Auror... Part One

There has always been Dark Wizards in the world of magic. They teach at Hogwart’s that evil is not rampant and has always been controlled, but that is only partly true. Even that vaunted institute of learning has its own dark secrets and evil wizards. It is these wizards who step over the boundaries of Magical Law and its ethical uses. They research and animate the dead; experiment on Muggles and a whole host of other things the masses know are best left unknown and forgotten in the dark times of magic. Across the Wizarding globe there are many departments and offices that seek to hunt down these rogue wizards. I am just another one of the workers who seek to place these people behind the bars of Azkaban, and under the sway of the Dementors that run the hellhole they call a prison. They call us Aurors, we call ourselves cleaners, surgeons or hunters. The words are different but the meaning is always the same. For the Ministry of Magic we rove the world and do what is needed to bring these people to justice. I’ve been an Auror for little over thirty-two-years, but worked in the department of Wizard corrections for ten years before that, it’s a tough life with months of tedious pain stacking and boring detective work punctuated by moments of shear terror and action. We all have different methods in our hunt for the Dark Wizards and their followers; old Berlandce Alsfender has a routine of over twenty staff. When she arrives in a town she uses her position and authority to scare answers from the locals ensuring co-operation, often wiping the memory of any and all Muggles who witness their actions. My way however, is stealth. I work quietly without making trouble behind the scenes of a community to bring justice to those lacking in the niceties of Magic. This has made me a useful tool to those in the ministry when secrecy is called for. I still remember that day six years ago. It was a cold morning when I was called into the presence of the Lord-Aurors our highest masters. They needed a job done and I was the lucky person to get it. Don’t get me wrong I love my work. It’s beyond work it’s a calling. We risk our lives for the greater good, not money or fame but just the knowledge that we take someone out from the path they have chosen and protect the innocent. I know I’m sounding like one of those tacky charmed recruitment posters you see in Diagon Alley going on and on for the Ministry but the fact is that its true. All of us Aurors do our work for that feeling of accomplishment and challenge in life.

The job the Lord-Aurors assigned me was deceptively simple sounding, as most of them are. Rumor said the ‘Cercle du Ronce’ had again resurfaced after seventy years of hiding. They were a small cult of Wizards and Witches dedicated to the enslavement of Muggles. They were said to have a small band of followers in the midst of a Muggle town located five hours outside of London, and ever so slowly they were taking control, trying to escape notice. But the spies of the Aurors are everywhere and confirmed word of their resurface came via one of our undercover owls. My mission was to enter, assess the situation and then act “with the full weight of my office”. The final part was given to all missions and is what allows us the use of any and all magic means at our disposal, in short it is our license to act in any way we see fit to accomplish our mission. But as soon as I entered the town everything went to hell. Somehow the Circle had learned of my arrival and preparations had been made to combat me. The band had taken control of all the Muggles in town, bending them to the dark Wizards and Witches own warped ideals using curses and charms. This would take months of magic de-programming from our fellows in the ‘Department of Muggle Relations’, not that Angus Weasley minded, he had been as bored as a fire newt in an oven at his new job, but with his baby son Arthur now here, he had decided to transfer out of the Auror Section to a job with less demanding hours and fewer risks. The controlled Muggles, while powerless to truly stop me, slowed me down long enough for the escape of the higher ranks in the Circle responsible for the atrocities here. For five long years I have tracked this band of followers seeking to remove the stain of my failure. While not the worst group I have brought down they do seem to be the most organized, and they have the forewarning of when and where I will strike making them always seemingly one step ahead of me, but today is the day I will catch and finally crush them.

My failure of six years past will finally be brought about, I had told no one but my most immediate superiors of my plans and for the last six months the ‘Cercle du Ronce’ had been falling back into their old patterns and the network of helpers and spies I had established throughout England finally funneled the information back to me. I had taken my time in acting, letting them get established within a town, letting them feel comfortable. When I finally moved I entered the town at dusk, slipping past their mystic defenses. They truly thought they were safe and finally rid of me, having kept a low profile for so long they must of thought I had moved on, obviously they didn’t know me as well as they thought, for I would never give up a case, no matter how long it would take. I went to ground within the town above the local inn, studying their movements and waiting for my moment, I can never describe the restraint that was needed as I saw cultist after cultist pass me by, I relived the last six years of hunting and chasing every little rumor whenever I saw one, and never could I mistake any of them, after this much time I saw them in my sleep, they haunted my nightmares, mocking me with their freedom, this would be one batch of people I would be glad to hand over to the Dementors at Azkaban.

Sitting in that hot and cramped loft above the inn, I thought about all of my actions and decisions over the last six years. My colleagues at the ministry are always talking behind my back, they think they are quiet but I could hear them whispering as I walk past them in the hallways, they say that I have become to closely involved in my case, that it is affecting my reasoning, my judgment. They say I am becoming sloppy and losing my cool. However, the most troubling thought is that they may be right, but I could never give it up, because now it’s all I have. This case or quest, call it what you will, it consumes my every waking moment. I could not and would not fail again. My mind ran over and over again the information I had learnt in my six years of following the “Circle”. A group of Wizards and Witches led by the infamous Lady Vorshet, a French Witch born over two-hundred years ago, she was trained at Beauxbatons Academy excelling in the use of magic charms. But no one foresaw the dark nature and path she would turn to. After leaving the Academy she came into possession of a dark and forbidden text that was written in the darkest times of Wizardry over a thousand years ago. This accursed text warped her mind. The more she studied it the more it gave her concepts she would never think of herself, dark thoughts, dark concepts and her mind this darkness took seed. These ideas were those of Necromancy and controlling the dead and how to perform dark pacts with magical creatures, where she willingly exchanged her very essence for power. But with this power came insanity and more rabid emotions, as well as an insatiable hunger for the essence of others. In her delusion she believed she was the prophesied leader of the Wizarding world who would reclaim the world from the Muggles. She now looked at them like cattle to be used and discarded when they were no longer fit to serve. During her travels she gathered a group of followers that shared the same feelings towards Muggles, and hunger for power. When whispers reached the Ministry of Magic of her evil plans and growing force she disappeared into the night to teach and pass on the knowledge of that dark and forbidden text to those that had followed her.

Their first surfacing was fifty years later, they arrived in the dead of night at a small Muggle village in France, and she did not use the same tactics as she does today. When she entered it was in full force, stunning and enchanting half the population of the village before anyone knew what was happening, the other half were killed and… changed, putting into effect all she and her followers had learnt from that accursed book. She denied the dead Muggles final rest and turned those poor souls into her undead servants she set them around the town, ready to repel anyone who got to close. It took a combined effort from several offices of the Ministry of Magic to take her and her minions down and in the end it was decided best to destroy the Town in a fire and alter all the minds of the surviving Muggles, to think that was how their friends and family members were lost. It was known as one of the darkest days for our profession when it turned out Vorshet had escaped.

But escape she did, vanishing into the night and leaving behind a waking nightmare. It was a bloody day, with the fires still lasting into the night. There was no saving any of the Muggle souls that day; the only thing that could be done was to destroy the living-dead bodies that they still inhabited, scattering their essence into the wind and hope that some day they might a sort of peace. The heat was making me see and hear strange things as I sat in that dark and closed attic above the inn waiting for night, things from my past I had tried to bury deep within my heart. The screams of a young Muggle girl as I destroyed her dead yet alive mother, burning her body away from the soul within, the look in her eyes as I altered her memory, trying to force the horrors of the night away. There are times my life is terrible and the acts I do beyond justification. But do them I shall, for the good of us all.

As night fell, I made ready for the job at hand. Over the years I have accumulated a number of magical devices to aid in the tasks set before me. While not as powerful as some other ones I have seen throughout the years, they are still potent in the right hands and they give me advantage over those who seek to destroy our way of life and set themselves above us all. I brought each one from my shoulder bag and unwrapped each object, testing them before their use. My first item is an ocular that allows me to see charmed fields and spelled items. It was gifted to me the day I was released from my apprenticeship by my master. It had saved my life on many occasions, stopping me from blundering into traps lain by my prey. The next item were the robes I was wearing, imbued by an ancient gypsy mystic they give me tolerance over the strongest heat for a brief period of time, they too had saved my life many time over. Although they had definitely seen better days and are showing various degrees of burns all over. My most important item however, and coincidently the one that gives me the greatest joy, is my boots. Made from Dragon-Hide taken from an Australian Desert Dragon, they were designed and crafted by the master artesian from Trinity and Co in the south of Portugal. A one of a kind make, the boots give me the ability to walk in shadows, secluded from all sight, magical or mundane. As you might as well of guessed, all these items contribute to what I see as my greatest asset, my stealth. For it is in that way that I get close enough to act, taking down the head of the beast in hopes that the body of the Hydra will die quietly in the night. But if it does not, as the case sometimes is, there are over forty Aurors from the Magical Enforcement Squad waiting in the hills surrounding the village, ready to enter with prejudice and end the existence of the Dark Witches and Wizards within. That was my last resort; a signal in the air would bring their wraith down upon this town and everyone within, both Muggle and Wizard. For this, you see, was my last chance, if I fail at this I will be ‘released’ from this service to pursue a life outside the Realm of the Aurors. A horrible thought no doubt but one that hangs over my ever decision. As night fell I fought to control the excitement that always seems to take over in these situations, I controlled my breathing ignoring the adrenaline that was seeping though my veins, it was time to go and end the threat of the dark lady one way or another.

My late master the Lady Constance, as she was known in our circles, always told me I was far to excited in my tasks. She told me that only the rational and calm mind ever ‘caught the prize’ for her life was just one large game to be played, won and lost with the roll of fate and a cast of dice. I hoped she was looking favorably upon me from wherever the afterlife puts Aurors for before the night was out I knew I would need the help. With my mind ready and arsenal prepared I slowly moved towards the Attic trap door, grasping the metal handle in one I reached into my robes and removed my wand. Whispering the word ‘Taciturnus’ to mute the screeching of old hinges I gently lifted the door. Looking down, I saw that the owner of the Inn had lighted flame lamps down the corridor; the Lady Vorshet had attacked the minds of the muggles carefully, only altering what she needed for total loyalty, while leaving the minds intact for the day to day living. I knew from experience that she liked to leave her victims like this, she thought it made it easier to capture unsuspecting muggles who would pass through, those were the ones she tortured and played with, tormenting them until their minds gave out and everything that they were was stripped away like flesh beneath a whip. I waited for a count of ten before dropping from the Attic, my robes flaring out to slow my descent and the bending on my knees on contact mask the sound. On the whole Wizards are mostly out of shape, not fat, but definitely not athletic, a trend more and more common amongst the younger generations, but as an Auror it is trained that the body must be able and as such we work to make it also a tool in our tasks. The drop was nothing to worry about, but I knew better than to stand out in the open of a hostile house, moving down the corridor as quickly as I dared I stopped at a closed door that would lead me to the kitchen. Pushing my wand through the lock so the tip poked out the other side I whispered the word ‘conspicio’ and my vision was that from the end of my wand, a handy trick to say the least, turning the wand it gave me a view of the room and I could see the movement of the Innkeepers wife cooking the food that the Witches and Wizards would soon desire. A merry tune was coming through the door and I realized that she was humming, completely unaware of her state and the actions she was doing, to her it was natural to cook for those that enslaved her, as natural as it was for her husband to continue to light the Inn for its non-existent patrons. I removed my wand and my sight was restored, I grasped the handle and turned it slowly opening the door as the wife continued to stir the pot she was tending on the stove, I held my wand out before me pointing towards her and closed the door slowly with my other hand. As I approached her I remembered the song she was humming, it was an old Muggle tune called the ‘White Cliffs of Dover’, the song was hypnotic and I walked closer and closer listening to the tune until I could almost touch her, reaching out I touched her with the tip of my wand and spoke the magical word quietly, just above a whisper so as to not disturb the lady any more than I had to, the spell took effect immediately and she started to sag towards the floor. I caught her with one arm and placed her in a chair, the spell would last but a few minutes and the effect would not be remembered but it was useful to acquire information for the mind was open to questioning while the victim slept. I spoke quietly but firmly, the mind would still repress information what should not be told, but with gentle prodding one could learn much. “When do your guests come for Dinner?” I asked, hoping that her re-structured mind could still answer questions. “After dark fall, always at night” she spoke back, her voice sleepy and slow. “Does the Lady Vorshet attend dinner?” “I don’t know” she mumbled her eyes fluttering. She would wake soon; I knew I had to be quick “How many come for Dinner?” I asked in the hopes to learn the exact numbers of Wizards or Witches that I might face. “Always ten, dressed in red, but it’s not material, its blood, but it’s not their blood…” I could hear her fear even when she was in the magical sleep. These dark souls enjoyed their victims fear; it gave them the power they so desperately craved. Leaving her asleep I crossed the kitchen to the back door that lead to an alley behind a number of houses down the main lane, opening the door and with one last look at the Inn’s kitchen I slipped out into the darkness.


Night had fallen quickly, as it does this time of year in England, and Lady Vorshet’s Muggle minions had lit flame lamps down the main road to combat the darkness. Moving down the darkened alley I moved from house to house staying in the shadow that the lights had made. I only had a rough plan in my head on how to achieve my goal. I have often found that complex plans with intricate details are often the ones that will fail most outright. Lady Vorshet and her followers had taken up residence within the village church located in the center of town. It was an old structure with ancient catacombs beneath the two-story building and was dotted with steeples reminiscent of Gothic design. I knew from my previous encounters that all the entrances and normal means to gain access would be trapped or blocked, but still I held surprise on my side and that was a very powerful tool in the right hands.

More to come if its deemed worthy enough...