WHO: Henry Wadcock and Phoebe Doge Smethwyck
WHAT: He can't seem to locate his protégé
WHERE: Their offices!
WHEN: Today!
Henry stood outside the door of Phoebe Doge’s office, watching the paper airplanes bounce off the glass fruitlessly, almost seeming exhausted with their struggle.
Peculiar.
He had sent half of the dozen memos that were attempting to enter the office throughout the course of the day, and when Phoebe hadn’t responded by the time lunch hour was over, Henry had come to investigate. His protégé was not someone who would ignore a memo, nor was she someone who would step out without responding to her mail. Where could she be? Perhaps she’d left a note?
Henry entered the office and the airplanes whizzed past his head to collapse in a messy pile on the top of her desk. He’d already answered most of the questions he’d sent over to her, so Henry came around to the desk to remove his now irrelevant memos. With a quick step forward, he made to clean up the mess, but there seemed to be another one on the floor.
He found Phoebe under her desk, her cotton candy colored skirt peeking out. Henry paused for a moment and then crouched, holding onto the wood of the desk to keep his balance. She tilted her head to him, her eyes gloomily staring in the darkness under the desk.
“Phoebe?”
“Have you ever felt useless before, Henry?” she asked, her voice soft. His brow furrowed. Phoebe let out a long breath from her nose. “Pointless. Have you ever felt pointless?”
“What’s happened?” he said, putting his hand out to help her up. Phoebe shook her head, and he noticed the letter clutched in her fists.
“My husband left me in February,” Phoebe answered, her voice cracking. She let out a hollow laugh, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s been months and it still sounds like gibberish coming out of my mouth.”
Henry tried to hold back his surprise at the information. He’d met her husband a few times, an odd bloke with the stereotypical Ravenclaw lack of personality that came with insane genius. He had never understood the match past the fact that they were school sweethearts, but Phoebe always seemed so honestly happy to see him that Henry never questioned there could be something going wrong with the marriage.
“Do you need help with the divorce paperwork?” he asked, finding himself unable to produce any words of support. Phoebe’s laugh was an honest one now, and she smiled through her tears at him. Henry smirked and with slight hesitation sat down on the floor. “I’m serious.”
“He literally left, Henry,” Phoebe explained. “He left---this.” She lifted her hand and handed him the worn out piece of parchment in her hand. Henry unraveled it and read through it quickly.
“‘Regards’?”
“That’s Elphias.”
“Why are you hiding under the desk today?” he asked.
“My birthday’s tomorrow,” Phoebe replied sadly, her misery coming back. Henry nodded; he’d known this, it had been on his calendar to send his overwhelmingly excitable receptionist out for a cake and party decorations. “I’m going to be twenty-three years old and I’ve wasted the last five years of my life on--on what?”
Henry frowned, shaking his head. “You’ve got a beautiful son and a great job, if I do say so myself. You shouldn’t judge yourself on a failed relationship.” He knew that feeling all too well.
“I tried so hard to prove everyone wrong,” she said, gutted. Her fist pressed to her chest as if it was becoming hard for her to breathe. “No one understood what we had and I had to prove we did. I had to convince myself. Every. Single. Day.” Her eyes lifted and they were glistening. “Love shouldn’t be so hard, should it?”
Henry shook his head sadly. “No, it shouldn’t. I’m sorry that it was.”
"I still love him,” Phoebe let out, shaking her head. She let out a breath. “Isn’t that stupid? Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard?"
“He’s the father of your child,” Henry said with a shrug. “You’re probably always going to love him, a bit. You just don’t have to be in love with him.”
Phoebe nodded, lips pressing together. They sat on the ground in silence for some time, Phoebe gathering her composure and Henry’s mind wandering. Phoebe was one of the kindest people he knew, she had been a constant ray of sunshine when Henry was dealing with the loss of his fiancée. It was miserable to think that someone could have hurt her in the way her husband had. It was miserable, but she shouldn’t be wasting her time hiding away from life when she had nothing to be sorry about.
Henry began to stand, and pointed a stiff finger at Phoebe, “I’m giving you five minutes to get out of there before I send Patrice in here to smoke you out with stories about her chihuahua, got it?”
“Patrice?” Phoebe exclaimed, face twisting in terror. She reached out and grabbed Henry’s hand and he pulled her to her feet. “I’m up, I’m up!”
“Atta girl,” Henry laughed, reaching out and straightening the collar of her shirt. He felt a bit lighter himself; time did seem to heal wounds. “I need Cadwallader’s endorsement schedule finished by four, get on it.”
“Yes, sir,” Phoebe said with a wink and a salute. Henry rolled his eyes as she dropped into her chair and got to work. He left the office and shut the door behind him, but noticed the name on the door. Peering through the glass, Henry saw that Phoebe was already deep into her documents, so he swiftly pulled out his wand and waved it across the letters of her name. They morphed and transformed, stretching across the glass.
'Phoebe Smethwyck' had a much better look to it.
