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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 23 2012, 04:13 PM (120 Views) | |
| Post #1 Aug 23 2012, 04:13 PM | mchlhstr |
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This is a story about the little-known doings of the Ministry of Magic's top counter-espionage director, George Doolidge, from the first rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the roundup of followers shortly after his second collapse. Chapter 1: Look Back and Laugh George Doolidge was a shorter-than-average, portly tree stump of a man. The balding brown hair jabbing its way from under his flannel bowler had an uncanny way of giving passersby the idea that he had ran the track a few times. He wore a thick mustache that had a way of projecting authority whenever he entered a room. That projection was not at all unwarranted, seeing as George was the architect of many raids that landed many of the Death Eaters and their followers in Azkaban the first time Voldemort was killed. A man with as much influence as George was bound to wield a sense of power and respect few earned in these halls anymore, mustache or not. This enduring reputation spawned from his hard work and determination for justice as Voldemort had begun to rise nearly fifteen years ago. And how the times have changed at the Ministry since... At the time of the Dark Lord's first ascension, George was a fresh recruit to the Auror Department, the witches and wizards charged with catching their dark, criminal counterparts. Unlike many of his peers looking to become a professional hotshot, George wasn't interested in fame. Most of his peers saw their glory and accomplishments as being summed up with a single front page spread in the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper. If anything, George was far more content having his struggles and accomplishments play out in the margins of the pages in the back. He was dedicated to solving the most puzzling issues of the age, and leaving a meaningful legacy that would have lasting effects on wizarding society for centuries. Often while George's peers spent their free evenings in pubs, sharing butterbeer and fraternizing with the lady secretaries in the Office of Magical Economic Affairs, he would occupy his time developing grand visions for the future of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or the DMLE as some insiders liked to call it. Upon completing his Auror training, including advanced courses on "stealth and tracking" and "concealment and disguise", George Doolidge was one of the most knowledgeable and capable wizards in all of the DMLE (and, worth mentioning, one of the youngest). Various other courses were created and pioneered by George himself during his training, including courses that could only be spawned from the dark and troubling times they faced at the Ministry of Magic. Some of these courses were meant to hone advanced defensive spells, and others to produce shield charms that could protect anything from escaping informants to small buildings from destructive dark magic. A few general courses were available as well, dealing with healing injuries and stemming the flow of curses and poisons until a victim could reach or be transported to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries just inside London. George Doolidge was convinced the Auror Department needed to be flexible and responsive to any number of crises. No one knew what to expect with such darkness plaguing the country; that was the unfortunate truth. He felt it his responsibility to have the framework for rapid responsiveness and adaptability in his department. Disaster was bad enough, but being unprepared could magnify the situation exponentially. There was always a thick atmosphere of unease in the Department. Everyone felt there was to be a seemingly inevitable battle looming with the Death Eaters and their various bands of followers across Western Europe. At times he even felt it was his obligation, his civic duty to show responsibility and leadership where others did not. After all, the enemy was ruthless, cunning, and starved for power beyond imagination. Doolidge was convinced that, with the rising tensions among various magical factions, the tension had to snap at some point. Would there be a decisive battle, or would the Death Eaters move in darkness to pick off one-by-one the people most likely to serve as a rallying point post-conflict? If it were a battle, where would such a conflict take place? Voldemort's main target surely had to be the Ministry of Magic, the heart of Britain's magical community. But what would be the end goal? Would You-Know-Who enslave the magical population of Britain? Complete destruction seemed highly unlikely, but cleansing of Muggle-born witches and wizards could definitely not be ruled out. No matter what the end goal, George Doolidge was adamantly opposed to letting any of those possibilities come to fruition. George's office was just inside the front entrance to the Ministry of Magic, followed by an elevator ride to the top of the interior tower offices. This was most fortunate, as he did not enjoy long walks quite as much as he used to. Years of being an Auror can have a great effect on willpower once one finally sat down and realized how sore the feet of an Auror became after so long on the job. George laughed at the thought of this, remembering an undercover assignment working with Muggle police in Nottingham many years back, fresh into his role as an Auror. Chapter 2: Betrayal George's first assignment was pursuing a man named Theodore Roshan. This particular dark wizard had been on the run for collaboration with the wrong sort of people, and had holed up in a Muggle home while the family had been gone on vacation. Irresponsible and risky as it was, Theo had not thought to consider the return date of the family. Fascinated with the discovery of Muggle television, he fell asleep in front of the set in their sitting room. The Muggles, upon arriving and entering their home, startled Theo and he sprang awake. He leveled his wand at them in a flash and shouted, "Stupefy!" blasting the wife and two children who had entered first back through the doorway. Theo charged for the back door and found it locked. Having no patience for Muggle locks, he shouted, "Alohamora!" The door was blasted open. The husband of the family had seen everything from the sitting room window. Seeing Theo flee towards the back of the house, he quickly brandished his pistol from the car and charged to the backyard to head him off. He was waiting for Theo as the door flung open. Recognizing the weapon from the Muggle television, Theo froze and stared. "You're going in, you son of a bitch. Put down that stick before I take your head off", said the Muggle man. "I'm a police officer. You've found yourself in the wrong place, son." Theo began to lower his hand, but just before it touched the ground, the man heard him mutter under his breath. There was a sudden, loud crack, and the man turned on the spot and vanished before his eyes. Moments later, an owl was crashing through George's window on the far side of London bringing in the rain and the howling wind along with it. George bolted upright out of bed and faced the post carrier, drawing his wand and blasting a glass vase near where the owl had crash landed. "Goodness, ruddy owl! Getting more and more reckless with the breeding, I think... I'll need to write to Gasterby about that. Oh, anyways..." muttered George as he untied the letter tied around its ankle. This comment landed him a reproachful nip on the hand from the owl, who clearly though his work ought to be treated more respectively after flying clear across London in this kind of weather. George whipped back his hand, putting his bleeding finger to his mouth before examining the letter. "What have we got this evening, at this time of night, my feathered friend?" George tore open the letter, throwing caution to the howling winds outside and stroking the owl between the ears. It was a summons from the Ministry; there had been an attack on a Muggle family in the north, near Nottingham. Seeing as George was still "the new guy" in the Auror office despite his accomplishments thus far, he had been volunteered for the on-call night duty. This, being one such night he had been called in, had been occurring steadily more often the past few months. With a long sigh, he changed into a suit and threw on his cloak. George decided time was not to waste if he was to deal with the issue in time to make it back home for some rest before the typical long day ahead of him. Under ordinary circumstances, George might fly into work on his broom as a kind of relaxant before facing the bureaucracy. Seeing as the weather warranted no such decision, he stepped out onto the porch and with a crack, he felt the familiar feeling of being squeezed through a rubber tube, and he appeared before the statue in the entrance hall of the Ministry. He continued at a brisk pace to the Auror headquarters several floors down. Upon stepping off the elevator, he saw the full assembly of his department scattered about the office. Many of them were paired off talking in whispers, others around tables with their heads in their hands. Whether this was due either to the lateness of the hour or the disparity of the situation, George did not know. George peered around cautiously, not knowing what to expect at the sight of so many people being called in. Was all this force necessary for just a single attack on a family? Gathering what he could from the letter he received, he did not believe anyone to be dead. Instances of this caliber were typically delegated to a team of just a few officers. After all, evidence gathered from a magical attack was always quite limited. It appeared George was the last one to arrive. Barty Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, caught sight of George and called the room to attention with a clearing of his throat. A thick silence fell across the room, and he began to speak immediately. "All right, now everyone's arrived. No need to waste time, I know none of you are quite in the mood given the present hour. I called some of you in based on an attack we heard about about a half an hour ago. Now that would have only taken a few of you, yes I know. But luckily we had an Auror in the area that made it to the scene quickly. Alastor Moody was on the scene within ten minutes, and decided it was clear. The Muggles were sent to St. Mungo's, and the police had just began to leave when a group of no less than twelve Death Eaters apparated into the area. In the interest of time, here's the rundown. Two of the police were killed on the spot, and three stunned. The rest have fled the scene, no doubt awaiting backup to approach the area. Two of the Death Eaters were killed by the Muggle weapons as well, and Alastor managed to stun four of them. The rest are still in the Muggle house as we speak, as Alastor managed to put an anti-Apparation charm on the building with a few of our men stationed at choke points around the house. We need to prepare a full memory modification team, but in the meantime, I need a group to head there immediately and help secure the scene before the Muggle police run in and blast everything they see. George, I want you to head this up. Take six with you. I'll be there within twenty with the Memory Modification Squad." George's eyes had progressively grown wider as she spoke. He was snapped into reality upon hearing his name. It was finally his chance to take tangible, effective action and make a great example of just how effective he could be. He snapped into action at once. He took one quick glance around, and decided on who was to accompany him. "Alright, any volunteers? Fine, let's see. Shacklebolt, Savage, Proudfoot, the Longbottoms, and… you there, what's your name?" George spotted the newest Auror to the department, a muscly man just less than two meters. "Dawlish, is it? Well, time to try on your new hat as Auror. Let's go. Moody's good, but every minute he's alone, the longer we will hear about it." They piled into the elevator, and sprinted across the entrance hall. George stopped and turned to the group. "We had Magical Transportation set up a fire on the Floo network across the street at a Muggle house, whose family is on vacation. Let's remember to be courteous and clean. This means you especially, Savage." The man named Savage nodded with an ashamed grin. "Only kidding, of course. Alright, let's get on with it then." They each grabbed a pinch of powder and tossed it into one of the many fireplaces lining the corridor, shouting the address and disappearing into the green flames the powder produced. They landed in a rather ordinary sitting room. A few couches, chairs, coffee tables and such things. George pulled out his wand and whispered "Tergeo!" effectively mopping up the mess their cloaks made on the pearl white carpet. He took a look around at his team, all accounted for. "The Muggles that own this house are on vacation in the Canary Islands. Imagine that." The wizards around him gave a soft chuckle. "Alright, off we go. Keep your wands out of sight, and keep talking to a minimum. Last thing we need at this point is to summon a team of obliviators. And if the Muggle authorities ask, we are from the 'Home Office' and pursuing a known fugitive." George received nods from the others, and headed for the exit. The group marched through the front door to an unusual scene. There were three Muggle police cars in front of the house in question, doors wide open. The officers were huddled around a man, who appeared to be either dumbstruck or possibly in shock.. The man turns out to be the poor sap who had just lost his wife and daughter to what could only be described as "magic". Seeing the dozen or so cloaked men approach the group of officers, Doolidge reaches inside his coat and pulls out an ID. Doolidge clears his throat and starts, "Doolidge, Home Office. We've already been briefed, you and your men need to clear out of the area immediately. We'll take it from here." The officers, stunned, look to each other until a leader emerges to speak for them. "Sir, uh, Doolitch, you say? Look, I've never heard of you, but we are dealing with a potential kidnapping—" As if on queue, dozens of cracks sound out around them, and dozens of men appear in the area, no doubt the Memory Mod Squad that George was expecting. The men immediately begin to pair off with the individual officers, and the few bystanders in their yards trying to inconspicuously watch while watering flowers at midnight. Memory modification had to be done right the first time, because continuous modification could unintentionally leave one's mind a little warped. They worked quickly, posing as members of the British Home Office handling a Top Secret investigation, and it would be in everyone's safety and best interest to leave the matter to them. The more skilled of the modifiers would add a flick of their wands, giving the receiver a bit of will and initiative to listen closely. Doolidge missed the days when work was so easy. Just a couple flicks of the wand, and back home to a warm bed. Within two or three minutes, the police had left and the modification squad was wrapping up and disappearing with a simple crack, albeit in less conspicuous places, so as to not have to redo their work. HEAVY EDITING AND MORE CONTENT TO COME. SUGGESTIONS.. WELCOME? Also, thinking of turning this into a freewrite realm as well, but that remains to be seen. Feedback and criticism is encouraged and appreciated!" |
New Realmer
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2:16 AM Jul 11