Brannon managed to draw his wand and cast a large fire-dousing spell. One did not get to be a sixty-three year old wizard without knowing how to put out a fire. One particularly did not survive being a father of ten with a career history in accidental magic reversal, magical accidents and catastrophes, and experimental charms without knowing how to put out a fire. A cloud a heavy dust settled over the desk, smothering the flames — much less damaging to the materials beneath than a deluge of water, he had discovered through experience. He held his wand firmly in place until he had seen the last flame die down to a smolder.
The desk was an absolute mess. It had clearly been a magical fire, Brannon thought, judging by the amount of damage that had occurred in a relatively short time. Traditional fires, of the sort created by shelling out one's pipe when it was still burning, tended to smolder for several minutes before they caught anything at all, and then the fire spread quickly but methodically. Magical fires, on the other hand, tended to erupt instead of build, and this had all the hallmarks of the former. Perhaps something he'd left on his desk had been cursed (which was actually surprisingly easy to do by accident if some Ministry intern combined an ink blot with a bit of a doodle), or maybe there was some culprit still loose in his office — a miniature dragon, perhaps? He thought he'd heard a rumor that the Games and Sports department had a set that someone had brought in as a proposal for a new variation of wizard's chess.
But whatever had happened, he could figure it out after dealing with the young man who had entered his office. Retrieving his paper from the floor with as much dignity as possible, and ignoring the splash of tea across the front page, Brannon headed back to his side of the desk. He took a seat in his chair, which, mercifully, had not been touched. Scowling at the smoldering embers of the desk, he began to dash them out methodically with the wet newspaper. "And what can I do for you, Mr. —?" he asked, glancing up at the young man with a raised brow.
The desk was an absolute mess. It had clearly been a magical fire, Brannon thought, judging by the amount of damage that had occurred in a relatively short time. Traditional fires, of the sort created by shelling out one's pipe when it was still burning, tended to smolder for several minutes before they caught anything at all, and then the fire spread quickly but methodically. Magical fires, on the other hand, tended to erupt instead of build, and this had all the hallmarks of the former. Perhaps something he'd left on his desk had been cursed (which was actually surprisingly easy to do by accident if some Ministry intern combined an ink blot with a bit of a doodle), or maybe there was some culprit still loose in his office — a miniature dragon, perhaps? He thought he'd heard a rumor that the Games and Sports department had a set that someone had brought in as a proposal for a new variation of wizard's chess.
But whatever had happened, he could figure it out after dealing with the young man who had entered his office. Retrieving his paper from the floor with as much dignity as possible, and ignoring the splash of tea across the front page, Brannon headed back to his side of the desk. He took a seat in his chair, which, mercifully, had not been touched. Scowling at the smoldering embers of the desk, he began to dash them out methodically with the wet newspaper. "And what can I do for you, Mr. —?" he asked, glancing up at the young man with a raised brow.