Higgs towered, and nearly toppled, over her. It, rather unreasonably, incensed her. It was hardly his fault that he’d grown taller—and certainly not his fault that she was spectacularly short—but in this moment, she was all too happy to blame him for this as well.

She could hex him. She was clever with a wand, had learned half a dozen curses that awful year in hiding. That she’d never fired them at another [i]person[/i] was irrelevant—right? Sarai’s nostrils flared, fists clenched, her temper spiking inwards. Did she [i]really[/i] just think that? She was frustrated, hurt, and lashing out with a wand disgusted her to her very core. Her skin crawled, and it took more will power than she’d care to admit to keep from wallowing in her shame.

Sarai took a deep, steadying breath, looking up at the most unfortunate wizard in Britain. As frustrating as this was for her, having someone invading her life and coddling her, it had to be worse on his end. He was stuck minding her like a child—and she’d certainly acted like one, she admitted grudgingly. Higgs was wasting his time as much as her father was manpower. The thought didn’t erase her frustration, but it let her wrestle back a sliver of composure. Sarai straightened, slowly unclenching her fists. Arms folding beneath her chest, she listened as Higgs, understandably, rejected her unrealistic plan.

He spoke with conviction, finally stringing together something remotely sensible. He had everything to lose here—undoubtedly his career had just taken a turn for the complicated. What Auror in their right (relatively) mind would give up hunting dark wizards for shadowing her in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office? Sarai searched his eyes for a long moment, as if he might falter. Higgs did no such thing. With an irritated scoff, she looked away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like [i]bloody Aurors[/i]. 

“Fine,” Sarai relented, attempting to sound civil. She failed spectacularly. “If you must. Stubborn git.” 

Insulting Higgs, she mused, was not nearly as satisfying as it should have been. [i]Unfair[/i].

Running a hand through tight curls and skimming them behind an ear, Sarai Shacklebolt resigned herself to her fate. Casting a glance around the crowded hall, she simply nodded towards the elevator. The fight fled her veins in a rush, and she suddenly felt exhausted. She needed air—and a very stiff drink. Or six. The Leaky Cauldron would solve both of these problems handsomely.