had been so fascinated by the concept of the creature that she spent days sitting by the lake in the snow during her first year, waiting to get a glimpse of the lake’s most famous resident.

Unless you’re giving them away. I’ll take one if you are.”

Beth was about to say she wasn’t supposed to give away anything that was technically Ministry property, but then she rethought the matter for two reasons. The first was that the red-haired man was wearing a Resistance pin and Bethany was still worried he might fling something at her head if he found out she worked for the Ministry. The second was that she was quite bothered that she, a member of the Department of Magical Transportation, was being treated...well, the way her co-worker, Percy, had been treated recently. It wasn’t fair to Percy either, but at least he was an assistant to the Minister; doing work like this was sort of part of his job title. Bethany, however, was supposed to be making sure that brooms weren’t behaving like catapults when a rider mounted them, not coaxing Resistance members into taking surveys.

She held out a quill to the man. “I have plenty.” She paused, then motioned to the quills spread out around his feet. “You probably noticed.” Continuing to pick up the fallen quills, Beth added, “They’re self inking, you know, from that joke shop in Diagon Alley.”

“Maybe you ought to get some proper gloves...You won’t be able to write down my answers wearing those floppy things.”

“That’s true.” Sighing, she removed her mittens and stuffed them into her cloak pockets. As the man helped her to collect them, she smiled gratefully and held out a hand to take the quills he’d retrieved. “Thank you, Mister...” Beth trailed off. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name before. I’m Bethany Rockwell.” She held out a mitten-less hand. She knew she’d already introduced herself, but sometimes people were quite forgetful and it only took a matter of seconds before “Bethany Rockwell” turned into “that short blonde girl.” She figured it was better to be repetitive than forgotten.

“Now, what did you want to know?”

Beth squeezed the extra quills back into her pocket. She kept one quill for herself and held her stack of surveys in front of her, using them as a clipboard. “Well, firstly...” She looked at the first question on the survey. Unfortunately, the replies one could give consisted of things like, “Excellent, good, average, and poor.” Beth supposed she’d have rephrase the questions a tad and decide what to check off based on the answer she received. She read the first question over once more, before looking up and asking, “Er, what are your thoughts on recent protection measures in response to the Death Eater attacks?”