December 21st, 1890 — Hogsmeade Constabulary

Christmas dangled just out of reach on the horizon as Blythe transcribed the Chief Constable's notes in small, precise script. It was one of the more important tasks that the young secretary was entrusted with at the constabulary, and one she typically took great pride in. Today, though, the celebration of the birth of the Lord—one of the greatest wizards of all time!—made ordinarily enjoyable tasks rather pale in comparison, and as the afternoon began to wane, Blythe was eager to return home.

(True, Aunt Temperance was at full force throughout advent, but this time of year also saw the woman at her softest, not that this said a great deal.)

With daylight beginning to fade (and Blythe's six o'clock departure still the better part of two hours out), the witch side and set down her quill before moving to illuminate the lanterns about the constabulary proper, smiling shyly to herself as she lit the lantern nearest Constable Woodcroft's desk. He, like most of the men working, was out on patrol; indeed, it was only the Chief Constable in his office, door shut, and Blythe herself on site. Even the two holding cells sat empty, a testament to a quiet afternoon.

But all good things, of course, must come to an end.

It was none other than Constable Woodcroft himself who came rather loudly through the door, one of their regular drunkards (a Mr. Cratchitt) in tow. From the look of it, Mr. Cratchitt had put up a bit of a fight in the process—poor Constable Woodcroft looked rather worn, or perhaps merely resigned—though a quiet expert on many of his expressions, some remained difficult still for Blythe to decipher.

She did not meet either wizard's eye as she moved diligently to open the door that separated the central portion of the cramped office from the holding cells.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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It was too much to ask for an utterly quiet day this close to Christmas; Benji probably would have been bored if that had happened, but he'd been called to the Hog's Head to retrieve one of their regulars and haul him back to the Constabulary. Haul was the operative word, too - both of them were significantly rumpled when they got back to the constabulary. For someone who was very drunk, Mr. Cratchitt could put up a fight.

Mr. Cratchitt was struggling in his grip even as they got closer to the door Miss Fairchild had so helpfully opened. Benji was about to shove him in when, with a wrench of his whole upper body, the drunkard was able to pull one arm free of his coat. He immediately used it to swat the side of Benji's head, right on the ear - Benji swayed with his ear ringing.

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It all happened so quickly—a fist to the side of Constable Woodcroft's head saw Mr. Cractchitt freed long enough to make a beeline for the door of the constabulary—a route that Blythe was now blocking. O Lord.

"Stop," offered reluctantly as he paused briefly to consider her, more of a question really than an order, one offered by a girl who thought she could no more affect this man's choices than she could the cycle of day and night.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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He couldn't hear properly, but he didn't have the time to deal with that - if Mr. Cratchitt got past Blythe, then Benji was never going to get him back, especially since he was now slightly dizzy. He should have been thinking clearer - should have drawn his wand - but instead, in a moment of panic, Benji rushed to tackle Mr. Cratchitt again.

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   Blythe Fairchild

Blythe let out a small scream as Mr. Cratchitt appeared to be hurling himself towards her—only to realize, rather belatedly, that his motion was neither of his own accord nor likely to cause a collision between them. Indeed, both Mr. Cratchitt and Constable Woodcroft were now in something of a heap upon the floor, and Blythe's heartbeat pounded with abandon in her ears and temples. The energy of the situation had her positively jittery, and the young witch could not take it upon herself to do anything that might be construed as useful.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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This wasn't the sort of thing that happened to aurors.

"Your wand!" Benji shouted, elbowing Mr. Cratchitt; if he could extricate himself from the pile, he could hex Cratchitt himself, but that didn't seem particularly likely.

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   Aldous Crouch

For a fleeting moment, Blythe wondered why Constable Woodcroft wanted to use her wand instead of his own—then she realized that he meant for her to use it.

There were a number of reasons that this was something of a fool's errand in Blythe's estimation, not least of which was the fact that the young secretary did not function well under pressure. Her wand was tidily holstered in its designated pocket of her skirt and then it somehow made it to her hand but, God as her witness, anything even vaguely useful that she might do with it seemed to evaporate like a puddle on a hot summer's day.

And so she stood there, eyes wide and panicked and imploring Constable Woodcroft to tell her what to do.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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Miss Fairchild had her wand in her hand but she wasn't doing anything with it, and Benji cursed himself internally, yet again, for letting things spiral this much. "Stun him!" he suggested, because Miss Fairchild had O.W.L.s and thus surely knew how to stun him - or - something.

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Well, she certainly fired a stunning spell.

And it certainly hit a target.

Unfortunately, due to a mixture of her nerves and inexperience, and the fact that they were so close to one another, the target had been the young constable rather than Mr. Cratchitt. As Constable Woodcroft's grip on the other man slackened and he fell to the floor, Mr. Cratchitt stopped and stared in confusion before Blythe, fully mortified, fired another spell at the drunkard.

Now she had two unconscious men on her hands. The implications of that would come to her only later, but for now, Blythe set about dragging Mr. Cratchitt into the holding cell. It was tiring work, and eventually, she resorted to levitating him (she only managed half his body, but it did the trick) into place before shutting the door firmly and letting out a small, exhausted sob. Constable Woodcroft was still on the floor, and neither her desire to run to his side nor to run and hide seemed likely to win out any time soon.

She instead stood there. Staring at him.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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The red bolt of light hit him, and Benji dropped like a rock into a pond.

Eventually, he began to stir, feeling a general pain in his body, as well as in his ear, where Cratchitt had hit him. Not yet aware of his surroundings, he swore: "Fuck."

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"Constable!" Blythe gasped in shock at the man's curse before realizing—belatedly—that if he could swear (her cheeks were decidedly quite pink at the fact that he had), that meant he was awake, which meant her efforts had not accidentally killed him. A good thing.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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Was that Blythe Fairchild's voice?

Benji opened one eye, saw the ceiling of his workplace, remembered what had happened, and sat up very slowly. He wanted to swear again. "Where's Cratchitt?" he asked first, because he had not yet figured out a not-hostile way to point out that she stunned him.

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"He-he's in the cell," Blythe answered quietly, still wide-eyed and worried that she had done something wrong. Well, she had, but something other than stunning the constable by mistake. "I stunned him," she added sheepishly.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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Benji remained on the floor; his back hurt where the stunning spell hit him, but frankly less than his ear hurt from Cratchitt's fist. "Good job," he said simply. He followed it up with: "Can you help me get up?"

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"Oh!" Blythe exclaimed, eyes widening once again. She hesitated a moment before reaching her hand down to Mr. Woodcroft, trying to ignore the telltale tingling of blush upon her cheeks.

— Benjamin Woodcroft/Cassius Lestrange —

  

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Benji clasped onto Blythe's hand and, oblivious, missed the blush as their combined efforts hauled him to his feet. He let go of her hand once he was vertical, and sighed, brushing himself off. "How bad does my ear look?" Benji asked, crouching so that she could see his head and where Cratchitt hit him.

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