[IC] The Ministry of magic has fallen- they are coming- A Harry Potter RP

[TheDookieNut]

Colab Post - Crafty and TDN

The huge, cavernous atrium of the Ministry had always been bustling with life. As soon as a single clock began to strike 8:50 the whole building sprung to life. Fireplaces erupted with puffs of green flames over and over on either side of the entrance hall. Hundreds of hands and hundreds of feet walking and shuffling towards the appropriate offices and the necessary floors, each carrying that unmistakable and lingering anxiety they all shared. Something was going on and there was no denying they could all feel it. No matter who they were, everyone within the Ministry could feel the fear as if they were trying to swim through treacle, thick and heavy. As if each one of them were trying to escape, water already up to their knees but too shallow to swim. The crowds didn't share their usual cheer, but instead bundled together like penguins during a blizzard, protecting their eggs with all the strength they had left.

The atrium was a see of brown robes, flecks of the occasional green, purples and reds. In the increasing crowds often made it more difficult to push through to find a familiar face or chase after someone important. In between the ocean of colours were darker shapes, like fish beneath the surface, shifting through the crowd with ease. Both were dressed in black, from head to foot; the uniform kept them together, bound and tight. The pair aimed for the first of many elevators, although the latter of the two hurried his way through the crowds, shoving and pushing until a single hand could grab the black material of his colleague in front.

"When we got there, you and Wiles were gone." The man spoke with an urgent tone, his voice hushed and low. It was always their way: Keep it quiet, don't let anyone know. "The whole place was a blaze. We didn't think either of you had survived." Arthur Travers, a smaller man, with a wirey frame yet piercing eyes that seemed to bubble with an intelligence that no one really understood. Having trained as an Obliviator for a few years, the man took up the opportunity to join George and the band of Hit Wizards on the second floor of the Ministry. His usual cheery demenour was gone, replaced with a tired and worried expression. "We only found two of them. What happened?" He asked, pulling his friend in close.

"Wiles got there first. I saw six by the time I arrived, it must have been seconds after. The building wasn't on fire to begin with but whole street would have gone up if we hadn't chased them into the countryside." George spoke, his voice sore and jaded. Things were getting worse. They'd lost more than a dozen muggles this month to Snatchers in the north. Despite the Azkaban breakout the previous week, there had only been a small number of Death Eater sightings, yet the number of werewolves, giants, and whatever other scum the world had to offer were only increasing. Maxsim Dolohov, one of George's closest friends, was laid in St Mungo's at precisely that moment, struggling to recover from a rather nasty blow to the head and a life-changing scratch on his arm. "We caught two, one I lost, the rest of them we lost track of." Capture not kill was the way they'd been trained but in the heat of battle, often that wasn't always the easiest thing.

George pulled from his friend quickly enough and passed him a nod before turning back towards the lifts. They wouldn't speak again until they reached the safety of their Department. They weren't supposed to tell the rest of the Ministry the truth. They were prescribed with a code, a list of what truths there were allowed to speak and what statistics they had to reduce. A full scale panic wasn't what they needed. The elevator crowed quickly enough, with the unaffected voice of the elevator dictating the name and number of the floor it reached.

Floor Two - Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Travers slipped between two elderly wizards and turned to look at George as the gates pulled shut again.
"They were Spanish." He smiled as the lift disappeared back into the dark, speeding off into the rest of the Ministry that muggle London wasn't even aware of. George pulled his robes around him a little more, tugging on the sleeve of his right arm as like a child trying to hide something from his parents.

Floor Four - Department of Experimental Charms

The two elderly wizards made a step forwards before feeling the strong arm of the youngest Nott son push past and into the green marble hallways beyond. Everyone never seemed to be in a rush here. Two floors below and everyone was always rushing, dashing from place to place. It was almost serene travelling this far up the Ministry. George looked a commodity in the corridors, walking past witches and wizards doning all colours of the rainbow. He never passed them a smile, never bothered to greet any one he passed in the halls. It wasn't ignorance or arrogance, just a lack of care; he was so much like his brother's, minus the need to murder and seek the company of the Dark Lord himself.

He walked round a corner and stopped before one door. Without the curtosy of knocking, George pushed the door open. The handle rattled against the stone wall and every one inside the office seemed to shake, jumping and suddenly alert like rabbits. George glanced over each of them and stopped his attention on a blonde women inside the room. He lifted his arm, waved her over and whistled. Taking a short number of steps outside the office, George waited, not bothering to hold the door open for Caroline. When she finally arrived, George pulled back his sleeve and revealed what seemed to be the most intricate and detailed tree he'd ever seen.

"What the fuck is this?" He asked, lifting it towards her. George knew offensive spells, more than most, in fact, he was beginning to wonder if he even knew any defensive spells any more.

She moved back a small smile on her face hand reaching into her robes for her wand

"That's a beauty" she rolled the wand between her fingers talking half to herself half to the Hit Wizard before her. "I've never seen this hex before but I've heard about it" She began to run her wand round the arm as if wrapping a bandage

"it comes from the foothills of the Pyrenees, where a couple of early wizarding settlements had a bit of a tiff everyone now and then and used to raid each other. From what I read it was more for shits and giggles than any particular reason but this was a parting shot used to try and disfigure and weaken one of the raiders." She tapped the mark 3 times. "wherever it hits it turns your skin to bark and your blood to sap and using the bloodstream spreads throughout the body. The mark is small but, see the little branches above. It has already spread through your smallest arteries and veins. Within 3 nights it is said it spreads through the bloodstream and at that point there is nothing more you can do. Skin and muscle will turn to bark and the limb becomes useless."

A complicated little wave and the mark seemed to peel off the skin like a plaster, a small wooden strip with leaves and roots of glittering green liquid. She carried on talking her voice distant as she studied the undulating tentacles.
"Lucky you were not hit in the heart, they say a heart shot turns the whole body to bark and reports of such a death is not pretty. It is said if you listen to folklore that those that died from a strike to the heart are the origins of cremation, the villagers burned their bodies in the hope their souls may be reunited with their ancestors in the afterlife" A twist of her wand and the tiny tree vanished as Nott went on as if nothing had happened.

He watched her during the entire process, not exactly entranced. Her curiosity was attractive, as it was in anyone, but the sheer excitement irked him to the core. It was only a spell, he couldn't understand the obsession these guys had with old magic. Clearly his relationship with magic was different.

[Eschatologist]

Billy Coopers emerged from the main Magical Law Enforcement floo network particularly disheveled. He had become less and less of an early riser since his assignment to Britain, and the fact was troubling to him. He had spent the better part of thirty years waking up at 5am, some of the time accompanied by magical trumpets blaring reveille at an uncomfortable volume, but usually of his own accord. Early rising was something one learned, and Billy had taken pleasure in being cogent multiple hours before his friends and family. His duties at the Ministry started rather later, and perhaps it was age catching up with him but he had found his bed more and more appealing in the early hours of the morning.

It was a particularly shameful morning for Billy on this note, in that he had woken up only a score of minutes before he appeared in a burst of green flame at the Ministry, and he had not had time to appear particularly presentable, his blue and black robes still in the process of magically ironing themselves, and bearing a stain that the enchantments had not yet removed. He made for his small office with a purposeful gait, not hurried but certainly eager to begin the day and put the unfortunate morning behind him, hopefully with the help of a strong cup of coffee. He didn't see any particularly close acquaintances, but noticed a pair of aurors he dimly remembered giving him wary, almost scared looks. They had probably been part of his last Lake District expedition, he figured. It had barely been a week ago that he and a group of more seasoned aurors put two score of rookies through what Billy considered to be a realistic representation of rugged-terrain magical combat, but which he had heard termed by both sides as 'cruel', 'ridiculous', and even once 'nightmarish'.

The DMLE was less busy than other parts of the labyrinthine ministry, it being a department necessarily of wide lulls and violent spikes of activity, but there were still paper airplanes buzzing around, witches and wizards bustling about in various degrees of hurry, and the sound of a hundred voices all dictating quietly to an enchanted quill. He waved his greetings to the receptionist, a particularly friendly recent Hogwarts graduate named Lisa, with whom he'd shared several bored conversations. She nodded, her hands occupied, but called in her high-pitched voice "Good morning, Mr. Coopers!". When he continued walking past her desk, she spoke again, this time standing with a brown parcel in her hands.

"Package for you, Mr. Coopers. Down from International Cooperation."

Billy stopped and accepted the packet, absentmindedly checking for any outward distinguishing features as he responded.

"Thank you kindly, Ms. Halifax. Some nonsense from one of my folk back in the States, I reckon. If that's all, I gotta be on my way." She nodded, sitting back down, and he bid her farewell as he walked off, parcel in hand. His accent was as strong as ever, and it was odd for him to notice it. A sea of British folk talking to him in their way made his voice stick out like a sore thumb even to him, foreigners [especially from the Americas] particularly rare in the Ministry. He put it out of his mind with ease, though chuckled to himself at the thought of him picking up some of the English talk, wondering what Louise would think of him talking about 'biscuits' and 'crisps' and 'blokes'.

He entered his office and threw his package on the wide desk, enjoying for the millionth time the modern advances in space-creating charms as he surveyed an interior of an office that was at least four times larger than it appeared on the outside. It was a well-upholstered room, with carpet and a soft chair behind a mahogany desk covered in well-ordered but numerous piles of papers and documents. The Stars and Stripes hung on one wall, with the flag of the Wizarding States, a flag which in his opinion resembled the Stars and Bars a bit too much, hanging on the other. He sat down and opened the package, leafing through papers with a bored expression. They were mostly report requests, authorization acceptances and other miscellany. He found the most pertinent, if regular, request, one from his superiors at the embassy, simply wanting to know his lesson plans and send them back to Boston almost ritualistically, approval guaranteed as soon as the request was received. He had a great deal of autonomy, and he appreciated that, happy to be relatively free of red tape [though he found the idea that a parcel that weighed nearly a pound full of forms counted as 'free'].

He checked his schedule, reminding himself that his only actual training engagement today was with the actual Aurors, an occasion he looked forwards to. He had been forced to help regular Law Enforcement, seeing as the Auror numbers were rather low by themselves, but your average policeman [or whatever the Brits called them] didn't have much of a mind for real combat. Aurors were different, and being elite fighters with a dedicated interest in improving, they were a joy to teach. The pace at which they learned, however, made his job that much more difficult, seeing as he needed new curricula much more frequently than would be otherwise expected.

He sat for the better part of an hour in front of a sheaf of parchment, noting down ideas, most of which were immediately discarded. There were dozens of half-started paragraphs, with headers including 'Applications of Muggle Weapons', 'Appiration Prevention', 'Directional Appiration' and 'Scry-Sniping', a phrase he had become immeasurably fond of in the twenty minutes since he coined it. Frustrated at not having a particular direction, he eventually crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into empty space, an enchantment on the room teleporting the parchment to the recycling bins forty or so floors above him. He'd do something simple and familiar, have them fight three-on-three mock battles, maybe changing team numbers to introduce to the usually-numerical-superior Aurors the terrors of being outnumbered. It would be a good day.

His mind made up, he began working through the rest of the pound of missives, his quill a blur of measured, neat strokes.

[the crafty pig]

Heads of Department Meeting
10:37 am

"and that is why I feel cauldron thickness remains a priority even in these difficult times"

The speakers voice was a monotonous drone, glazed looks spreading like a disease.

Bloody fools, he wondered if they had these meetings just to waste his time, to occupy him and allow the old guard to stick their heads in the sand for one more blissful day. Had they forgotten that people were fighting and dying outside these walls..precious time slipping away as they sat there... did they not know their ministry was failing around them?

Even Potter knew it.... the previous evenings conversation still lingered in the back of his mind and his lips pursed as he ran a hand through his hair. The boy was petulant and ignorant, not knowing how easily a community could loose hope, not knowing how difficult it was to chase shadows in a guerilla war. What did he expect from him? He felt anger flare.... earned respect... he had been fighting dark wizards since whilst Saint Potter had been soiling his nappies.

Nevertheless he regretted it...his temper had always been held on a loose leash yet he needed the boy. The world believed and this was a war no man could win alone. Not even Dumbledore had survived his.... wrath... it had taken betrayal but still he been cast down.

A dry reedy cough was enough time for him to interject, his voice taking on a dangerous steely edge

"and how many men would you have us employ in this war against leaky bottoms, Archibald"

The buffoon before him did not notice the stony glare and he looked down at his notes missing the suddenly nervous glances of his neighbours.

"Minister I believe..." his voice died as Scrimgeour plucked the notes from his wizened hands and shredded them before his eyes.

"Get....out" growled Scrimgeour his attention turning to the remainder of the room even as the old man shuffled from the table

"Does anyone have anything pertinent to add to the discussion?" he continued pretending to ignore the indignant slam of the door... impressive force for an old boy.

" I do, Minister" came the oily voice of Thicknesse from the other end of the table.

Scrimgeour gave a wave of his hand settling back in his chair with a fleeting glance at Thicknesse eyes sliding across his greasy hair without a thought. Something made him pause, suddenly uneasy, senses unused but never forgotten bringing him to combat readiness. He had hardly seen the man over the last few days, his skin had a dull greyish sheen and for some reason Scrimgeour couldn't quite see his eyes.

Then he looked up and Scrimgeour suddenly realised the 10 other heads still sat round the table rose as one, 11 bodies in perfect syncronization... puppets dangling on a string

11 snakelike smiles and the same voice missed through 11 separate mouths

"We wish to discuss your resignation minister"

Outside his office he heard a woman screaming
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OOC
Billy:
10:37am
At some point during your missives you feel the need to get up, maybe coffee calls you, maybe conversation or maybe you just can't stand the site of that bloody script any more. Your halfway to the door, when you hear Lisa's voice

"Bobby... what the fuck do you think your doing, point that...."

You stiffen, combat ready before you hear a muffled word in a harsh cruel voice. You can hear movement outside. loud bangs but above all you can hear Lisa screaming, ear splitting screams, unforgivable screams.

You pull your door open and you can see the office is suddenly in chaos, desks have been turned over, people are unning, people are screaming, the flash of curses... a hex goes astray sending anti death eater pamphlets and suddenly you can't quite tell what's going on as their is a sudden snowstorm of paper. You find your eyes drawn to Lisa, eyes wide and bulging she is hanging as if strung up by her breasts chest pulled out, back arching in agony before a man who looks fascinated as if happily considering when she will snap.

The man is someone you will recognise ... perhaps someone you've trained, a friend ,an enemy, someone... its up to you who but we all want to know... you send a curse flying at him enraged and Lisa drops to the floor, as you he reacts with a sinuous grace to deflect the curse. He definitely didn't have that talent before and you eye your opponent up the source of his new found pleasure and predisposition suddenly obvious as you see dead glassy eyes, imperious curse... are you wary... angry... sad... annoyed at yourself for not seeing this before?

Either way your hesitation gives him a single moment and he places his wand to his own throat and you hear him whisper "Morsmordre".... a serpent of black smoke begins to unfurl from his mouth... a sign everyone knows uncoiling to float above the office.

The dark mark hovers above the office.... death eaters have infiltrated the ministry a second time.

(fyi happy for you to duel the guy if you want and open it up for the kill and try to strike but leave your post open ended as to the result...)

George:
10:37

You're chatting with Caroline... thanking her for her help.... I think not (feel free to use old posts is need be).... when words reach your ears, hushed by the door between you and the office but still distinctive "Mors Mordre" you react instantaneously reaching for the door handle, Caroline only a hairs breath behind you even as screams burst from the room down the corridor even as the door explodes outwards and you find yourself knocked backwards buffeted against the wall even. People are flooding down the corridor towards you, people fall, people run into each other and inside the room you can hear cries, shouts, jinxes rocketing off the walls people still flooding outwards even as you see flashes of light burst overhead.

Then there's a shout and a body falls.... you have to act now...

(slightly smaller because we have an idea of how this will go... as above you can duel the imperiorised but don't finish him)

[Eschatologist]

A lifetime of combat experience kicked in as he faced down the young auror-in-training, and Billy's mind went as clear as driven snow, his body reacting on instincts beaten into him over the years much faster than his brain could direct.. His wand hand flicked twice, casting a pair of not particularly strenuous spells as he steeled himself for combat, the nervous excitement still weaseling its way into his mind after all these years.

The first spell had been something simple: a purposefully failed transfiguration of the man's chest cavity. Transfiguring the space properly took too much focus in the field, but just pouring magical energy and trying to shift it into something before immediately stopping usually had the intended, fatal effect. Billy hoped the imperioused man didn't have the proper counterspells, but his second spell was him preparing for when his hopes were dashed.

He felt a comfortable weight of metal form in his hand, and in one fluid motion he raised his wandless arm straight, the service issue pistol matte black and sleek in his hand. He wanted to apparate, knowing that less experienced wizards neglected their rear defenses [as reinforced by this nation's bizarre fixation on dueling], but the powerful enchantments on the Ministry stopped him.

To most of his British charges, the use of firearms seemed paradoxical. The benefits in a war-zone, however, were myriad. Bullets traveled faster than spells, could penetrate through light cover unlike most spells, and were more reliably wound-inflicting, not to mention much harder to defend against. The obvious counterpoint to this is "why not simply use the killing curse?". A valid question, and the final unforgivable curse was no stranger to military wizards, but the problem with a curse that can not be stopped is that it does not stop until it hits a target. Using the curse without forethought even in an area where there are likely no friendlies is a poor idea, and any use of the curse that does not result in the green bolt exiting the atmosphere on a miss could very well be tried as a war crime.

Billy was not in the habit of killing non-combatants, so it was with not a small amount of satisfaction he adjusted his aim slightly and fired his weapon directly into the smoke-belching man, the sound of the explosion magically muffled by one of the myriad enchantments on the weapon, the trio of muffled bangs and the accompanying three jolts of dampened recoil transporting his mind back more than a decade, hoping the imperioused man did not have the forethought to have strong kinetic-energy absorbing for just this occasion.

[TheDookieNut]

Morsmordre...

Every hair on George's arm seemed to stand on end all at once. There was a short snap in George's brain that made him immediately push on the door again. The force of a dozen people screaming to get out was more than enough to keep the wooden entrance closed; very few saw sanity amoungst the panic stricken. This only infuriated George more. He needed to get inside and every fucker and his best friend were too stupid to let him do his job. How hard was defensive magic? He heard a yell on the other side of the door and suddenly an ocean of people burst from Caroline's office like floodgates during a storm. No matter how hard he tried, the current pushed him back against the stone wall, holding him there as the ocean only grew wider.

There must have been a hundred people in the halls, bustling and shoving every which way. No one seemed to know what to do. The whole floor had gone mad. He could see Caroline fighting against the crowds, trying her hardest to keep the endless stream of the confused from doing anymore damage. It was complete chaos. George quickly dipped his hands into his robes, pulling out an elegant wand, a stunning comparison of white against the drab black of his Minsitry uniform.

He'd been in love with the item since the moment he first set his hands on it. The first had been Oak, although the complete destruction of the front window of his shop. Without much hesitation, the elderly man swished his wand and repaired the damage. There had been a short pause before Ollivander climbed up a ladder that was almost bending in age and pulled out an stunning box, covered in the intricate leaves that stretched the entire way up his wand. George had marveled at the craftsman ship before watching his older brother Theo chirp with excitement. It took George only a moment before something clicked. The elderly man passed him only the faintest smile, a short nod before pointing back towards the window. This time, especially for a second time wand user, George was less than scared. He waved his wand like he'd seen his father do and watched as the glass shot out from the window panes and out into the street. It had seemed so similar to before but instead it shot upwards, pushing further and further into the sky before each shard exploded. George and the wand maker hurried outside to see the end result. Yet what fell was snow-like; thousands of dust size cuts of glass fell from the sky as if in remark to the previous wand.
"You'll stand out wherever you go carrying that, my boy." Ollivander smiled, his hand on George's shoulder. "You'll face tests in your life, but you must always trust yourself. Never fear to fail. Aspen wands rarely do."

George twisted the wood in his hand and pushed into the sea of Ministry Officals like a parent pushing towards a drowning child, struggling through the waist high waves that were too rough to swim. He managed to grab Caroline and push her towards the door again.

"Stay." He yelled with a voice that had seemed so different to the usual cocky tone. His voice rung out like cold steel, hard and determined now. His eyes were set on the door of the office and with the chaos behind him, getting there was going to be less than simple. Witches and wizards were running all over the place. It didn't surprise him to see two witches run head long into each other, both resulting on the floor. With his elbows out, George shoved his way towards the office doors. They swung shut quickly enough, leaving him trapped out in the hall. He could here the sound of spells inside and quickly, recklessly and totally without thought, George stepped back into the chaos and lifted his wand directly towards the door.

"Bombarda!" With an almighty thunder clap the solid out doors of the office flung off their hinges and flopped directly onto the ground. Dust flew up covering up only the sight of inside that office. He felt the chaos around him pause and in the sickening silence, he heard no words, only the ear-rattling ringing of his previous spell. The sound of screaming pierced that silence however and the haunting green light flashed before his eyes. How? George pushed himself forwards with his wand above his head.

"Incarcerous!" There was a grunt before another body hit the floor.

Finally looking around himself, George's eyes were less than happy to see an office that looked more like a battle ground than a boring room in the Ministry. His attention shifted from the now trapped wizard to the witch that seemed to be laying face down on the ground by the doors. George didn't know her by name but there was certainly no coming back from what happened. He certainly felt guilty. That death could have been prevented. Quickly his mind shifted over to the grunting and struggling murderer. He edged over for the first time, judging the caster's every move. George was prepared in case anything else happened, but there was no way to dodge an Unforgivable. Quickly his mind reeled off the importance of the simple fact they were cast. They were strong magic, not something that even He Who Shall Not Be Named could say without words. Not everyone could cast them, military or not. George had managed Crucio three times but not long enough to do damage. His mind watched the man before something began to ring in his brain. The man's eyes... George stepped over his body and looked down, staring into colourless and vacant eyes. Imperio was certainly harder than the Cruciartus curse. Concetration was needed and a sheer amount of strength. Then there was the final curse which lingered so clearly on the room. Whoever was behind those eyes wasn't a weak wizard, they were strong and most obviously not of good intentions.

[the crafty pig]

10:38am
Floor Four- Department of Experimental Charms

George was watching her, rye amusement on his face as he saw her "playing with old magic" as he liked to call it. Nevermind he was saving his ungrateful hide. She wanted to punch him but that would only amuse him more. He loved it when he got under people's skins.

Then he changed like a dog catching a scent. She saw his eyes widen and he threw himself against the office door even as the screams began.

For a moment it felt as if the whole world was screaming, voices she knew erupting in fear and she felt herself stagger, her wand still in her hand. She felt paralysed, bemused by the situation even as George threw himself against the door only from it to burst back upon him, a small sea of people surging outwards, eyes wide, mouths stretched in silent screams as they fled. She moved forward even as they surged outwards,stopped in her tracks by a tendril of green mist,horrifyingly familiar.

The dark mark in her office,but who and who, she wasn't sure which who was worse, who was dead or who had conjured that foul sign?

It was as if a spell had unlocked her feet and she threw herself forward,pushed back by a hand she didn't recognise. She could hear the rumble of feet above her, screams down the corridor, somewhere in the distance the bang of a spell going off.

"This is everywhere" she whispered half to herself "we're under attack"

People were flooding the corridor, pushing in different directions each with their own idea of how to escape, the only thought in their head to run, to hide, to escape. Perhaps it was for the best she had not seen the mark with her own eyes. perhaps she would be running too. Fear was turning to anger, ice boiling to steam and she gave a little growl,

" not in my fucking house."

the anger was boiling, turning into drive,thoughts of flight lost in a steely focus even as she saw two people smash into eachother both running for their lives, impact coming with a sickening crunch. At the other end of the corridor She could see three hit wizards being carried away from the action even as they fought against the sea of people.

Pandemonium. Headless chickens in a farm yard, perfect prey for death eaters. She was ashamed and angry that in such circumstances this was the general reaction of the ministry of magic, terrified cowardice.

but not everyone

She heard a snarl from George as he gave up on the door searching for another way in. She could tell by his demeanour what he was about to do before he did it and turned away

"Bombarda" dust flooded the hallway and more screams filled the corridor, hands moving to cover eyes, people staggered, stumbling back stunned by the sound the sea suddenly motionless as people struggled to recover from the force of the blast.

She recovered quickly , her diminutive height always a factor in these situations, she touched her wand to the floor a single idea in her mind, restoring order.

"Elevarte"

A small piece of the hardwood floor began to rise and she balanced upon it precariously as it took her above the massing crowd, terror temporarily suspended as they stared at her between racking coughs, through streaming eyes.

Not for long, George had inadvertently bought her precious seconds, she had to use them.

Her wand now at her throat she hissed "sonorous" her voice suddenly booming to carry amongst the corridors of the second floor

"The emergency apparition points on the fourth floor are located next to the cafeteria . Please, all those wishing to leave the building stay on the right of the corridor walking three abreast so magical assistance and support can reach those that need it."

It always amazed her how terror turned people into sheep the crowd forming up beneath her, the odd twat pushing and running through the crowd, most happy to feel that suddenly all was in hand, walking quickly the odd smile for those moving along the corridor in opposite direction and she continued

"Any that cannot apparate please attach yourself to someone that can, Any that wish to stay please begin a thorough search of each room. Mark each searched room with an M and seal the door. Groups of 2"

Her lips became a snarl her voice the same sing song sound of the elevator

"Any traitor coming into our house and thinking they can fuck with us, please stay where you are and pray the hit wizards reach you before I do.Thank you for your cooperation"

The plank of wood descended and she moved to join George stopping for a moment, anger fading as she steeled herself for what she might find, all she could see was death in her mind, Kay slumped over her desk eyes wide, Daz throat cut, the images flashed and she felt her breathing rise. It couldn't be as bad as that?

Eyes shut she followed George into the room
__________________________________________________________________________
OOC
Billy:
10:38am

Transfiguring your watch into a gun is a deft manoeuvre and your bullets fly true. Suprised by the speed of the deadly hail coming towards him he raises his wand only for the bullets to become 3 rain drops spattering his coat. He seems shocked and suprised turning to his left only to find himself placed on his arse by a large muscular man who strikes him hard across the face, kicking his wand away with a grunt of satisfaction. A flick of his own wand binds the treacherous trainee and he turns to you with a snarl.

You know the man, Stephen Blackwell, current head of the auror office with Scrimgeour's ascension to the top job. A burly man, temperament like a bear... calm...calm.. calm... rawr...calm... calm. Your relationship with him is an odd one, he's technically your boss and if he doesn't like you he can request a new trainer with a simple owl yet as an outside trainer it's your responsibility to train him. An odd dynamic... how does Billy take that... does he like the man?.. feel free to flesh out the details of him.

"In this country, we don't kill unless we have too, you will follow those rules"

You can reply if you want but any back and forth between you is cut off quickly. by a shout at the other side of the room. You take in the scene. The room is left in chaos chairs overturned papers strewn across the flaw. A number of people are only just appearing from under their desks with relieved glances at 3 other hog tied figures in different parts of the room.

Lisa is lying on the floor at your feet, you see the rise and fall of her chest even as she begins to stir, the effect of the cruciatus curse still leaving her body with tiny spasms.

You see one set of aurors dragging a 5th hog tied individual into an office on one side of the room, another set dealing with a number of remedial cuts and scrapes, whilst blackwell is joining a third set crouching by the doors to the office surrounding a man with blood caking his face from a split in his scalp. There are flashes of light in the corridor beyond and the wounded man seems to be giving a report even as he gets treatment

(A bit more of a reaction post lot went on and now billy has a few seconds downtime to consider...so i want to know how your feeilng, how your going to deal with lisa and finally what are your priorities which of the 3 groups your going to join, the interrogation, the healing or back into the fray. End your post with you heading to join whichever group you choose. Any questions let me know.)


George
10:38
Caroline follows you into the room, eye shut giving you a second to react. You can see someone has established order outside and hit wizards running in different directions, some clasping medikits. You can hear shouts and curses further down the corridor and occassionaly people duck at loud bangs, the odd shriek piercing the bubbling calm. If they hear the sounds of loss you know people will react. Kay is dead, sprawled, eyes lifeless, mouth stretched in the sound of her scream. You know what will happen if people see and hear this. Pandemonium...panic. How you will prevent people seeing and hearing is up to you but prevent it.

Would you try and comfort Caroline or are you in business mode.... do you need to interogate the imperiorised... do you think he could tell you anyting, for somewhere there is a mind behind those eyes? Alternatively you can join the throng and try and find yourself a task... a purpose... what are your priorities at this time... information... a plan... revenge?

(if you choose to interrogate or comfort Caroline let me know and I will tell you what he says/ we can collab it.)

[Eschatologist]

Billy's emotional state could justifiably be blamed on his adrenaline-addled mind still clawing its way out of the brief shock of combat, but even Billy would say that such an appraisal would be too apologetic. His flash of irritation bordering on anger at the scolding he had received, and his subsequent irate response was heartfelt and quick coming.

"The Chief Staff disagree, Mr.Blackwell. I hope you understand the consequences of such a position.". Billy wondered how long such prosaic rules of engagement would last: taking hostiles alive was a terrible, difficult and above all deadly proposition for those abiding by it, and though Billy had no authority to change the rules of engagement he felt obligated to save the lives of those under his protection, as is the officer's first and foremost duty. He absentmindedly hoped that the extra second of the cruciatus curse did not inflict any further harm on Lisa, knowing full well the physiological effects of the 'Unforgivable' spell. He wanted to help, but knew he didn't have the skill that would be needed to try to lessen the effects of such a dangerous incantation. Waving down a medic, he strode towards the debriefing man, settling frustratedly down by his rebuker, his frustration only exacerbated by his assurance that his actions were correct. At the very least, Brass would agree that his attempt to quickly dispose of aggressive hostile elements posing extreme threat to himself and his allies was justified, and what command thinks is never something a soldier should ignore.

As the man spoke, he began the litany of combat charms. Kinetic energy redirectors. Sensory displacement charms. Transfiguration counterspells and magical energy sinks. Breath filtration and flash protection, along with numerous different pain dampeners. Automatic apparition would be useless, but at least that stopped him having to remember to cast apparition-blockers. By the time Billy was done with his routine preparation he was down nearly a third of his magical reserves, and smarting at the lack of a proper TOE, not only transfiguration-resistant bullets but now energy-restoration potions. It was only as a result of a hundred hurried nights in the field that he managed to multitask the casting of this litany with receiving the debriefing of the wounded man in front of him.

[TheDookieNut]

George couldn't help but let his mind reel over every suspect, every vermin, every single wizard that had been so previously locked away. Somehow he fixated on the face of a blonde haired man, curled and short, with callous blue eyes that held an intent for purity so strong that it had made every Diagon Alley trip almost unbearable. Fingers twisted around the wand out of sheer habit before his attention shifted back to Caroline. So many within the building hadn't ever witnessed what laid beside Caroline now. George walked briskly over and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Stay there. Don't move." He murmured, angling her carefully so that no amount of Kay was visible. Checking over her shoulder, George made fully sure that Caroline couldn't see should she have taken even the shortest second to spin and see exactly what was behind her. "If you're going to open your eyes, look ahead. Do not turn around." He stammered. His voice was a strange brew of serious and tender. Compassion wasn't his strong but, nor was empathy, yet he held Caroline's shoulders for the shortest second before letting go to deal with the matters at hand. With a step to the right, he walked over to Kay and waved his wand. It wasn't his job to clean up the battle ground but as Kay's body floated gently in the air, arms hanging lifelessly and legs hung life a child's doll, George felt today was necessary. Usually Oblivators followed after an incident, but no doubt there were far too many of those now.

George lowered her down onto the ground with sympathy and felt that familiar twinge of sheer morality. He tucked his wand into his robes and pushed the girl's mouth and eyes shut, at least attempting to make the death look peaceful. Unforgiveables weren't common. They were strong, dangerous and the sign of someone truly powerful; being on the receiving end was never pleasant. George had his count on one out of three, and although he suspected his end would be to the third, he had no real intention of completing the tally. A push from his thighs and George was standing again, all 5'10, bushing hair and grisly, unkempt appearance. Ideally Caroline needed to be out of the room, however there wasn't time.

He could hear noises from elsewhere on the floor. The room he stood in seemed almost like a sanctuary, a safe place in all the turmoil - however with a member of the dead and the man who'd killed her. George let his feet carry him over to the limp man, nose flaring from simple rage. He couldn't understand how this was happening. The Ministry's entrances detected this sort of thing. How had they not gone off? He stood motionless above the man, staring down into the grayness of his eyes. There was someone behind those eyes and he didn't have a clue who. It could have been anyone. For all he knew, it could have been the Dark Lord himself, of course then George would have been honored... After a moment of short inspiration, he turned his attention back to Caroline.

"I need you to go find an Auror. It doesn't matter who, I can't deal with him-" It's not my job "He needs securing somewhere, ideally where he can't hurt anyone." He spoke sharply, all his previous compassion gone. This was serious and with Caroline out of the room, he could at least have a moment to get something out of the idiot beneath him. He knelt down and yanked the wand from his hand. Whoever had done this to him had either done it in or out of the Ministry. He hoped to hell it was within.. Outside clearly meant far too much.

[the crafty pig]

Heads of Department Meeting
10:38 am

Their voices hung in the air, fixed smiles on their faces, snakelike leers glaring at him.

All 12 moved at once, 12 vipers lunging wands flashing but Scrimgeour was quicker, so quick it felt like they were moving slow motion> He loved the fact that he was a wizard, loved it even more that he was a powerful wizard but so many people forgot that hands were just as good for something and were often faster then drawing your wand.

A thud and he pushed down, placing all his weight on the table the opposite end flipping up sending papers spiralling into the air, even as curses thudded into the wood behind, splinters cascading around him like shrapnel. His wand was in his hand and he sent the table flying backwards behind him hearing shouts and cries as wands were thrown from hands and a grunt as it crashed bodily into somebody.

He didn't waste time admiring his handiwork, he just ran.

Perks of the minister, meant he didn't need to run far a flick of his wand and a door appeared before him bursting open to reveal the inside of a janitors closet. Doors anywhere but no control over anything beyond the floor it came out.... bloody irritating if you asked him but any port in a storm.

Throwing himself through the doorway he slammed the door shut on 12 voices echoing

"Don't go minister... just give us Harry Potter..."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Billy OOC

Your litanies make several others around you begin the same but you notice that they only copy the defensive protections and not the offensive litanies. A frustrating thing about the British, a relentless focus on defense but not on offense. It's an issue you've encountered throughout your dealings with the ministry.

In front of you a man is dealing with his head wound and you can see more aurors and hit wizards streaming in from other offices on the floor, more bodies being dragged, the prisoners being taken to seperate offices hog tied and wandless. There seems a grim determination about them, men cleaning up vermin but struggling to come to terms with the vermin being in their own homes.

The second floor is set up like a spiders web. The central common area where the support staff sit then 4 legs off the centre, each leading to a different department (with a central common room for each department at each end. A 5th leg runs to the elevator.

You look past the gathering in front of you down the corridor. It runs straight for about 100 meters, then a right angle then straight for another 200 meters to the elevators. At the end of the 100 meter corridor you can see 2 witches and 1 wizard, peeping round the right angled corner only for the corridor to light up with flashes of gold and red. The wall behind the figures is covered with scorch marks

your brought back to the present

"I'm sorry gov."

the mans face was a pale bloody mask and he gripped Blackwell's hand pulling him closer, his voice horse. You can tell that even being heavily outnumbered and now highly wounded, the true pain is letting them down. Their is true loyalty to Blackwell possibly through Scrimgeour.

" Me and Dav tried to hold them off but they hit hard at the elevators. They knew what they were doing, those in here were a diversion, send people running screaming give them time to set themselves up. They were letting support staff through, stopping us from getting a clear shot. They've got barricades just round that corner and their dug in."

Blackwell's voice is a growl

"You did all you could, they have us bottlenecked, they're trying to stop us reaching the minister"

he turns to you running a hand through his hair

"this is your sort of shit right...take a look tell me what you think"

He moves away

"Someone get me the fucking portraits"

You move over to the three figures at the corner of the cover. Even as you peak out curse fly, alot of curses.

Firstly you need a way to see round that corner, the curses are close enopugh to prevent you from a proper look.

When you work out how to see round corners describe, what you see, you can really make it up as much as you want, the basis is you've got a makeshift barricade halfway down the corridor with somewhere between 5 and 10 wands poking out, enough to melt your charms before you get 5 steps. Offices either side but no way of knowing on face what's in the offices. Have they laid traps? Can you find out?

Make a plan and propose it to Blackwell who is staring impatiently at 3 empty portraits.

------------------------------------------------------------
George

There was something in his voice, something that told her she didn't want to see this, that she couldn't see this. His touch was tender but firm, guidng her round til but she kept her eyes shut tight. Not trusting herself not to look round. He knew there was something she couldn't handle in that room.... there was only one thing that could be.

Proof she had failed, failed to protect them. She knew that was stupid but still she couldn't stop the tears were running down her cheeks, their faces flashed through her mind in a twisted montage of smiles and happy laugher.

George's voice was sharp, trying to force her away

"I need you to go find an Auror. It doesn't matter who, I can't deal with him-" It's not my job "He needs securing somewhere, ideally where he can't hurt anyone."

She had to know

"Who is it George... I won't look just tell me who it is"

I think we will have to collab this, getting Caroline from the room will not be easy but she will go eventually, I also have an end for the conversation. Give me your start of the george post and I will give you Caroline's responses :)

[Eschatologist]

A cursory, magically-aided glance around the corner confirmed the report: physical barricades, half a dozen wands poking through gaps, probably every defensive magic they know stopping anything getting through. Taking a step back from the corner, Billy considered his options.

AK was off the table, regardless of precautions taken.: Blackwell wanted prisoners regardless of casualties, and despite any misgivings Billy might have he had to abide by the decision. A frontal assault would be suicide without proper equipment, which Billy did not have. Tunneling under the floors would probably cause serious issues with the ward matrices, and Billy was absolutely not qualified to disentangle them, especially under fire. Going up would have a similar problem, and from what little he knew about the ministry's layout the elevators are the only way a layman can get around the structure.

There was, however, another means of attack: blow through the connecting rooms, whose thin wooden walls would be hopefully free of any magical infusion. At the very least the defenses on the flanks of the barricade would be weaker; Billy bet they would be non-existent, and with surprise and ruthlessness the defending group would likely be able to be pacified with minimal casualties.

Finding the ursine man, Billy gave his suggestion. "Mr Blackwell, my plan would be to go through the connecting walls, breach behind the barricade and remove the defending forces."

With the man nodding his response, Billy set to work checking for traps and lifesigns on his projected path. Three wizards scurried down the hall, intent on suppressing the defenders. Two aurors jogged up beind Billy mid-incantation. He recognized one, a beanpole of a man, one Jeffrey Kayle. The other, a woman of modest build with short auburn hair introduced herself as Auror-in-training Michelle Gait.

Billy spoke after his incantation was completed. "Mr. Kayle, Ms. Gait. The first room is clear of anything. The second on our path has several humans inside: we'll have to enter and subdue them non-lethally, friend or foe. Have either of you gone through breach training?". Kayle nodded, Gait shook her head. Both were obviously tense, both clenching their jaws and full of too much adrenaline to speak. Billy didn't need them to, and at least they weren't in tears. Billy raised his hand to the wall, a circle of plaster and wood six feet in diameter falling inwards with a dusty thud.

"Both of you prepare muffling charms and eye protection. Mr. Kayle, you'll take the left side, I'll take the right. Ms. Gait, support our entry. Understand?" Both nodded, already waving their wands to prepare the specified charms. Billy followed suit as he walked towards the wall, taking his place leaning against the garish yellow plaster, knocking an empty painting frame from its hanging dismissively. Kayle took up position a few strides away from him, Gait standing a off to the side, a few meters back.

Billy spoke quietly, trying furtively to make out any sound and failing. "Three. Two." Everyone tensed, Billy feeling his muscles contracting and burning slightly in anticipation. "One." He pointed his wand and the median point between himself and Kayle, and spoke softly and clearly.

"Inana Medocritate". With a bangs and the cracks of splintering wood, a roughly-circular hole formed in the wall, the excess debris being sucked back into the room, spraying in all directions. Fortunately, none hit Gait, though Billy managed to find time while he and Kayle pivoted to face the hole to chide himself for endangering her with a slap-dash casting job. Both men yelled as one, their wands pointing into the hole before they could identify anything inside, the tips of their mismatched wands just peeking through the makeshift aperture.

"Micosonitus Maxima!". Their wands lit up like the sun, dimmed to bearable levels by the enchantments. A sound filled the room, a screeching yelling roar, barely dampened by their own precautions and no doubt overwhelming the wards on at least two adjacent offices. To her credit, Ms. Gait barreled through the hole, wand at the ready, already making the motions for 'Stupefy'. A flash of light came through the damaged wall, and both Billy and Mr. Kayle lept through after the auror-in-training, wands whipping as they made to stun the hopefully incapacitated, hopefully uninjured occupants of the brown-painted office.

[the crafty pig]

Ministry floor- First floor Broom Cupboard
10:40pm
Rufus Scrimgeour

He was minister for magic, the highest official authority in the wizarding world, a man who the people looked too for strength... yet he had fled from his office and was sitting on a bucket.

That pissed him off no end. He embraced the anger used it to shield him from the shame from the self doubt. He should have seen this coming, it had been to quiet, he should have known they were preparing something big.

That was too harsh, it hadn't been quiet, it had been a war zone and he had lost good men and women in that fight. Fourteen casualties and he knew them all by name, had personally taken the news to their families. Their names were burned into his skull... names he repeated to himself whenever he felt himself at a low ebb, before he lay down each night and as he worked out each morning.

He pushed them away now, he needed to respond, needed to put things in perspective.

First things first, emergency apparition points. three on every floor. It was a fairly antiquated system truth be told... one he had raved to Fudge about it but there were issues he hadn't had the time to work out how to fix.

Once you allowed people to apparate from a point, people could apparate to it. They were stretched as it was protecting the apparition points in the atrium, having them enabled at all times added 18 new spots he needed to guard... just not feasible in wartime.

Hence a system, the charm to initiate the emergency apparition points was taught to every head of department, the idea being that all 13 of them couldn't be compromised.

Thirteen people could enable those points and twelve of them were sitting in his fucking office puppets on You Know Who's string. Getting of his bucket, he pushed the door slightly to reveal the deserted corridor outside.

A wave of his wand, cast a chameleon charm and he melded into the wall, even as he slid out and began to trot down the corridor.

Billy:

Your plan is perfect, a perfect breach and enter, bout 10 people are huddled on the floor two guys leaning against the next wall with wands raised casually throw their hands up to shield their eyes. The first gets a stunning spell in the chest from gait the second throws himself to the floor and a stunning spell from the beanpole sails over his head and splits the wood of the office behind it, forming cracks in the walls

He make out to cry out but you hit him with a quick "Silencio" that leaves his mouth working pointlessly, your follow up hex can have whatever effect you like.

In terms of marks out of 10 it's an 8 for a breach and clear, slapdash entry charm and a missed curse but the issue you is the civilians, for all your preparation and the muffling charms, the screech followed by the screams of the civilians is enough to alert those behind the barricade of what's going on.

You hear a barely distinguishable

"through the fucking walls" through your muffling charms

Despite his miss with the stunner, beanpole may not be the quickest duellist but he is a unique thinker and a pretty sound tactician. It's the reason he partners Gait, a more fiery and combative young auror.

He reaches the fragmented wall in two strides his should cracking the fragmented wood from his stunning spell, pushing his wand through and you hear a body hit the door into the next office along and rebound with a squelch and a muffled curse. Gait is pushing blinking stumbling civilians through the break in the wall.


badly drawn if hopefully helpful floorplan

Even as you turn to your own door raising your wand to seal it, it explodes outwards, your barely able to get out of the way, dropping and rolling to one side but the door catches your wand hand and try as you might it slides from your grasp.

Even as he raises his wand to hit a finishing curse you....

(the floor plan is so you know where you are you are just in front of the barricade, one of them has leapt over to get to you and the others are trying to break down the next door which he has sealed... you need to move fast, deal with this guy and get yourselves into the next office... sorry for the delay... any questions let me know)

[TheDookieNut]

He hadn't truly expected Caroline to stay standing there, as still as a statue, eyes clamped shut like a child. He turned on the spot and looked back at her. Eyes trailed over to Kay's body, how scared she had looked before he'd moved her. How huge her eyes were.. Her mouth, hands and body. It was little different to any other death when dealing with dark magic. It was the tense feeling that clung to all of their necks, the dark fog that had washed over their wizarding world. Outside in the chaos, he listened. It was possible they'd already lost more than one, and if this was an attack, they'd certainly lose a lot more before the afternoon.

"Who is it, George?"
He flicked his eyes to Caroline, watching her expression. There were certainly three answers to that question. Two he already knew the answer to and the last he felt the infuriating pain of not being able to say who. With a short number of steps, George made his way back over, stepping unsure in front of her. He exhaled slowly and placed a hand on her shoulder again.

"Kay." He murmured, standing by just on the off chance she broke down. "Caroline, I'm sorry." George spoke after a few seconds of silence. It was hard to believe incidents weren't his fault from time to time. If he hadn't lost his footing.. If he hadn't arrived too late.. It took a strong disposition to force the belief things like this weren't his fault. After all, that could have been him. Kay has a threat, at least prior to his arrival. His statement was barely more than a whisper when he spoke, his gaze having shifted to the now peaceful body of Caroline's colleague and friend.

George waited, not entirely sure on what to expect. Was she going to cry? Did she expect him to comfort her if she did? None of this was his place, there were others who dealt with innocent losses and it wasn't ever him. It was like setting the first foot on a long and daunting journey, travelling the further from home. The pause was enough to keep George apprehensive about her actions. He stood close by, watching her expression with a cautious expression. However, as soon as she shouted, George relaxed; that sort of thing was expected from her, especially for him.

"I'll go but you fucking swear to me right now George Nott on whatever you hold fucking dear... You will seal this room so no one can get in and when all this is over, you will help me take her back to her parents"

What did George hold dear? It was unknown to most and he needed it to stay that way. George's thoughts drifted off to a tiny wizarding village in Romania. Through the cloud, through the snow and through a small window in a shop. The only family George still had, and a growing one at that. George had been the Secret-Keeper of his brother's location since he took up an elderly man's request of an apprentice. He would keep his brother and his family safe, no matter how hard he had to fight. He never visited for Christmas, although a brief visit during the setting hours of the sun was enough to keep him happy. Theodore was a caring sort, clever beyond his years, but not strong: he'd protect his family if he needed to, as any father would.

"I can't promise that we'll even be able to do that, if the Ministry is under attack, there's no guarantee anyone will get out in one piece. However, I swear that I'll try." He added, turning his attention over to the stationary body of the young man on the floor. "Don't blame him, if that's what you're doing." The blonde added after a moment more of silence between them. The boy wouldn't be in trouble, they couldn't prosecute him for a crime he didn't willingly commit. He'd be interviewed once he was released, the Aurors would do that job. "He's not in there alone."

George made a short mental note of making sure Caroline was the one to tell Kay’s parents what had happened, after all, he wasn’t a wordsmith. He could whisk up a compassionate speech about how the woman had died fighting, how she hadn’t been scared, how he’d stop at nothing to make sure her killer was thrown in the smallest cell in Azakaban… He’d explain how she died, how it was mostly his fault, although he’d leave out his personal beliefs. No one would wish to have taken her place, no matter how much they thought they could have handled it. It wasn’t difficult to ignore Caroline’s reaction to the whole situation, although again, he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Awwh, there, there. It’s okay- He could have offered her a hug, of course, welcomed her into something that resembled security and empathy, but right now wasn’t the time and neither was he the right person for the job. He knew her professionally, not personally which wasn’t enough to warrant a few moments consoling someone he barely knew- was that harsh? He’d barely been able to comfort his own mum after he’d dragged his older brother through the Ministry by the scruff of the neck.



George stayed stationary for a few moments, waiting for Caroline to calm down, all the while, his attention primarily focused on the young chap laid still on the ground. He didn’t want to speak aloud but she was wasting valuable time. Right now he needed her to leave, get an Auror and come back, she could deal with her remorse as soon as he had Caracus under the correct supervision. With a momentary fidget of his wand hand, George felt the grateful relief of watching Caroline disappear out the door, or what remained of it. He flicked his wand, watching the huge oak doors raise once again, every splinter and every crack flying off the ground and back into place as if nothing had even happened. Four screws wiggled their way into place and the doorway was perfect again; what would they have done without magic? George gave an exasperated exhale and turned his attention to the kid on the ground.

He looked scared, which was understand able. He honestly looked seemed more in control than before as if whoever was behind those eyes was finally letting go. George walked over, his left hand twisting his wand between his fingers, absentmindedly consoling himself as any habit did. He was angry, peeved and generally annoyed about the whole endeavor. It was hard not to be. The Ministry had been attacked, which it shouldn’t have. They’d been attacked from the inside, which it should have been seen. They hadn’t even been prepared, which they should have been. It was hard not to be irritated by the entire situation.

George marched over with the expression of someone who was clearly angry, although who he was angry at wasn’t clear by expression. His feet stopped him above the body of Caracus, his eyes watching the boy’s. He’d be questioned, threatened and eventually would give the Ministry needed to know. Whether the boy gave them everything willingly or not wasn’t his place to know. So long as the boy wasn’t a threat anymore, that’s all that mattered in George’s eyes.



“Please, I never meant to- I didn’t know I was-” George pulled his attention from the pits of his peeved thoughts and back to reality. His tongue curled at the man’s pleas. He’d been to enough trails to know that’s how they all started. “[i]I never meant to… let you live.[i]” Well enough was enough really. George exhaled once again, trying so desperately to push back the school-boy urge to pull the idiot to his feet and punch him squarely in the jaw, hard enough it would make his entire family dizzy. Yet, that plan of action wasn’t the best in this situation. Lifting the boy would have removed the charm he was under and if the kid could use his wand again, they were both screwed. On that thought, George pulled the wand from the boy’s right side.

“Look, mate.” His own voice as venomous and hateful as any man would have been. “I don’t give a shit who you are. I don’t give a shit if you intended to kill me and her. I don’t give a shit if you’ve killed a dozen wizards or murdered a hundred muggles. Right now, you’re on the ground, weaponless. You’re not in the position to be making threats.” George spat. Caracus was not the subject of his comments, that much was clear. George pulled himself back onto his feet and tucked the boy’s wand into his uniform robes.

“This worthless pustule might not be in a position to act-“ He nodded, gesturing over to the door. “-But he is.” There wasn’t very much that George didn’t want to do to the moron on the other end of those eyes. The idiot was a coward, using another to commit a crime so hideous. George flared his nostrils subconsciously, exhaling again as if it would push all the anger and resentment out of his body and all over the floor like a bucket of soapy water. He wanted to kick the poor lad hard enough to knock him out cold, despite how much he wanted to stop him from talking. The lad was innocent despite the fact the spell had come from his wand. He wasn’t sure how it would have worked in the muggle world but here, he knew it was different. He had no place to hurt the kid on the floor, even though he wanted to make him scream for what he’d done, how he was talking, what he’d even been thinking but, again, he had no place hurting the innocent laying on the ground. It wasn’t him that was causing all the current complications, it was the foul wizard behind those eyes.



Curiosity pulled George’s attention to the door behind him, his paranoia telling him to ‘arm and be ready’ as if someone was already standing behind him at the door. He knew he’d already be dead if there had been; probably one of the most embarrassing ways to go. He’d always imagined- fantasized that he’d be struck down at the end of another wizard’s wand, dying in an instant. Although, second to that, he expected to be screaming for a good while before he was given the peace of his final breath. Perhaps it came with the job. Caroline probably wanted to die peacefully in her bed, surrounded by loved ones, much like nearly everyone in the Ministry. Yet for people like him, those who encountered darker wizards in their everyday lives. George twisted his fingers around his wand, ready just in case- Nothing.

“You know being hard isn’t about having or showing no emotion-“ George felt his chest tighten, his lungs struggling to combat the rage inside. “You work so hard to suppress it- to bury it- but its there behind your eyes.” He could feel every inch of his being clenched up as if this was it. As if this was the moment he was finally going to lose it. His chest felt like it was going to burst open, as if he wasn’t going to be able to control the hate inside. He hated whoever this was and what bothered him most: they were pushing him. Whoever it was, was pushing him harder and harder and harder. George felt himself quickly jumping to conclusions over who was behind those eyes. It could have been anyone! Yet his brain linked directly to his family. He was certain it wasn’t his father, not unless he’d truly lost his mind and he was almost certain it wasn’t his brother. The man was cruel and knew more about how to push him than anyone else... No, it wasn’t them. It couldn’t have been. “The fear, it isn’t weak to use emotion. The emotion makes you stronger; it’s about feeding it and using it.” His heartbeat was in his ears. He hadn’t been this angry for years, he could barely breathe. His chest ached, his stomach twisting in protest to the increase in blood pressure. It was like being in a stampede, running and running only to find the herd is right behind when the wall finally comes. He couldn’t let him win.



“No, the person in the real danger is your-“ George felt his heart leap instantly into his mouth, all dread jumping instantly into his mouth like vomit he couldn’t keep down. “-diddy little blonde friend. No, not from this fuckwit. No… From the man two lefts and a right from here, who has just torn the head off another brave man.” George felt a sickening wave of relief wash over him. The guilty moment of relief to know one person was safe at the loss of so many others. His eyes flicked straight back to the boy’s, meeting the eyes of whoever truly was on the other side. Watching him was torture enough. He was a clown, a twisted comedian who laughed only at his own jokes. So far, George had chosen to remain silent, expecting that if he spoke, the man would only use his words as fodder for what twisted game he was still playing.



He couldn’t get the words out, not until they flew up and out without him truly considering his words, or the tepid threat he’d bothered with.
“Instead of hiding, why not show yourself. Stop being a coward and come say hello.” He spat the words out, violently and with enough hate it was almost frothing over the top, bubbling out of control. Merlin’s Beard, he hated this guy. He could feel the guilt over Caroline resurfacing again. What if it was true? The last thing he needed was Caroline’s death on his mind for the next few weeks… He shuffled for a second and sighed. He’d have this guy’s head if it meant he’d lose his own… George moved towards the door, and stopped. “You can’t win this.” He spoke, with considerably less volume than his previous spat. With that, he stepped out the door, sealing it tightly closed as he’d promised Caroline.

It didn’t take much before he was running down the halls, wand in hand, and his eyes darting around for even a glimpse of her.
“Caroline!” He yelled, oblivious to the shouts and screams throughout the floor. All he needed to focus on was making sure she was okay, if he had to escort her to an Apiration point and then find an Auror himself, then so be it. “Caroline!” He yelled again, reaching the first left in the hallway

[Eschatologist]

To his later chagrin, the first reaction Billy had do him being so easily disarmed was to unleash a prodigious stream of profanity. Consummately unprofessional and a habit he had been hoping to break, but it was not a conscious reaction. After the few moments of him regaining his conentration, instinct failed him without a wand and he was forced to do whatever he could to avoid whatever fate this man has in store for you. Billy guessed his many personal wards might be able to take whatever first spell the man flung, but after the defenses just stopped his hand from being severed, he didn't want to try it.

Usually he would never resort to wandless magic. A dangerous, risky business at the best of times, usable to a decent degree by only the most skilled wizards. Billy was not one of the most skilled wizards, and the army had never taught him how to do it, not wanting to waste Warlock Sam's time or money. Billy was, however, familiar with the rudiments, and they would have to do fine. Precision would never be achieved, but he didn't need to be precise if he just had enough energy, and he had more than enough spare.

He shouted, partially in panic and partially to throw his assailant off, "Ventus Maximus!", and pushed as many thaums into the spell as he could manage. The effects were as drastic and chaotic as would be expected. An ungodly gust of air blew out of his extended hand, throwing the angry man off his feet and into the hall. Unfortunately for Billy, he had forgotten about one Sir Isaac Newton and those pesky muggle laws of physics. Normally mitigated by magic, this particular casting was not made as such, and Billy found himself flying backwards too, his hand wrenched back painfully as he flew a few feet.

He wished, as he flew, that the army had perfected attaching modified broomsticks to people. It was a great idea in theory, but modifying the ancient broomstick enchantments was a slow business, and not likely to be completed for years to come. It would have saved Billy a headache if they had been finished, that was certain. He was blown back and nearly brained himself on the back wall. He was heavier than the assailant, and more ready for the catastrophic results of the spell, and through either blind luck or divine intervention Billy managed to land approximately on his feet.

His two auror companions, their vestments and hair rustled considerably by the burst of air, acted once again to their credit, both stunning the prone man at the same time. He found his wand, glowing thanks to a handy safety enchantment, and prepared to fend off other attackers, but for the next few seconds at least none were forthcoming. He wanted to use Fiendfyre to blast the barricade around the corner, and all of a sudden wondered why Blackwell didn't do that from the start. Fire that can turn corners and almost never be countered would make short work of the barricade, and every second wasted here was potentially dozens more civilian casualties. Deciding to act first and chide his superiors later, he simply motioned for the other two aurors to stand back from the last wall, and blew it inwards with "Bombarda Maxima", blowing the dust clear with another ventus spell and taking cover, preparing to protect the other two aurors as they leaped through the new, much more jagged, hole in the wall.

[the crafty pig]

Billy:
Even as you move into the room you can still hear thuds against the door. It's curious, you've blown holes in the wall but they seem in no hurry to imitate your efforts. It's like they only have a single thought in their head... get through that door. The door rattles on it's hinges and you can hear jinxes and counter jinxes being fired at the door.

The thought seems to have struck the beanpole next to you and he looks at you with a question in his eye. He moves to the far edge of the room and gives his wand a complicated little wave. The wall in front of you disappears. Your looking through it but you can tell it's still there. It's like your looking through water.

He shrugs as you look at him

"I got the idea from muggle police stations... it's like one way glass... wall for them... glass for us"

You turn your focus to what's through the wall. There are 12 wands there 10 focused singularly on the door. Your good but even with your talent 3 against 12 aren't favourable odds even if you can manufacture the element of surprise. The final two that haven't focused on the door are standing backs to the lifts... the only thought in their heads seems to be guard the lifts ... the other 10 are focused on the door... better odds if you can do it quietly

back up would take time to bring up... your running out of time... you need to find the minister. Get yourself into the lifts and up to the first floor which is oddly deserted

George

Your running following the path the death eater promised you, you keep running but you can't find her.... first corridor people filing towards the exits, take a left two wizards from the department of magical accidents and catastrophes come out sealing the door with an M, they raise their wands as you pass but you wave them down... another left... people filing to another exit.... then a right empty corridor filled with glowing red M's. You stop wand in your hand.... you can almost her his laughter in your head... bastard... absolute bastard...

Even as you turn to run back to the room you here a voice from the walls

"Never turn your back on a snake" it's not an unkind voice, empathetic but their is a hint of dissapointment in his tone and knowing in his eyes. You turn to the wall and see the famous face of Eldritch Diggory looking down at you. "they will always find a way to bite you in the butt. "

he gives you a nod a little chuckle

"Minister of magic for 14 years now reduced to the glorious position of owl. Blackwell needed information and they were shooting down the memos....they're bottlenecked up their.."

" First floor is a ghost town, 3rd and 5th are in chaos. They need you. Rally what you can... if we can open up the second floor we've got a chance"

duty heavier than a mountain
you've got caroline potentially in danger.... a man with the voice of a death eater that wanted you out of the way and talked of more here but they need you and as many as you can gather upstairs.... is it even a choice?

[TheDookieNut]

George's feet carried him far further than he expected. He wasn't out of breath either- whether he was running on adrenaline or fear, he didn't know which and his mind was less than concerned. Two shoes pushed him along the stone ground of the Ministry, battling the sheer panic in the back of his mind. What if Caroline was already dead? Why was everything coming down? Why couldn't he just calm down and do his job? People were going to die today, in fact they already had! It wasn't his concern to chase employees around the building... He needed to stop the reason for all of this. Yet his stomach twisted at the thought of having already lost her-

"Caroline!" He yelled again, following the route he was given a short moment ago. Deep down in the back of his mind, George did question the logic of the man he'd previously been speaking to. There was no way he could have known which way Caroline had gone.. What if she'd already gotten back to the room? These thoughts never surfaced, however, and George kept running. His journey took him passed two wizards, both clearly with something to say, but he didn't care. He carried on forwards, sprinting down the halls as if he were being chased. "Caroline!" The urgency in his tone echoed off each stone wall, bouncing around and lingering in the distance.

George watched his deepest thoughts surface as he arrived at an empty hallway, clearly long since abandoned. As if a train was colliding a wall, George felt all his previous anger bubble to the surface in a rage he'd not felt for some time. How could he have been so stupid? It had only taken one moment to lose his head and he'd lost everything. The facade he kept up for the sake of his employment, his attitude of authority- everything. He was darting about, headless. Slowly, he turned, wand gripped tightly in his left hand. He'd kill him- whoever he was. In his current mood, George couldn't deny the dangerous feeling of how possible it truly felt. With shaking hands, the man turned around. The run had caught up with him now, his breath no longer in his chest. Panting, he started back towards the room, violent determination on his mind.

"Never turn your back on a snake." His attention shifted towards the portrait of a man, elderly and less than impressed. "they will always find a way to bite you in the butt." The portrait chuckled, looking him up and down. "Minister of magic for 14 years now reduced to the glorious position of owl. Blackwell needed information and they were shooting down the memos; they're bottle-necked up there."

"Minister.." George managed, suddenly buckling under the ten ton weight he'd felt drop onto his shoulders. His duty was to the Minister, after all, it was his job. There was no denying his place was upstairs with the rest of them. He felt the sudden twang of guilt- Caroline. He couldn't just leave her. What if she really was in danger? What was he supposed to do then? What if Caroline had already gone to the Second Floor looking for help? That's where he'd sent her and surely she wasn't still running around down here... Feeling the smallest flicker of hope, George nodded to Eldritch and darted back down the way he'd come.

Twisting back on himself, he made his way to the first elevator and shouted to three witches out. Without hesitation, the three women scurried out, barely taking the moment to insult or complain; George wasn't going to thank them for understanding. He yanked the shutters and pressed the button for the first floor. For whatever reason, it was deserted and it probably wasn't a good sign, yet George felt compelled that's where everyone was heading.

[the crafty pig]

Caroline 4th floor

The 4th floor was emptying out, stray witches and wizards wands in hand moved in pairs, cautiously moving from room to room. The fleeting snippets of curses, shouts and grunts were long gone and now the pairs floated aimlessly as if stuck on a loop retracing pointless steps.

She felt irritated at them til she realised she too had been walking aimlessly, as if an auror would just pop out of the air and magically assist her, the futility of her actions suddenly overwhelming. In the middle of a deserted corridor she let herself slump against the wall, hands twisting in her as if trying to pull the emotions out of her, strand by strand route by route.

A searing pain , like a knife between her ribs, overruled pin pricks of frustration and desperation, this was too much... she hadn't even had dinner yet. Most of all Kay.... sweet sweet Kay.

She pulled at her hair....using the pain, embracing the pain, letting it drive her letting it pull her in focus her mind. She was a wounded hen standing over the broken shells of her chicks yet she had the conscious thought to strike back.

Strike back.... strike... back

She let the anger flow through her, an unfamiliar emotion, an intoxicating emotion, one that stiffened back bones and spurred tired limbs. She turned back the way she came.

"Look before you leap girl"

She gave a start, wand fumbling into her hand as she spun, a graceless twirl to make a ballerina blanch even as her eyes boggled at the empty corridor. A throat clear, drew her eyes to the portrait on the wall to her right, a stately figure resting comfortably on a plush arm chair.

His voice was well to do with the slightest hint of a sneer, his upturned nose just below a precariously perched monacle"

"You can rush off and find a death eater to hit with your most inventively brutal jinxes or you can help us get out of this mess"

She gave a pointed glance around at the deserted corridors and sealed rooms around her, back up, a cat with it's fur on end.

"Well this floor is decidedly organised"

she opened her mouth for a smug retort yet he overrode her

"except that there are 400 people sat at an apparition point with nowhere to go"
her mouth dropped open and the stately figure raised a single eyebrow

"Close your mouth girl before you swallow a jinx..."

when she didn't respond he gave a snort

" girl you've performed admirably and all is not lost, this floor is decidedly safe but the second floor is bottlenecked and we've had no word from the minister or the department heads."

her mouth snapped shut, eyes burning " you call me girl one more time and I'll_"

"without them no emergency apparition... we need you on the first floor"

"me... you don't need me I'm a tester for fucks sake"

"you know the old saying"

the wizard looked down his nose at her mouth twisting into a leering smile as he walked out of his picture though Caroline could hear his words fading into the background

"any port in a storm"

[TheDookieNut]

The vibrations of the lift seemed to hum, rattling against George as the question of his own mortality crept into his mind. Sure, he could swing a hex, toss a charm, or launch a curse if he had to. He knew he would if the moment came to it, but they were outnumbered. So many of those they'd received reports against were turning, stepping out from behind their facades and joining the ranks of Lord- with a grit of his teeth and an unwavering stomach- Voldemort. It was as if something had lifted from his shoulders, a weight he'd never known had existed. Their own worst nightmare was coming to hunt them all, the least George could do was not cower in fear when it happened. He'd never be a hero, but merely a name on the wall of the lost and he found peace with that. Hero's didn't act like him. They were selfless, brave beyond their years, wise and compassionate; nothing like himself.

The lift speed along in the darkness, jolting as it rushed through the warren layout of the Ministry. Barely a minute passed before the elevator doors opened and George stepped out in the hall, his feet instantly pushing off the ground and into the halls beyond. His wand still clutched tightly in his hand, his palm sweaty, the man bounded down the halls following the sound of voices and the faint trial of chaos. Clearly heading further down into the Ministry had been a mistake. He would have already been where he needed to be if he hadn't paid Caroline a visit. Of course, if he hadn't gone down to see her, chances were he'd lose an arm before the morning.

Twisting about a corridor, George side stepped around a desk and barely considered the reason for it being out in the hallway now. There was no denying the whole building was under attack, if not their whole world. George barely had time to consider exactly what was going to happen if they lost this- or when. His journey brought him to a long hall, giving him the briefest glimpse of a cloak at the end of the hall before it disappeared the right. Immediately George followed. He could hear voices, although currently too far away for him to specify exactly who. He pushed forwards, sprinting as fast as anyone could in a heavy cloak. He hadn't seen any signs of the individual being a Death Eater, and to that he was thankful. Regardless he didn't call a name-

"Nott!" George quickly span. The wiry hair of his closest colleague and friend was a welcome sight. "Merlin's Beard, we couldn't find you anywhere. I sent Fletcher to find you, but I guess he missed you. This way." The two men barely gave way for a friendly catch up before Travers hurried them both down the hall and towards the bundle of Aurors and black cloaked Hit Wizards like themselves. In the middle of it all was a man who seemed to collect far more respect than any other in the Ministry. Rufus Scrimgeour, the harden Auror they all looked up to. George and his friend slowed their pace as they reached the back, joining the ground like two late students blending quickly so notice wouldn't be taken.