I hope you like it. I hope to get a bit added tomorrow or Monday.
Please post and tell me what you think, as it's my first attempt at entering the Harry Potter world.
Auror
Moderators: DucksRMagical, Phoenix in the Ashes, Un'Anima Persa
22 posts
• Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
by Fweegal » Saturday 23 July 2005 5:30:58pm
He sat by his desk, idly flipping his mobile phone over and over in his hands.
Pushing his chair back, he stretched and placed his feet upon the table. All his work had been done hours ago. Now he could just wait until it was time to clock off.
Staring out the window into the broad expanse of Horse Guard’s Parade, he was lost in his thoughts entirely.
Well almost entirely.
An Auror is never completely off guard.
But at this moment he could not focus on the present. HE was dead. The greatest wizard in history, as far as he was concerned, was no more. And the risks now posed to the wizarding world were just too dire to imagine.
The door behind him burst open, and he turned around. Standing there, looking demented, with his eyes bulging and a vein in his temple throbbing, was the Prime Minister.
“Get. In. Here. Now,” the harassed PM growled through gritted teeth at his Secretary.
His train of thought vanished from his mind, and barely suppressing a knowing smile, the secretary rose from his seat, removing his long legs from the desk they had been perched on, and followed. In the Prime Minister’s office, he saw two men standing by the fireplace. Both were holding glasses of whiskey in their hands. One was slender with masses of tawny yellow hair, clad in an elegant midnight blue suit and cloak. . He held himself in a way that made him, to the secretary’s mind, resemble a coiled spring, ready to pounce. Or a lion. A lot of people called him that. He fixed the secretary with a keen eye and nodded briefly in his direction.
The second man was dressed entirely in black, from his long travelling cloak to his stout tough boots. Atop his head was a long mane of dark grey hair. Unlike the first figure, who was quietly sipping on his drink, the second one was peering at it intently, as if willing it to put a foot wrong. As the secretary entered, he was caught in the stare from the man’s electric blue eye. His second, normal, one was still fixed on the whiskey, which had as yet not been touched.
They all waited in silence. The atmosphere was heavy in anticipation for something.
BANG!
There was a slam from behind, as the PM pulled the door shut loudly. He went immediately to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a drink, which was quickly downed. A second one followed into the glass before he turned to face the assembled onlookers.
He had never looked this edgy, the secretary thought to himself. The Prime Minister’s tie had been discarded on a nearby chair, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and there appeared to be beads of sweat running down his face.
“Your head wizard….person has popped in to see me, as you can no doubt see,” snapped the PM. “Like bloody Santa Clause through the fireplace!”
“You mean the Minister of Magic, Prime Minister?”
“He can call himself Merlin….or bloody David Copperfield for all I care, Shacklebolt! And look, he brought a little friend! Is he a helper elf?!”
With that, the large figure looked up, both eyes locking onto the prime minister, who was quickly working his way to the bottom of the glass again. The PM met his glare and looked away quickly. He edged his way back to his desk and sank wearily into a chair.
“Well I don’t know who you are, so you can take your beady little eye…and that great big blue one…and put them elsewhere, alright?” he said.
The eyes seemed merely to double the intensity of their glare and the man’s left hand suddenly flashed into his robes.
“No, Alastor, that will not be necessary,” said the other, taller, figure. “Perhaps I should have made the proper introductions. Alastor Moody here is an Auror, recently back from retirement at my bequest to head the Auror office. I, as you know, am Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic. And you are of course acquainted with your secretary…”
“Oh yes!” shouted the prime minister, “ I am very well acquainted with my secretary! Kingsley bloody Shacklebolt, the worker par excellence, always on time, always efficient! If I had known you were doing that Santa Claus routine every day to get to work...”
“The Floo Network, sir.” Kingsley corrected.
“The what?!” bellowed the PM. “I don’t care if it has a name! I don’t care if it is called the Magical Pixie Highway! I….I…”
He trailed off, looking quite bemused. Putting his hands over his face, he brought his forehead to rest on the cool table top of the desk. Them a low moaning began from his direction.
“Is this normal, Shacklebolt?”, Scrimgeour asked.
“No, Minister. It’s just that he’s been under a little stress lately, what with that by-election in Little Whingeing coming up, that awful controversy over what exactly the Pensions Secretary was doing when he was caught with that poor dog, not to mention the new social welfare bill which is currently being sat on by the Lords…”
He trailed off. Scrimgeour was looking at him in complete bafflement. He hastily took another approach.
“What I mean to say, Minister, is that he’s a little busy right now and…well….your visits make him a little uptight.”
“A little?” barked Moody from the fireplace.
Kingsley glanced back at the desk. The prime minister was now lying back into the chair, rocking it back and forth, with his hands still to his face. The moaning had become louder.
“I take it you told him then?”
The PM sat bolt upright. He spoke again, only now he seemed to have regained some lucidity.
“Oh yes, Shacklebolt, they were quite informative. I heard that this Vollymort person is winning this secret war-that’s-not-so-secret-because-it-affects-us-too, that no one can stop him and that the only one who could, Bumbleboar?, was killed by a…..crazed science teacher…who was secretly working for Volly-whatshisname but that none of you, even with your fancy wands and broomsticks, managed to forsee this happening..”
He paused for breath. And for whiskey.
“And then, this is my favourite part, I heard that there is a group of teenagers rampaging around the country looking for this Volly-whatever, that none of you know where THEY are, and that one of them, Barry Trotter or something, may or may not be divinely ordained to stop this madman. And it’s impossible to find out whether or not he is who he’s meant to be, because (a) he has gone AWOL from school and (b) the only other people who apparently knew about this are dead; Bumblebee from that attack, and that….Trawler woman from another one.
Yes, Shacklebolt, they have really brought me up to speed!”
“Trelawney, sir,” said Kingsley. “Yes, she was killed in Hogsmeade only last week. Dementors got her.”
“Ohh! I had forgotten about them! The Lord of the Rings rejects that can scuk out all your happy thoughts! Well, not to worry, BECAUSE I HAVE NO HAPPY THOUGHTS LEFT! YOU PEOPLE HAVE TAKEN WHAT LITTLE SANITY I HAVE!!!”
After that outburst, he sank back into the upholstery, completely spent.
More to come!!!
Let me know what you think!
Pushing his chair back, he stretched and placed his feet upon the table. All his work had been done hours ago. Now he could just wait until it was time to clock off.
Staring out the window into the broad expanse of Horse Guard’s Parade, he was lost in his thoughts entirely.
Well almost entirely.
An Auror is never completely off guard.
But at this moment he could not focus on the present. HE was dead. The greatest wizard in history, as far as he was concerned, was no more. And the risks now posed to the wizarding world were just too dire to imagine.
The door behind him burst open, and he turned around. Standing there, looking demented, with his eyes bulging and a vein in his temple throbbing, was the Prime Minister.
“Get. In. Here. Now,” the harassed PM growled through gritted teeth at his Secretary.
His train of thought vanished from his mind, and barely suppressing a knowing smile, the secretary rose from his seat, removing his long legs from the desk they had been perched on, and followed. In the Prime Minister’s office, he saw two men standing by the fireplace. Both were holding glasses of whiskey in their hands. One was slender with masses of tawny yellow hair, clad in an elegant midnight blue suit and cloak. . He held himself in a way that made him, to the secretary’s mind, resemble a coiled spring, ready to pounce. Or a lion. A lot of people called him that. He fixed the secretary with a keen eye and nodded briefly in his direction.
The second man was dressed entirely in black, from his long travelling cloak to his stout tough boots. Atop his head was a long mane of dark grey hair. Unlike the first figure, who was quietly sipping on his drink, the second one was peering at it intently, as if willing it to put a foot wrong. As the secretary entered, he was caught in the stare from the man’s electric blue eye. His second, normal, one was still fixed on the whiskey, which had as yet not been touched.
They all waited in silence. The atmosphere was heavy in anticipation for something.
BANG!
There was a slam from behind, as the PM pulled the door shut loudly. He went immediately to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a drink, which was quickly downed. A second one followed into the glass before he turned to face the assembled onlookers.
He had never looked this edgy, the secretary thought to himself. The Prime Minister’s tie had been discarded on a nearby chair, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and there appeared to be beads of sweat running down his face.
“Your head wizard….person has popped in to see me, as you can no doubt see,” snapped the PM. “Like bloody Santa Clause through the fireplace!”
“You mean the Minister of Magic, Prime Minister?”
“He can call himself Merlin….or bloody David Copperfield for all I care, Shacklebolt! And look, he brought a little friend! Is he a helper elf?!”
With that, the large figure looked up, both eyes locking onto the prime minister, who was quickly working his way to the bottom of the glass again. The PM met his glare and looked away quickly. He edged his way back to his desk and sank wearily into a chair.
“Well I don’t know who you are, so you can take your beady little eye…and that great big blue one…and put them elsewhere, alright?” he said.
The eyes seemed merely to double the intensity of their glare and the man’s left hand suddenly flashed into his robes.
“No, Alastor, that will not be necessary,” said the other, taller, figure. “Perhaps I should have made the proper introductions. Alastor Moody here is an Auror, recently back from retirement at my bequest to head the Auror office. I, as you know, am Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic. And you are of course acquainted with your secretary…”
“Oh yes!” shouted the prime minister, “ I am very well acquainted with my secretary! Kingsley bloody Shacklebolt, the worker par excellence, always on time, always efficient! If I had known you were doing that Santa Claus routine every day to get to work...”
“The Floo Network, sir.” Kingsley corrected.
“The what?!” bellowed the PM. “I don’t care if it has a name! I don’t care if it is called the Magical Pixie Highway! I….I…”
He trailed off, looking quite bemused. Putting his hands over his face, he brought his forehead to rest on the cool table top of the desk. Them a low moaning began from his direction.
“Is this normal, Shacklebolt?”, Scrimgeour asked.
“No, Minister. It’s just that he’s been under a little stress lately, what with that by-election in Little Whingeing coming up, that awful controversy over what exactly the Pensions Secretary was doing when he was caught with that poor dog, not to mention the new social welfare bill which is currently being sat on by the Lords…”
He trailed off. Scrimgeour was looking at him in complete bafflement. He hastily took another approach.
“What I mean to say, Minister, is that he’s a little busy right now and…well….your visits make him a little uptight.”
“A little?” barked Moody from the fireplace.
Kingsley glanced back at the desk. The prime minister was now lying back into the chair, rocking it back and forth, with his hands still to his face. The moaning had become louder.
“I take it you told him then?”
The PM sat bolt upright. He spoke again, only now he seemed to have regained some lucidity.
“Oh yes, Shacklebolt, they were quite informative. I heard that this Vollymort person is winning this secret war-that’s-not-so-secret-because-it-affects-us-too, that no one can stop him and that the only one who could, Bumbleboar?, was killed by a…..crazed science teacher…who was secretly working for Volly-whatshisname but that none of you, even with your fancy wands and broomsticks, managed to forsee this happening..”
He paused for breath. And for whiskey.
“And then, this is my favourite part, I heard that there is a group of teenagers rampaging around the country looking for this Volly-whatever, that none of you know where THEY are, and that one of them, Barry Trotter or something, may or may not be divinely ordained to stop this madman. And it’s impossible to find out whether or not he is who he’s meant to be, because (a) he has gone AWOL from school and (b) the only other people who apparently knew about this are dead; Bumblebee from that attack, and that….Trawler woman from another one.
Yes, Shacklebolt, they have really brought me up to speed!”
“Trelawney, sir,” said Kingsley. “Yes, she was killed in Hogsmeade only last week. Dementors got her.”
“Ohh! I had forgotten about them! The Lord of the Rings rejects that can scuk out all your happy thoughts! Well, not to worry, BECAUSE I HAVE NO HAPPY THOUGHTS LEFT! YOU PEOPLE HAVE TAKEN WHAT LITTLE SANITY I HAVE!!!”
After that outburst, he sank back into the upholstery, completely spent.
More to come!!!
Let me know what you think!
Last edited by Fweegal on Saturday 23 July 2005 6:14:43pm, edited 1 time in total.
- Fweegal
- Fully Qualified Wizard
- Posts: 185
- Joined: Wednesday 20 July 2005 9:31:06am
by Fweegal » Saturday 23 July 2005 6:15:39pm
Any of you who have a small awareness of British politics, there's a little in-joke in the story.
In relation to the Pensions' Secretary.....and what he would be doing with a dog...
In relation to the Pensions' Secretary.....and what he would be doing with a dog...
- Fweegal
- Fully Qualified Wizard
- Posts: 185
- Joined: Wednesday 20 July 2005 9:31:06am
by crystallised_pineapple » Sunday 24 July 2005 1:47:29pm
wow this is brilliant!!! keep going definately!!!
-
crystallised_pineapple - Queen of The Pixies
- Posts: 179
- Joined: Monday 18 July 2005 7:12:25pm
- Location: three broomsticks :D surrounded by empty butterbeer bottles...he he
by Fweegal » Monday 25 July 2005 1:16:59pm
Auror Part 2
After this outburst, the Prime Minister sighed heavily. Glancing down at his desk the looked at the miniature Union Jack flag beside the telephone. He seemed lost in his thoughts for several long seconds. Finally he spoke once more. This time he was much quieter and sounded defeated.
“Gentlemen, what am I to do? How am I to protect this country against wizards, when the wizards themselves cannot? There is only so much bending of the truth that the public will take, and we cannot continue to explain away the attacks as IRA bombings, especially since they clearly have nothing to do with it and are vehemently denying it.
I have MI5 screaming at me for making these erroneous statements, the Irish government accusing me of mis-information, my own backbenchers calling for a full inquiry into the handling of the response to the attacks and an election next year. Even the Queen is getting snotty.”
They stood there in silence, listening to him. The only noises were the crackling of the logs in the fire and the soft ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The room seemed to grow chillier, despite the warmth thrown out by the fire, and frost began to be etched on the window panes.
“The real world, the one that I live in and you do not, is so complex and stressful already, without the added burden of hearing about your internal problems. Between this Volde…person-”
“Voldemort, sir,” said Kingsley quietly.
“Voldemort then,” the PM continued, “between him running rampage across the country, and the rest of his menagerie of monsters that you told me about and then the Dementors, well how am I to cope? Dementors for heavens sake, even the name gives me the chills. I mean they’re….they’re…well they’re…”
“They’re outside,” murmured Moody.
The three others snapped their heads around in his direction.
“What?” asked the Minister for Magic quickly.
“Two of them. Coming off Whitehall. And another two crossing Horse Guard’s Parade.”
His eye roved back and forth between Downing Street and the parade grounds directly behind the residence. The prime minister looked panicked. Trickles of sweat began to appear on his brow, despite the increasing cold in the room.
“Dementors? Here? Why?”
“I imagine,” said Moody slowly as his magical eye continued to flick back and forth in his head, “that they are here for you.”
“For me?! Why…what…? You have to do something to help me!”
Scrimgeour looked grim. He strode to the window and rushed back the drapes. As he looked down into the narrow road outside he saw two hooded figures in black glide effortlessly towards the famous front door. One the steps below stood a police officer who was growing steadily more restless as an unseen dread crept over him.
“We have little time, Prime Minister,” he said. “You must come with me. Now.”
“But where? I mean we’re surrounded aren’t we?”
“Yes,” said Kingsley, who had just returned to the room after checking on the Dementors advance across Horse Guard’s. “Minister-Minister’s I should say-you have to leave immediately. We will deal with this. I doubt they expect two Aurors to be in your office.”
“Come with me, Prime Minister,” said Scrimgeour as he grabbed a hold of the terrified man’s arm. Holding his wrist tightly, the Minister looked over at Moody and Shackelbolt.
“Report to me immediately once you have seen them off.”
Then he apparated, taking the PM with him.
Kingsley looked out the window. The Dementors had reached the door. The policeman down below was lying on the ground, looking very white. One of the hooded figures bent low over him and lowered his hood.
“They’ve just performed the Kiss,” Kingsley said.
“Not much time till they’re indoors,” said Moody, who was already clutching his wand. “You take the two at the door, I’ll deal with the ones in the parade ground.” With that he turned and hobbled out of the room, as fast as his wooden leg could carry him.
Kingsley reached for his phone and pulled on the aerial. It detached easily and began to slide out. Behind the plastic tip was a long slender wand. Discarding the body of the phone, he made for the door. He passed through the outer office, past his immaculate desk and into the corridor. Outside was an MI5 agent, posted for security. He was looking around nervously and had his service pistol in his hand. Looking up to see the Prime Minister’s secretary striding towards him, a look of relief crossed his face.
“Shacklebolt, thank God. Is something…going on? I dunno, but I have a bad feeling and I can’t shake it. I’d better see the PM.”
Quick as a flash, Kingsley pointed his wand in the terrified man’s direction.
“Dormiens”, he commanded and the guard collapsed in a slumbering heap. Stepping over the figure sprawled on the floor, he made it to the end of the corridor and began to descend the stairs.
The staircase in Number 10 was a grand affair, a large sweeping flight that reached from the entrance hall to the very top rooms of the building. All along its yellow silk walls hung the portraits of previous prime ministers. Immediately after hearing that his secretary was actually a magical bodyguard, the PM had requested as demonstration of his powers. Accordingly, Kingsley had bewitched all the portraits to behave much as ones in the non-Muggle world do. The vast majority of them remained immobile and quiet when anyone but the prime minister and Shacklebolt were nearby, but they had some problematic ones, which led to the auror having to return them to their natural state.
For instance Disraeli and Gladstone had been getting into daily fights and frequently crossed into one another’s pictures to start a brawl. To stop them, Kingsley had placed John Major in between, who sat there morosely. Margaret Thatcher too had been a handful, lambasting the PM on a daily basis about his government’s policies. She had also threatened, on a continual basis, to fall on the Argentinian maid in revenge for the Falklands war.
But the worst had been Churchill. By far. Firstly there was the drinking. Most nights loud cursing and singing coming form downstairs would wake the prime minister’s family. But, when the security personnel went to investigate, they could find no source. Then Churchill had taken up smoking, and the cigar smoke wafted from portrait to portrait. Despite all appeals from his neighbours, he had continued to do it. Kingsley rather suspected him of increasing the amount he smoked, just to be petulant.
The final straw came, however, when he erupted into a tirade about the late involvement of the Americans in WW2, as the ambassador from Washington was passing by. A quick memory charm had fixed that, but had led to a change of heart on the prime minister’s part about the merits of talking portraits. Before Shacklebolt had removed the spell from him, Winston had been attempting to persuade the downstairs furniture to invade Germany.
He stood on the landing now, as silent and immobile as the paintings. Below him he could hear heavy footsteps followed by a sharp and surprised cry.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” said a familiar gruff voice.
“Oh you gave me a right fright! Sneaking in here like that! With me making the Bosses cocoa and all. Look, you’ve made me go and spill some. Oooh I say! What’s wrong with your eye? It’s all blue and….”
Kingsley heard Moody mutter the sleeping charm and heard the heavy sound of the chef sliding to rest on the kitchen tiles.
“Nice cocoa”, came the voice of the other auror. A door opened and Kingsley rushed to the landing window. Outside he saw a large, dark and unmistakeably Moody-shaped figure melt into the bushes in the garden.
Another sound from below. Kingsley’s grip on his wand tightened. This was the sound of a lock being drawn back.
There was a soft click and as he peered down he saw the hall door, the most famous door in the world, swing silently open. Two dark shapes stood in the doorway, casting long shadows into the hall. The two Dementors crossed the entrance and drifted across the black and white tiles towards the stairs. They stopped at the bottom of the banisters and then began to noiselessly float upwards, not touching the stairs but floating just above them.
Kingsley coughed quietly. The hooded heads snapped up. He stood above them on the landing, wand pointed straight at their chests, a grim look on his face. Clearly surprised, the two figures reared back momentarily and then streaked towards him with their long cold hands outstretched in front of them.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!!!” he bellowed.
There was a burst of light from the tip of this wand and a silvery tiger burst forth, leaping at the Dementors as if trying to rip their necks open. The two cloaked shapes turned and fled, with the patronus in hot persuit. Kingsley raced down the stairs after them too. Bye the time he got to the hall door, they had vanished and his patronus appeared to be sniffing at the collapsed policeman on the steps. It looked up at Shackelbolt and then vanished.
Before he could reach for the man’s pulse, there was a roar from behind him.
“Kingsley!”
He turned to see another two Dementors flying at full speed across the hall towards the doorway he was standing in, followed closely behind by Moody’s giant bear of a patronus and the auror himself. Once more Shacklebolt’s patronus was let fly. The Dementors, caught between the two animals vanished in a loud “crack”.
Kingsley breathed a heavy sigh of relief and lowered his wand.
“That was unexpected, Alastor.” He said
“Sorry about that. Blasted things were faster than I thought.”
Together they walked to the front door. A plump little policewoman was preventing anyone from entering Downing St. Moody checked the pulse of the collapsed policeman and muttered grimly to himself. As they walked out the gates to the street, he leaned down to the officer.
“He’ll need to go to Mungo’s, Tonks.”
The little figure nodded up at him as several police cars screamed up Whitehall and came to sudden halts. A small smile came once again to Kingsley’s face as he saw that rather a lot of officers were getting out of each car, far more than would usually be able to fit inside.
“Our lot,” said Tonks to him.
“But the cars?”
“Weasley. Been at it for weeks. 12 enchanted squad cars.”
Kingsley’s grin broadened.
“Oh I’d say he was in heaven doing that. And Molly was presumably less so!”
Moody caught his eye.
“Ah yes. Better go. Nice disguise, Tonks.”
The stumpy little officer laughed.
“Oh I do try, Kingsley.”
The two aurors walked down the street, past the growing crowds and increasing number of news vans. When they were sure no one was looking, they vanished suddenly. As if into thin air…
More to come! Again, please let me know your opinions (honestly)
After this outburst, the Prime Minister sighed heavily. Glancing down at his desk the looked at the miniature Union Jack flag beside the telephone. He seemed lost in his thoughts for several long seconds. Finally he spoke once more. This time he was much quieter and sounded defeated.
“Gentlemen, what am I to do? How am I to protect this country against wizards, when the wizards themselves cannot? There is only so much bending of the truth that the public will take, and we cannot continue to explain away the attacks as IRA bombings, especially since they clearly have nothing to do with it and are vehemently denying it.
I have MI5 screaming at me for making these erroneous statements, the Irish government accusing me of mis-information, my own backbenchers calling for a full inquiry into the handling of the response to the attacks and an election next year. Even the Queen is getting snotty.”
They stood there in silence, listening to him. The only noises were the crackling of the logs in the fire and the soft ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The room seemed to grow chillier, despite the warmth thrown out by the fire, and frost began to be etched on the window panes.
“The real world, the one that I live in and you do not, is so complex and stressful already, without the added burden of hearing about your internal problems. Between this Volde…person-”
“Voldemort, sir,” said Kingsley quietly.
“Voldemort then,” the PM continued, “between him running rampage across the country, and the rest of his menagerie of monsters that you told me about and then the Dementors, well how am I to cope? Dementors for heavens sake, even the name gives me the chills. I mean they’re….they’re…well they’re…”
“They’re outside,” murmured Moody.
The three others snapped their heads around in his direction.
“What?” asked the Minister for Magic quickly.
“Two of them. Coming off Whitehall. And another two crossing Horse Guard’s Parade.”
His eye roved back and forth between Downing Street and the parade grounds directly behind the residence. The prime minister looked panicked. Trickles of sweat began to appear on his brow, despite the increasing cold in the room.
“Dementors? Here? Why?”
“I imagine,” said Moody slowly as his magical eye continued to flick back and forth in his head, “that they are here for you.”
“For me?! Why…what…? You have to do something to help me!”
Scrimgeour looked grim. He strode to the window and rushed back the drapes. As he looked down into the narrow road outside he saw two hooded figures in black glide effortlessly towards the famous front door. One the steps below stood a police officer who was growing steadily more restless as an unseen dread crept over him.
“We have little time, Prime Minister,” he said. “You must come with me. Now.”
“But where? I mean we’re surrounded aren’t we?”
“Yes,” said Kingsley, who had just returned to the room after checking on the Dementors advance across Horse Guard’s. “Minister-Minister’s I should say-you have to leave immediately. We will deal with this. I doubt they expect two Aurors to be in your office.”
“Come with me, Prime Minister,” said Scrimgeour as he grabbed a hold of the terrified man’s arm. Holding his wrist tightly, the Minister looked over at Moody and Shackelbolt.
“Report to me immediately once you have seen them off.”
Then he apparated, taking the PM with him.
Kingsley looked out the window. The Dementors had reached the door. The policeman down below was lying on the ground, looking very white. One of the hooded figures bent low over him and lowered his hood.
“They’ve just performed the Kiss,” Kingsley said.
“Not much time till they’re indoors,” said Moody, who was already clutching his wand. “You take the two at the door, I’ll deal with the ones in the parade ground.” With that he turned and hobbled out of the room, as fast as his wooden leg could carry him.
Kingsley reached for his phone and pulled on the aerial. It detached easily and began to slide out. Behind the plastic tip was a long slender wand. Discarding the body of the phone, he made for the door. He passed through the outer office, past his immaculate desk and into the corridor. Outside was an MI5 agent, posted for security. He was looking around nervously and had his service pistol in his hand. Looking up to see the Prime Minister’s secretary striding towards him, a look of relief crossed his face.
“Shacklebolt, thank God. Is something…going on? I dunno, but I have a bad feeling and I can’t shake it. I’d better see the PM.”
Quick as a flash, Kingsley pointed his wand in the terrified man’s direction.
“Dormiens”, he commanded and the guard collapsed in a slumbering heap. Stepping over the figure sprawled on the floor, he made it to the end of the corridor and began to descend the stairs.
The staircase in Number 10 was a grand affair, a large sweeping flight that reached from the entrance hall to the very top rooms of the building. All along its yellow silk walls hung the portraits of previous prime ministers. Immediately after hearing that his secretary was actually a magical bodyguard, the PM had requested as demonstration of his powers. Accordingly, Kingsley had bewitched all the portraits to behave much as ones in the non-Muggle world do. The vast majority of them remained immobile and quiet when anyone but the prime minister and Shacklebolt were nearby, but they had some problematic ones, which led to the auror having to return them to their natural state.
For instance Disraeli and Gladstone had been getting into daily fights and frequently crossed into one another’s pictures to start a brawl. To stop them, Kingsley had placed John Major in between, who sat there morosely. Margaret Thatcher too had been a handful, lambasting the PM on a daily basis about his government’s policies. She had also threatened, on a continual basis, to fall on the Argentinian maid in revenge for the Falklands war.
But the worst had been Churchill. By far. Firstly there was the drinking. Most nights loud cursing and singing coming form downstairs would wake the prime minister’s family. But, when the security personnel went to investigate, they could find no source. Then Churchill had taken up smoking, and the cigar smoke wafted from portrait to portrait. Despite all appeals from his neighbours, he had continued to do it. Kingsley rather suspected him of increasing the amount he smoked, just to be petulant.
The final straw came, however, when he erupted into a tirade about the late involvement of the Americans in WW2, as the ambassador from Washington was passing by. A quick memory charm had fixed that, but had led to a change of heart on the prime minister’s part about the merits of talking portraits. Before Shacklebolt had removed the spell from him, Winston had been attempting to persuade the downstairs furniture to invade Germany.
He stood on the landing now, as silent and immobile as the paintings. Below him he could hear heavy footsteps followed by a sharp and surprised cry.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” said a familiar gruff voice.
“Oh you gave me a right fright! Sneaking in here like that! With me making the Bosses cocoa and all. Look, you’ve made me go and spill some. Oooh I say! What’s wrong with your eye? It’s all blue and….”
Kingsley heard Moody mutter the sleeping charm and heard the heavy sound of the chef sliding to rest on the kitchen tiles.
“Nice cocoa”, came the voice of the other auror. A door opened and Kingsley rushed to the landing window. Outside he saw a large, dark and unmistakeably Moody-shaped figure melt into the bushes in the garden.
Another sound from below. Kingsley’s grip on his wand tightened. This was the sound of a lock being drawn back.
There was a soft click and as he peered down he saw the hall door, the most famous door in the world, swing silently open. Two dark shapes stood in the doorway, casting long shadows into the hall. The two Dementors crossed the entrance and drifted across the black and white tiles towards the stairs. They stopped at the bottom of the banisters and then began to noiselessly float upwards, not touching the stairs but floating just above them.
Kingsley coughed quietly. The hooded heads snapped up. He stood above them on the landing, wand pointed straight at their chests, a grim look on his face. Clearly surprised, the two figures reared back momentarily and then streaked towards him with their long cold hands outstretched in front of them.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!!!” he bellowed.
There was a burst of light from the tip of this wand and a silvery tiger burst forth, leaping at the Dementors as if trying to rip their necks open. The two cloaked shapes turned and fled, with the patronus in hot persuit. Kingsley raced down the stairs after them too. Bye the time he got to the hall door, they had vanished and his patronus appeared to be sniffing at the collapsed policeman on the steps. It looked up at Shackelbolt and then vanished.
Before he could reach for the man’s pulse, there was a roar from behind him.
“Kingsley!”
He turned to see another two Dementors flying at full speed across the hall towards the doorway he was standing in, followed closely behind by Moody’s giant bear of a patronus and the auror himself. Once more Shacklebolt’s patronus was let fly. The Dementors, caught between the two animals vanished in a loud “crack”.
Kingsley breathed a heavy sigh of relief and lowered his wand.
“That was unexpected, Alastor.” He said
“Sorry about that. Blasted things were faster than I thought.”
Together they walked to the front door. A plump little policewoman was preventing anyone from entering Downing St. Moody checked the pulse of the collapsed policeman and muttered grimly to himself. As they walked out the gates to the street, he leaned down to the officer.
“He’ll need to go to Mungo’s, Tonks.”
The little figure nodded up at him as several police cars screamed up Whitehall and came to sudden halts. A small smile came once again to Kingsley’s face as he saw that rather a lot of officers were getting out of each car, far more than would usually be able to fit inside.
“Our lot,” said Tonks to him.
“But the cars?”
“Weasley. Been at it for weeks. 12 enchanted squad cars.”
Kingsley’s grin broadened.
“Oh I’d say he was in heaven doing that. And Molly was presumably less so!”
Moody caught his eye.
“Ah yes. Better go. Nice disguise, Tonks.”
The stumpy little officer laughed.
“Oh I do try, Kingsley.”
The two aurors walked down the street, past the growing crowds and increasing number of news vans. When they were sure no one was looking, they vanished suddenly. As if into thin air…
More to come! Again, please let me know your opinions (honestly)
- Fweegal
- Fully Qualified Wizard
- Posts: 185
- Joined: Wednesday 20 July 2005 9:31:06am
by thestral » Monday 25 July 2005 2:50:41pm
great writing!! love it so far, you got all the characters spot on, and you decided to go with a tiger patronus rather than a panther or something? good choice, suited him well.
liked the prime ministers bit , paticularly churchill. he did seem like a belligerant battleaxe didn't he? like the bit about trying to talk the furniture into invading germany,
that was great.
keep going, like the way you slipped in tonks and arthurs car obsession bit there. nice work!!!
liked the prime ministers bit , paticularly churchill. he did seem like a belligerant battleaxe didn't he? like the bit about trying to talk the furniture into invading germany,
that was great.
keep going, like the way you slipped in tonks and arthurs car obsession bit there. nice work!!!
-
thestral - Rogue auror, avenger of lost souls
- Posts: 531
- Joined: Thursday 2 December 2004 2:07:48pm
- Location: beside the veil waiting for sirius
by Fweegal » Monday 25 July 2005 2:57:03pm
Cheers. I knew there were loads of portraits on the stairs in 10 Downing St, and I really couldn't help myself!
Part 3 should be up later too.
I anyone has suggestions please please please PM me with them.
Part 3 should be up later too.
I anyone has suggestions please please please PM me with them.
- Fweegal
- Fully Qualified Wizard
- Posts: 185
- Joined: Wednesday 20 July 2005 9:31:06am
by Fweegal » Monday 25 July 2005 4:24:32pm
Part Three
“Terrified, more than anything else.”
The Minister of Magic sat in his plush chair. Across the desk from him sat Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody.
“But Mungo’s have him asleep right now, and we can only hope he recovers.”
“Why not adjust his memory?”
“Because, Shacklebolt, the man is the Muggle Prime Minister, and far too important to have his mind messed around with.”
Scrimgeour tossed two rolls of parchement across the table at them.
“Latest sightings. They were seen by a…” he paused to check his notes, “..a Doris Crockford in Little Hangleton, only two days ago. Three of them, and although she didn’t see him from the front, their descriptions combined make it unlikely it was anyone else.”
The two Aurors glanced up from their sheets as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers so that they touched his forehead.
“Now,” he said quietly and through half gritted teeth, “Shacklebolt you are to go after them and apprehend them. This has gone beyond a joke. I have dispatched several aurors after them in the past months, and none have managed to bring and end to this….this extended field trip.
The last one I sent was that fool, Nymphadora Tonks. 3 weeks with no news and then I get this,”
He passes a parchement across the table. It contained barely five sentences.
“This excuse of a report back from her. If it wasn’t for her abilities as a metamorphmagus then she’d have been fired from a cannon out of the Auror Office. Look, Kingsley, you’re an excellent Auror, so that’s why I’m giving this job to you.”
Shacklebolt nodded his head. “I will do my best, Minister.”
“Oh no, Kingsley! You will succeed.
I am at a loss to explain the behaviour of the new Headmistress. She seems to have hardly a care that three of her pupils are missing. I always new there was something distinctly dotty with Dumbledore, but now I think they may be something in the water up there.”
He stood, and the other two rose as well. Shaking hands with them both he escorted them to the door.
“I shall expect you to report back to me in 48hrs, Kingsley. Alastor, the Fudge trial is resuming tomorrow. He’s claiming he was under the Imperius Curse. Could you kindly explain to the Wizengamot that the former minister’s inability to accept Voldemort’s return two years ago is more to do with ineptitude than the Dark Arts?”
Moody chuckled to himself.
“I reckon I can, Minister.”
Scrimgeour flashed a rare smile.
“Look you can put him under the bloody curse to illustrate the difference between his behaviour and that of someone under an Imperius.”
Moody laughed, but the moment Scrimgeour closed his door behind them, it died in his throat. He looked over at Shacklebolt, who was leaning against a nearby pillar.
“I reckon we should inform Molly and Arthur that I’m on their son’s case.”
“I reckon we should get some food,” said Moody. “Thankfully we can do both at the same time.”
More to come! Again, let me know what you think, by posts and PMs.
“Terrified, more than anything else.”
The Minister of Magic sat in his plush chair. Across the desk from him sat Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody.
“But Mungo’s have him asleep right now, and we can only hope he recovers.”
“Why not adjust his memory?”
“Because, Shacklebolt, the man is the Muggle Prime Minister, and far too important to have his mind messed around with.”
Scrimgeour tossed two rolls of parchement across the table at them.
“Latest sightings. They were seen by a…” he paused to check his notes, “..a Doris Crockford in Little Hangleton, only two days ago. Three of them, and although she didn’t see him from the front, their descriptions combined make it unlikely it was anyone else.”
The two Aurors glanced up from their sheets as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers so that they touched his forehead.
“Now,” he said quietly and through half gritted teeth, “Shacklebolt you are to go after them and apprehend them. This has gone beyond a joke. I have dispatched several aurors after them in the past months, and none have managed to bring and end to this….this extended field trip.
The last one I sent was that fool, Nymphadora Tonks. 3 weeks with no news and then I get this,”
He passes a parchement across the table. It contained barely five sentences.
“This excuse of a report back from her. If it wasn’t for her abilities as a metamorphmagus then she’d have been fired from a cannon out of the Auror Office. Look, Kingsley, you’re an excellent Auror, so that’s why I’m giving this job to you.”
Shacklebolt nodded his head. “I will do my best, Minister.”
“Oh no, Kingsley! You will succeed.
I am at a loss to explain the behaviour of the new Headmistress. She seems to have hardly a care that three of her pupils are missing. I always new there was something distinctly dotty with Dumbledore, but now I think they may be something in the water up there.”
He stood, and the other two rose as well. Shaking hands with them both he escorted them to the door.
“I shall expect you to report back to me in 48hrs, Kingsley. Alastor, the Fudge trial is resuming tomorrow. He’s claiming he was under the Imperius Curse. Could you kindly explain to the Wizengamot that the former minister’s inability to accept Voldemort’s return two years ago is more to do with ineptitude than the Dark Arts?”
Moody chuckled to himself.
“I reckon I can, Minister.”
Scrimgeour flashed a rare smile.
“Look you can put him under the bloody curse to illustrate the difference between his behaviour and that of someone under an Imperius.”
Moody laughed, but the moment Scrimgeour closed his door behind them, it died in his throat. He looked over at Shacklebolt, who was leaning against a nearby pillar.
“I reckon we should inform Molly and Arthur that I’m on their son’s case.”
“I reckon we should get some food,” said Moody. “Thankfully we can do both at the same time.”
More to come! Again, let me know what you think, by posts and PMs.
- Fweegal
- Fully Qualified Wizard
- Posts: 185
- Joined: Wednesday 20 July 2005 9:31:06am
by thestral » Monday 25 July 2005 8:57:05pm
gets better with every bit. you're drawing me in....
ahhh....i do love good fan fiction, it takes your mind off the withdrawal symptons of the long long long wait. *sigh*
ahhh....i do love good fan fiction, it takes your mind off the withdrawal symptons of the long long long wait. *sigh*
-
thestral - Rogue auror, avenger of lost souls
- Posts: 531
- Joined: Thursday 2 December 2004 2:07:48pm
- Location: beside the veil waiting for sirius
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