The Ministry - IC

[Effervescent]

THE MINISTRY​

.

---

It was the day of Jessilda Gatherdy's trial, and while it was closed tight away from the curious witches and wizards about the Ministry of Magic, it was the hot topic for the day. Through the bustling morning crowd, everyone was speculating and predicting the outcome of the trial. Jessilda Gatherdy had allegedly tortured and killed a Muggle right out in the open using forbidden spells. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had their work cut out for them as it had been some time since the Muggle world had been exposed to blatant magic.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was tight lipped about the entire investigation. Aurors allegedly had escorted Jessilda Gatherdy and the key witness, a Squib by the name of Alice D'Avignon, into the Ministry via portkeys. It wasn't the first time a Squib had been in the Ministry of Magic, but it still sparked a controversial topic in the matter. They were, after all, not exactly part of the magical world, yet still expected to maintain the Statute of Secrecy.

The Daily Prophet had released an article with Alice's sentiments on the entire debacle that presented some casual debates among the Ministry of Magic often discussed over lunch. While her words spoke out against the Statute of Secrecy, few felt there was any real threat to their way of life from one little incident.

But a Muggle was dead. Jessilda Gatherdy was standing trial for the torture and murder of a Muggle in the public eye by way of the Cruciatus and Killing Curses. Aurors would occasionally be found at the behest of an enchanted quill and an eager Daily Prophet reporter or a casual confrontation in the elevators by a curious employee from another department. No one had been able to get much out of them, which most brushed off as just part of their job. It had almost been a game to some to try and get a small amount of information from an Auror.

Those that err on the side of conspiracies looked to this tight-lipped investigation as more strange. While this was the biggest case of Muggle exposure they've had in years, the Aurors had often provided small statements for the press, and trials weren't as elusive. Needless to say, everyone's focus wasn't entirely on their department tasks, unless of course it was related to the trial.

A Squib speaking out against the Statute of Secrecy is nothing new, but what is new are those contemplating the need for it within the magical community. There were plenty of Muggles out there who knew about their world as parents or siblings or spouses and they're never the threats. It's always some other witch or wizard that threatens their livelihood.

Looking out into the Atrium, it would look like any other Monday morning at the Ministry of Magic. Even with the buzz of the trial, everyone still went about their business as usual. What else was there to do? No one had the slightest clue that things were transpiring right under their noses that would shake the foundations of the Ministry.

---

For Your Next Post

Everyone should write their introductions as their morning routines for a business day. It's a Monday! Start of the work week. Detail how they handle their work mornings, how they feel about the trial, and what their mornings consist of. Feel free to NPC any coworkers, or have your characters interact with another PC for earlier interactions. Don't have your character leave the Ministry of Magic just yet. See below for your personal flares to include in your post. Beware if you look into someone else's info as it will contain spoilers!

Kjbivins

@Kjbivins - At some point in the morning you find one of your colleagues in the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes speaking to someone you've never seen before. They don't appear to work in your department, though, and after their quiet exchange, your colleague officially comes into the department for work. You can have witnessed this at any point in the morning, but it will be as your colleague is coming in for work. Are they early? Late? What they look like and their professional relationship with Tadpol is entirely up to you and how it suits you, but the colleague will look distracted and somewhat worrisome, but when asked will deflect and give a seemingly normal answer.

Elle Joyner

@Elle Joyner - Violet accidentally collides with a random wizard at some point. He apologizes quickly. If she drops anything, he doesn't help. She will feel like she may know who he was, but by the time she gives it more of a thought, he's lost in the crowd. He was a man who looked in his early fifties with shoulder length peppered hair and a short beard and light skin. No matter how much Violet tries to place the face to the memory, she can't recall the familiarity. This can either lead to either wonderings if her memory is failing her, or if her memory has been altered.

Custodiet Teh

@Custodiet Teh - Corinda's hearing had been scheduled for today. She'll come into the Ministry of Magic and run into a coworker that asks her why she's there. After an exchange, she'll find that her hearing has been moved for tomorrow due to the trial. Since she's there already, either she or her coworker can suggest sticking around in case the trial ends sooner than later. She can either wait about in her department, or she can attempt to go to the Wizengamot Administration Services to try and reschedule her hearing for today. In the process of either, she will find herself on an elevator with a woman who is very focused on being as antisocial as possible. She sneezes at one point and apologizes. Corinda will hear a humming sound that seems to come from the woman, and when she looks at the woman, she'll hum again, and then apologize stating she hums when she is thinking. She gets off the elevator at level 6.

 

[Custodiet Teh]

Corinda Nott

Sunlight crawled across the crowded room, making its way up the old four-post bed and across the sheets where the long beams of light came to rest across the wide-open eyes of Corinda Nott.

She'd been awake for some time already, caught in the bittersweet spot of being neither fully awake nor asleep. By the time her eyes actually did close, the sleep hadn't even been a respite. Her dreams a hodgepodge of stressful imagery and blackness. When she woke back up, it was still dark out. Instead of getting up, she decided just to keep still for a while, listening to London waking up.

The noise of the city began to rise, gradually but each new sound compounded the din. Deliveries coming and going, merchants setting up, and early travelers making their way towards the hub of the magical world in England, Diagon.

Corinda couldn't afford to live off the Alley, her flat actually a distance away on Gerrard Street, a muggle area. The elderly Muggle couple that owned the home had a Witch daughter that acted as an intermediary for her. And what a home it was. Corinda sat up in the antique bed that dominated the small room, drawing her long legs up to her chest, inspecting the still healing wound on her leg.

She grimaces, looking around for anything that might distract her. Apart from her bed, the room was simply a large black wardrobe, countless books, and a collection of mementos from the various nights out she wanted to remember. She gave a little smile at how big that collection, in particular, was getting. Feeling just enough happiness to get moving, Corinda slipped from out of the silk sheets, the wood floor creaking as she landed. Time to get moving.

The morning was in full swing when Corinda stepped in front of her mirror. Her hair pulled down into tight braids close to her scalp, uniform spotless and chin raised upwards in defiance. This day had been bearing down on her for some time and she was going to make it her own. With a flick of her wand, her Custodial helmet floated over and landed neatly on her head. She gives her reflection a satisfied tut and headed out her door, locking it with a charm behind her.

Moments later, Corinda found herself in Diagon Alley, apparating in just outside of the Cauldron. Without saying much, she entered the short queue for the fireplace alongside the others that didn't have access to the floo network in their home. The pub kind enough to offer its connection to the public. A small tip jar was left atop the mantle that Corinda ignored. She'd spent enough coin in the pub that asking for a tip at this point almost rude. With practiced ease, she grabs the powder and calls out in her destination.

The Ministry of Magic.

The expansive atrium greeted Corinda with the same sort of indifference that it always seemed to hold for her. Walking a few steps forward to clear the floo entrance, she pauses to look things over. Wizards and witches seemed to flow towards the foyer, a river of magical potential but as with most rivers, all the shit tended to flow with it too. She gives a little, I know more than you do smile to the atrium in general and merged in with the magical folk heading to work.


Corinda did her best to keep a perfect stride, something she worked on since being a kid, heel-toe, heel-toe, athletic, controlled, fast. Having a good flow to her body made her feel better in general but it was tough today. Her knee wanted to be put up. The Ministry healers did what they could but it wasn't healing up right at all. Stress made it worse and today it was screaming. She could feel her pacing was off despite trying her best to stifle any sign of a limp.

She must have been out of it today because she didn't expect to feel a hand on her shoulder. The strong grip was enough to pull her from the almost chant-like concentration she had in her pace. Her knee responded instantly, giving out beneath her. She stumbled as she corrected herself, weight shifting to her good leg while she whirled around to confront whoever had grabbed her so roughly.

"What the bloody hell do you WANT?" Her voice managing to be both it's traditionally raspy self and squawkingly loud. Her narrowed eyes blinking wide as she recognized her fellow member of the WCU, Hieronymous Kagen. A right-hand man with a mean left hook, Kagen was one of the most professional men she'd ever had the pleasure of working with. As well as one of the most enjoyable men she'd ever gone drinking with. He could have been half-giant for all she knew, maybe quarter. His size and strength were legendary but he moved like someone born that way. Excellent singing voice too. Her expression changed from surprised anger to wincing relief. There was concern on his usually stony pale face.

"You aren't ready to come back yet. I snuck up on you and your limp is telling..." He gently gave her bad leg a tap with his boot, holding her up as she winced. "What are you doing here? In full dress too. Quitting?" Corinda watched his eyes, getting nothing from them. She'd honestly considered quitting, lots of WCU did after bites but what else did she have besides the job? All her friends, Kagen, her income, everything came from the the job. She wasn't ready to let it go.

Corinda considered lying for a moment, Kagen wasn't the best at telling if someone was fibbing or not but he didn't deserve that. "I've got a hearing with the Wizengamot today." She didn't need to remind him what it was about. "Best to be professional looking before the beast" Kagen stares back with the same blank look before responding. "You don't have a hearing today" He handed her a copy of the Prophet, tapping the headline with a finger similar to an oversized statue. Jessilda Gatherdy's mug took up much of the front page and Corinda swore loud enough for a group of witches walking past to glance over and start tittering with one another.

Corinda puffed up in anger, holding back a shout of angry desperation. Of all the things to happen today. Her night of tossing and turning and the hours of rehearsing her case all going to be tossed aside because of a minor story the media was blowing up. She shoved the paper away towards Kagen. "I'm having my hearing today. I'm not spending another night in limbo because some muggle crossed paths with a fool of a witch. This has nothing to do with my case and it's not fair." Kagen grunted, taking the paper back and smoothing out the creases Corinda had made when clutching it. "Go to Admin and plead it out. Ask for Minton, he'll probably be able to help. The Ministry loves sidelining things to focus on whatever's in the news that week." Corinda nodded "I'll do that, Minton a friend of yours?" Kagen nodded "Brother in law, he owes me"

She refrained from asking and instead gave her thanks. Kagen gave a nod which all things considered he might as well have just hugged her, before he set off against the current, parting the crowd before him. Spinning in place and nearly tweaking her knee again, Corinda adjusted her path and hurried along towards the lift.

An empty one had her name on it, Corinda stepping in and tapping the button for level one. She had just leaned back to watch the doors close when a woman slipped between the nearly closed doors. The woman went to the opposite corner of her and seemed very interested in the floor. Corinda didn't say anything for a moment, wondering if the woman wanted to get off on One too or had simply forgotten to put her floor in. Corinda's head tilts before speaking up. "Near miss that...I heard someone got cut in half doing that once...with the doors..." The woman looked up and away, starting hum. Corinda scoffing a bit at the rudeness.

"Top floor I assume then?" Corinda sneering a bit with her words. "Let me get the bu-"AWCHOO! Corinda paused, her passive-aggressive attack interrupted by the loudest sneeze she'd ever heard from another woman. Momentarily stunned, Corinda listened to a half mumbled apology from the woman who almost immediately started humming. Corinda blinked, recovering from what should have been defined as some sort of sonic attack. "Floor six please..." The woman's soft voice threw Corinda even further. "Floor six, sorry about the humming, I do it when I'm thinking.." The woman goes back to humming and Corinda, thoroughly admonished, pressed the button. The elevator continued on, dinging at the floor and the woman hurried out, the door closing without incident this time.

Minutes pass and the top floor finally arrived. Corinda surprised to see the large number of people gathered up here. Most holding cameras and all of them with quills floating by their sides. She frowned, doing her best to cut through them. They were all here likely to try grill any official tangentially related to the squib case and Corinda wanted nothing to do with it. A few turned to look at her, hoping she was an Auror but the purple suit and helmet quickly told them otherwise, their backs turning just as quickly as their necks had to look at her. With some difficulty, Corinda finally reached the out of the way, somewhat scruffy looking door for this level that read Wizengamot Administration Services and with all the grace of someone frustrated by the events of life, barged into the office.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Violet Henley

---

The Ministry

Time heals all wounds...

It had been twenty years since the accident. Twenty years, and not a day went by when Violet Henley did not think of her sister. In her mind, she could still see the narrow oval of light overhead, the cold stone and the brackish water that swallowed her pretty plaid skirt and black knee high socks. She could hear screams, echoing off the walls, becoming thinner and ragged as the hours passed and night fell.

He had changed course... the cyclist. James Fanelin. She could still remember seeing his face appear over the wall of the well, peer down, blue eyes filling with shock and fear. He'd never ridden down that path before, but he had changed course... and he had saved Violet's life.

In the hospital bed at St. Mungo's, she had swallowed her words, bit hard on her tongue, and for six days, stubbornly, she'd refused to mutter anything at all. They had feared, then, that there was brain damage, but Vi knew well enough... The moment she opened her mouth it would all be over. It would all change. And it had. She'd told them, finally, with tears in her eyes - told them that Oleander had done it. That she had convinced Violet to go to the edge of the well, promising her that there were mermaids at the bottom. Vi hadn't believed her sister, but she'd been so desperate for Olea to like her that she'd gone anyway. And Olea had pushed. She'd pushed and pushed until finally, smaller than her sister, the fragile girl of only twelve, Violet had plunged. The water was higher than it should've been... melted snow from the brief warm sprint they'd had two days prior. Otherwise, she might have died.

This though, wasn't factored in when they decided Oleander had to go. They took her away, screaming and clawing and swearing. Taken her away and tucked her into the cozy corner of an asylum in the middle of nowhere, near the shoreline. And no one knew. No one dared to ask. Oleander vanished... and Violet shrunk. For a year, they tried to pull her from the shell. For a year, they plucked and tugged and pushed and poked.

School was hell, and Violet could feel herself fading away... becoming the nothing Oleander had wanted her to be. It was a Professor in the end, who saw the struggle for what it was. Guilt. And fear that someday, that guilt would become hatred. That guilt would design in others a notion of what Oleander saw in her... A rotten, broken, hateful thing. A curse. An intruder.

He saw. And he shined light and truth into her in such a way no one had been able to before. It wasn't her doing. Oleander was the broken one, broken in her mind and her heart, where no one could fix her. Where only time could do the work needed... He reached into the darkness and he took Violet's hand and he pulled her free and free, indeed, she thrived. And she bloomed. And grew.

She grew, and grew...

But never so much that her roots dried up and she could not remember.

She wanted to remember. Because forgetting was too painful, forgetting meant letting the darkness win. For all she had done, for all her cruelty and her violence, Olea deserved better than that. They both deserved better.

And so every year, Violet would find herself at that little middle-of-nowhere hospital on the shore, and she would enter through the old oak door and pass by the old oak desk, where Mr. Gravish, the caretaker, would give her a wave with a wrinkled hand and hold out the visitor's badge. She would pin it to her chest and she would wait. And after a little while (never too long, though never right away), Maeve Marvish would arrive with her stern expression, hair pulled back into a severe bun. She would shake Violet's hand with her own cold, calloused one and gesture Violet before her.

And every year they would walk the long, dark hallway, to the door at the end, where Maeve would pull out a key and unlock the door.

"Ten minutes..." She would remind, and in Violet would go.

Oleander never said a word. Not for sixteen years. Violet would sit and she would talk and talk... She would tell her sister about their family. About the bakery and all the on-goings in Hogsmeade and St. Davids. She would tell her about any new young men who came callings... about blossoming love and broken hearts... She would tell her about the weather and the world and everything in between. And when ten minutes were up, Violet would kiss Oleander on the top of her head and she would leave.

Six minutes had passed this year, and Violet was telling Olea about the new almond flour muffins she had baked over the weekend, when it happened…

"Why do you come, Little Flower?" Oleander asked, and for the second time that night, she shocked her sister, canting her head towards Violet, to meet the young woman's gaze.

Oleander's interruption came so unexpectedly, that Violet found herself speechless for several seconds after. Her heart pounding, she leaned forward, and with her breath caught in her throat, she stared at her sister, awestruck. Twenty years and not a word...

"Year after year. Why do you continue to come here? No one else does... No one's ever bothered."

"Because you're my sister, Oleander." Violet answered softly, as the shock wore on, "And I love you."

"Even after what I did?" Oleander's expression hardened, indifferent, almost.

"Even after..." Violet nodded.

"I'd do it again, you know..."

"I do.." Violet admitted, "But I also know you can't help it. I see it in you, Olea. The darkness. I see what it all did to you, to be seen the way you were. To feel so... useless. Broken. And I have always, always understood why you were the way you were..."

Eyes narrowing for a moment, Oleander seemed to consider what her sister said, before looking away again and that brief, shining moment of clarity seemed like a ghost, to float in and out on a whim... and then it was gone.

And for the next two minutes, Oleander was as she had been for so long now, and Violet rose and kissed her head and left the old house and the shore and returned to her life. But for a moment... just a moment, Oleander had been so much more than anything she'd been in so long. And Violet knew that her sister, however her mind had warped her conscience... however the darkness had tainted her soul, was still in there…

"Miss Henley? Are you going to stay in there all day or come inside?"

So drawn into her thoughts had Violet been that she hadn't noticed the lift coming to a stop, nor had she noticed the small sprig of a woman holding the gate open.

"OH! Miss Henshaw. I'm so terribly sorry. Daydreaming, again. I'll take the next one… or… the stairs..."

"No worries my dear, but be careful! Busy day, today."

"Thanks for the warning! I'll keep an eye out…" With a small but bright smile, she stepped back out into the atrium and right into a collision. Toppling, nearly off her feet, Violet steadied herself only to see the man rushing past.

"My apologies..." He called, before disappearing into the crowd. For a moment, Violet was certain she'd seen the man before. The familiarity was uncanny… A face she'd certainly seen before, not merely in passing, and yet recollection escaped her…

A pit formed in her stomach as a strange thought occurred. It wasn't like her to forget a face… and yet, this particular one seemed just outside of her memories. Memory was an integral part of her line of work, and during training she and her fellow modifiers had been required to test their charms on each other.

And she knew all too well how it felt…

Pushing forward, she searched the sea of faces for the salt and pepper haired man, but to no avail. Eventually, Violet made her way upstairs to the office, but not without a creeping dread that stuck in her throat like a lump.

​

 

[Kjbivins]

Amar Tadpol's wheelchair floated over the stairs by mere millimeters. Once he reached the de-hexing chambers down in the depths of the ministry, Tadpol tapped his Rosewood wand against his wheelchair and it landed gently on the ground. Sighing heavily, Tadpol rested in his chair for a few minutes before his ancient arms began to push the wheels forward. Contracting on spells was becoming increasingly more difficult for the old wizard. Thank goodness he had so many helpful muggle devices back at his home so he wouldn't have to worry about the mental and physical stress of casting spells just to move around his house. If only other wizards could see the skills and talents possessed by muggles. So many tragedies could have been...should have been avoided. Tadpol honestly didn't care much for today's lot of hexed tickets, he really wanted to hear more about that recent murder trial.

Tadpol entered a small padded room with a silver table in the middle of it. Sitting on the table was a wooden bowl and a scroll left for him.
"Alright," Tadpol said to himself, "let's see what the damage is." He grabbed the scroll and looked at it carefully with his beady brown eyes.

Subject #44332020
Date acquired: 2020-8-12
Location: 92 Duckpit Lane, Upper Town, Herefordshire in Mr. Baxter's kitchen
Wand used: N/A
Wizard/Witch: N/A
Curse/Jinx/Hex used: Transfiguration-Liquid into mild (but painful) acid.
Summary: This wooden bowl was found in the Kitchen of one Henry Edmund Baxter: Age 51, male muggle. Mr. Baxter's neighbors are half-blood wizard families who currently have children attending Hogwarts. It is currently believed that one of the children planted this bowl in Mr. Baxter's kitchen during the summer. The bowl has recovered after Ministry authorities were alerted of Ms. Baxter calling the hospital after her husband had suffered burns on his tough after having some homemade soup. Mr. Baxter's tongue was healed with an anti-burn potion and the obliviate spell was used on the Baxter family as well as muggle authorities to make them believe everything was just a false alarm. The two wizard families and their children are under investigation and if a student was indeed responsible they are likely to suffer suspension or expulsion from Hogwarts for breaching the Statute of Secrecy (Section A, article 1, paragraph 13).

The rest of the scroll contained trivial details and a section for Amar Tadpol to write down his name and date of when he removed the curse from the bowl. All this paperwork for removing a curse done by some ruffians who were hoping to become the next Weasly twins. Back when he was an Athor, he actually felt like he was helping the world, not putting an end to pranks. But as an old man, everything just felt the same. Some magic harms a muggle, he cleans up the mess, the ministry pretends it never happened, and everybody deals with the paperwork until the next disaster, major or minor, happens again. This happened so often that the ministry still had paperwork from over a century ago that still hadn't been finished.

"Aufero Acidulus," he grumbled as he twirled his wand around the rim of the bowl until a yellowish-green stream of light trailed behind his wand. He continued the motion seven times, each time the stream grew bigger until he flicked his wand and the sickish light dispersed into nothingness. He signed what he needed to on the scroll, exited the room, and when he returned there was a different object on the table waiting form him...this time mirror. It seemed this one showed an ugly version of whoever looked into it.
"How original," he thought to himself recounted the time of friend of his used this exact curse to prank his sister when they were in Hogwarts.

***​

After hours of tedious and tiring work, Amar Tadpol was finally allowed some respite in his office. A youthful smile grew on his face as he watched the miniature quidditch players dart around his cubicle after a pea-sized golden snitch. As the mini-tournament played out, Tadpol searched for his copy of the Daily Prophet. Very little updates on the trail, as expected given how recent it was and how the ministry didn't want word of this getting around yet. The last thing Minister Hermione Granger needed was the likes of old Rita Skeeter stirring up an already sensitive topic for many wizards with misinformation, off the wall theories, and scandalous "interviews". Soon, Tadpol and the rest of the wizarding world would learn more about this crime and have to deal with its inevitable fallout. He only wished this time wizards and muggles would find a way to break out of this cycle of obliviation and paperwork.

On the bright side, the Chudley Cannons had found a new beater and this one has both of his arms! A vast improvement from last year's.