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Post by Deleted on Apr 19, 2017 14:02:15 GMT -7
Geneva, November 2021The ball was stunning, of course. The Swiss castle where they were meeting was lighter and airer than Hogwarts, and Padma could understand why the Beauxbatons delegation had been so unimpressed with Hogwarts if their school looked like this. And the people were all similarly attired, professional and formal and quite frankly stunning. It was a bit intimidating to be there alone, and Padma was sorry to have left Dean behind. But she was the newest Head of International Magical Cooperation in the European Union of Magical Ministries, and she had to prove her right to be here. A test, so to speak. Padma had always been good at tests.
(shortly after @padma became Head of International Magical Cooperation)
She had a champagne flute in one hand, head held high, and was speaking to a representive from Malta when she felt the first twinge at the back of her mind. Someone was poking at her mind - hoping the wine had dulled her senses, probably, but the joke was on them - she'd had but a sip.
She didn't slam up her mental walls. Instead, she gently pulled up barriers around things that were important, and cleared her mind of everything but the most banal conversation. Her mind was a pond - smooth and calm from the outside looking in, swirling gyres of thought beneath the surface. When she was ready, she excused herself from her conversation, took a swallow of her champagne, and went on a hunt.
Most people couldn't read someone's mind and hold a conversation with someone else - she couldn't, certainly - so she was looking for someone who was all by themself. There weren't that many of them. A striking blonde woman in navy, a short man in grey robes. It was a diplomatic ball, after all, and diplomacy didn't happen without discussion.
She felt another pinch in her brain, and she thought very clearly about looking for a washroom. And she watched the room for someone to move, or flinch. The woman in navy moved towards a left hand corridor, and a server headed for the same one, tray empty. That was odd - the kitchen was to the right. But the washroom was on the left, so Padma headed that way as well. She downed the rest of her champagne with a single swallow, and met the server just before he reached the corridor.
"Oh, are you taking glasses back? Thank you so much," she said gushingly, placing hers on his tray, and making eye contact. The spell was never said, but she mouthed it and flicked her wand low and discretely, and looked into his mind. She saw boredom. Not the one poking at her mind. She blinked and released him from the spell.
If not the server, then Padma knew it must be the woman in navy, and she would be waiting for her in the washroom. Her wand was at the ready as she opened the door, making her way to the sink, patting her hair to tame a few stray hairs. The woman was watching her closely, and the pricking in the back of her mind was stronger than before.
"Are you truly so mindless," the woman said with something like scorn, and Padma guessed her accent was Albanian, maybe. And she clearly didn't know what she was in for.
Padma smiled at the woman in the mirror, and flicked her hand at the door, locking it. The woman's face turned to shock as Padma turned, biting out "Legilimens". The blonde - Marija, she found, as she flicked through the pages of her mind - was Serbian; she had been close. Marija was a talented Legilimens, to be sure, but she was no Occlumens. Her mind was a clutter, and it took Padma a moment longer to find what she was looking for. The Serbian Ministry wanted amnesty for certain acts undertaken in quelling an uprising in Kosovo, and they needed someone on their side.
Well, no. That was not going to happen. Partly because they'd tried to mess with her mind, which may be de rigueur in magical diplomacy but certainly wasn't kosher. Mostly because there were certain acts that were unforgivable, and Padma and most of the higher ups in the Ministry drew that line much more broadly than just three curses. They’d been the resistance, the uprising; they’d suffered for it brutally when many of them were still children; they would not condone that action by anyone. The Serbian Ministry was out of luck.
It wasn't that hard to press the idea into Marija's mind, right into the memory of the conversation that brought her here, and she said it aloud too - "You're talking to a war hero. Britain will not back you." A little harsher than necessary, perhaps, but she would not be underestimated, and her point would not be forgotten. She turned on her heel and plastered on a smile, and went to persuade the remaining representatives that the Serbian Ministry must be taken to task.
