Chapter Text
Office of the Metropolitan Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, British Ministry of Magic, London
15th Aug., 2.30pm
Nicholas Angel, born to a middle-class muggle family and raised in London, graduated from Ravenclaw House, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with an overall ‘E’ and seven E-grade N.E.W.T.s certificates, including Defence against the Dark Arts, Potion, and Transfiguration, excelled in subjects including Concealment and Disguise, Counter-Jinx Theories and Practicals, Break-in Strategies, First-Aid, and Muggle Communication Skills when receiving further education in the Law Enforcement Training Program, from which he graduated with a distinguished certificate as top of the class, currently serving in the Metropolitan Regional Patrol Squad, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, British Ministry of Magic, also participated in various extracurricular muggle activities and winning regional competitions in Judo, Boxing, and Programming, had three injuries from work, the most recent one being a bite in the right calf by a jinxed vending machine, which attempted to swallow up muggles when they walk up to buy drinks.
But that’s not what’s made him upset. Not even close.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Nicholas looked at his superior as if in utter confusion, ‘There has not been a single report of incidents in Sandford for YEARS. In fact, if you don’t mind double-checking the records, I’m sure it is the only piece of soil in England which our people don’t even tread.’
It’s his way of saying ‘It’s boring, and I don’t have a bloody clue why you suggest assigning me there, sir.’
‘Good afternoon, Nicholas,’ said the head of the division with a coy smile, ‘How’s your leg?’
‘Much better, sir,’ Nicholas answered in a tone as stiff as his pressed lips, but his right leg twitched upon sitting down on the only piece of furniture in the office that was not about to be buried by a neighbouring pile of parchment and other stationaries, for just seconds before he apparated here, he and his team were in the south, chasing down a group of wizards suspected of illegally raising and smuggling Chimaera—what was worse was that their suspicion proved true, and his wand was still seething with smoke from all the wrong spots, ‘I would prefer staying in the field. If it’s my underperformance in any of the recent missions that has led you to such a decision, please at least give me the opportunity to have my reports reviewed. Once. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll have to go back there and see if…’
‘Just chill, Nicholas,’ a quill gently but firmly suppressed his right hand as his superior spoke, ‘We are not talking about underperformance here. Frankly speaking, it’s the very opposite! We are giving you a promotion! You entered the Auror Training Program two years ago, and your results were—let’s see, where is it? Oh, here—exceptional. Your application for a place in the Auror Office, however, was deferred back then because they didn’t have any, quote, vacancies in the Metropolitan Divisions as the applicant specifically asked, unquote, but…’
For about thirty seconds, Nicholas just sat and stared at his superior perfunctorily skimming through his profile in search of some equally perfunctory explanations, hesitating to interrupt. Nicholas Angel respects his superiors.
But he also has unparalleled zeal for his job and, subsequently, the determination to cling to it when the other option is to accept the promotion and work in Sandford, the only town in the UK without any trace of magic or hence magical incidents since before the time of the Second Wizarding War.
‘Sorry, sir, I’m a bit lost. Moreover, I think my team…’ He pointed at the door. His superior looked up from the parchment.
‘Don’t worry, they’re just Chimaerai!’ He threw a light-hearted look at the slightly burnt end of Nicholas’ left eyebrow, as if that was the greatest damage a pack of illegally raised, fire-breathing magical beasts could ever do, ‘The ladies and gentlemen of the Patrol Squad can deal with them just fine. Now back to our subject. You know, they offer double the salary of what you currently have. Our currency has been depreciating against the sterling for quite a long time now, which must have cause great pressure on muggle-born employees like you…’
‘As far as I’m aware, no one is dissatisfied with my current salary,’ Replied Nicholas a little too readily to be respectful, ‘On top of that, if I may remind you, sir, our Squad is a team, and I am…’
He was interrupted by several loud noises of apparition, as members of the 1st Squad appeared in the office with their suspects held captive, all of them smell of burnt fibre. Now the office is completely stuffed without the space for even a house elf, and the last one to apparate directly sat on the shoulders of her colleague, sparks of flame twinkling on her hair.
‘Nicholas!’ Said she with a smoke-choked, sharp voice, as if coming back from a mediocre carnival with those out-of-date fireworks and confetti-spitting fake wands, ‘Are we late for a Leaving Party?’
Nicholas stared around incredulously, but his colleagues all gave him that irritatingly cheerful and genuinely inquisitive look.
‘Oh so he’s fired? Good for you!’ Mumbled a wizard with one cheek bruised, it sounded like one or two of his teeth were knocked out of place, too, ‘He didn’t even use a spell! An Auror, kicking and twisting my arms without using his bloody wand! Guess now there’s no need of a complaint, huh?’
Nicholas didn’t bother to correct him that he was not an Auror just yet.
Some Random Street, Newton Haven
20th Oct., 1.00am
Gary King never would have guessed that things escalated so quickly, in the least imagined direction.
‘Andy! Andy where the hell’s your wand?’ He yelled at Andy breathlessly. Every breath he took was accompanied by a painful intake of chilling air that drained his throat.
From the shadows on the ground, he could see someone running up close from behind—but that was not Andy, he knew by merely looking at the arm rigidly stretched out.
‘Stupefy!’ Gary casted the spell before he even looked back.
The shadow seemed stalled for a second or two and soon resumed the movement. Good to know it wasn’t Andy or Steven, but, for the past two hundred metres of the chase, that was the eleventh spell proved ineffective, and that was bloody terrifying.
Someone grasped his left arm from the blind spot on the side. Gary twitched reflexively before he fiercely kicked and resisted—all while still limping forward as fast as possible. Those stupid human lightbulbs were impairing his sight, and it was increasingly difficult to point his wand. But Gary King had never been known for his sight of an eagle or his combat skills, and if he had to, he’d smash the blank's bloody head open with the wand as if it’s just a handy piece of twig, as long as that would stop anyone touching his left arm without permission.
‘Don’t you dare—!’ He hissed with his eyes shut.
His right wrist was also in a firm grip before he moved it by an inch, but he did not stop the wrestling, as they stumbled into the narrow space that was a storage cabin in someone’s backyard.
Somehow he could tell from the panting that it must be Andy—a blank didn’t pant, nor would they have put a hand on the back of his waist lest he hit the pile of wood. He seemed unscratched by the dim light of the night; even his glasses were more or less intact, otherwise Gary’s blind struggle would probably have gouged his eyes out.
‘Merlin's beard! Andy, it’s you—’ Gary stuttered, still out of breath, ‘I thought it was…’
‘Still the good ol’ fierce Gary fucking King.’ Andy replied with an exhausted grin, ‘You just never, ever listen to anyone, do you?’
Gary squinted in confusion. That wasn’t a grin of sarcasm, but Andy’s tone was a mixture of affectionate understanding and serious reproach. All these years apart and he could still pin it down in the blink of an eye.
‘What--?’
‘The wand! Spells just won't work in this bloody town, because that silly bastard down there said that they have cooperated with the local service providers to block out magic like they block cell phone signals.’
‘Well what shall we do then?’ Asked Gary in a low-key hysterical manner, ‘We lost Steven and Sam within ten metres away from the World’s End, got chased down the street, trapped in this bloody closet, and had our magic blocked by the service providers.’
‘Sam and Steve should be on their way up to London.’ Muttered Andy, ‘They must be safe. We have to find a way out of here, and report to the police as soon as possible.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Said Gary, his breath calmed down, ‘But, mind if I ask what is ‘the please’?’
‘Sorry, wrong word. I mean the…the…what do we call ‘em here again?’
‘The Aurors.’ Gary replied before comprehending any part of it.
‘Yep. That’s it.’
Gary made a quick gesture asking him to stay silent. The unmistakable blue flashed through the slits of the cabinet, and they would have twenty seconds at most to think up an escape plan.
And Gary King would still be the kind of person to spend the first ten seconds secretly congratulating himself on the long-lost friendship finally restored.