Merlins. Sagging. Scrotum. 

For a long moment, Sarai stared in stunned silence. She blinked intelligently. Hazel eyes [i]slooooowly [/i] moved down to look at the hand clasping hers. She blinked again and looked down to meet eyes with the wizard [i]kneeling in front of her [/i].

“What,” she said flatly, paused, and tried again. “What are you [i]doing [/i]?”

She could feel her father's presence beside her, that barely audible huff of restrained laughter. She might have found it funny too if it had been happening to literally anyone else. Except, it was her old classmate, who was supposed to mind her like a [i]child[/i] telling her to give him a pretty [i]smile[/i].

Her lips pressed into a thin line. 

Sarai Shacklebolt did [i]not[/i] smile. She jut out her chin and reclaimed her hand, perhaps rather more forcibly than was necessary. Looking at her father, who had that fucking impossible calm on his features, and spoke archly, “This is your fault.”

“I know,” he said. He looked to Higgs the Bafflingly Obnoxious, still placid. How any one human managed such endless calm ought to be the most pressing research in the Department of Mysteries, she mused. “I trust you will give this assignment your utmost attention. It is, perhaps, not the most—traditional route,” and Sarai could only wonder what he meant, only knew that it was part of the snake in her father, the green and silver he had worn decades ago, and resolved to figure out what real meaning lay behind those words. “But, if an old man may impart some advice—there are many paths there.”

Sarai grit her teeth, ignoring the irrational surge of envy. How dare Higgs the Bafflingly Obnoxious earn her father’s wisdom, his goodness? She had decided him unworthy already—why would he be given that gift, when it was so hard won among even his own children? Was it that much easier for him to give his heart to his Aurors? Was this why Amir had followed his footsteps into the aftermath of war and a broken world?
	
“Minister?” That reedy voice came with a gentle knock on his oak door. Kingsley glanced to his watch, and nodded towards them.

“Ah, I believe my two o’clock is here,” and Sarai huffed, debated on leaving, and promptly wrapped her arms around her father’s middle. 

“I’m still mad at you,” she muttered. He simply smiled as she pulled away, searching her face for something. She could see something flicker across his eyes—fear? Concern? She had never been quite able to read him. The moment passed, and he inclined his head towards the door.

“Until next time,” he spoke, and Sarai nodded, leaving Higgs in a swish of dark hair and the occasional clatter of her flats. 

She walked quickly, head high, hands clenched into fists at her side, as if she could shake him. The ante room was filled with men and women in robes and her father’s assistant, who had at least improved his demeanor in the past half hour. Sarai smiled tightly, slipping out the door to the empty hall and making it halfway down its black marble before finally stopping and wheeling on her bleeding [i]nanny[/i].

“Look,” her voice was sharp, and she hated how her temper burned in her veins. This wasn’t her, wasn’t who she [i]wanted[/i] to be. She’d thought she was better than this, kinder, but it was hard to get past the red. “Neither of us want to deal with this, right? So let’s simply [i]not[/i] and go our separate ways, all the happier for it.”

It was worth a shot, as impossible as she knew it to be. If she couldn’t defy her father, how could she reasonably expect one of his underlings? Still, if there was a soft joint in any of this, she suspected it would be Higgs himself.