Prologue
It was the hottest day of summer; the streets glistened with the residue of past rain; buildings towered over the inhabitants of London compressing them into the narrow streets and roads at which they stood. Brian Shackle weaved through the crowds his wand securely placed in his coat lining, he kept up the pace as best was possible as muggle after muggle moved at an agonisingly slow pace to their desired destination.
A line of sweat layered his brow; he used a blue folded handkerchief clutched in between two swollen fingers to wipe it clear. He wasn't a particularly old man put the war twenty-two years previously had caused him some unfortunate injuries, the most obvious and more prominent one was the blow he had received to his left knee causing his walk to appear distorted to any on looking muggle.
Brian took the remains of the Pumpkin juice-disguised in a can of coke-into his mouth and sighed as the cool liquid teased his scratched throat; relieving him of some pain. The hairs of his beard tickled as he followed Barney Flick a young, tall, scrawny fellow into the Ministry of Magic's entrance, which appeared to be a photo booth. Both men took seats next to each other in a formal distracted manner.
"Brian."
"Barney." The two men acknowledged one another before descending into silence. The camera above flashed brightly, capturing the stony faces. The screen clicked and the chair began to move.
Once inside the busy onslaught of Witches and Wizards hit Brian with a fires heat. Without delay he continued on his way –limping. He was about to step into the lift when a dainty Witch approached, a clipboard held proudly in her hands, "Shackle? Brian Shackle?" He nodded straightening his tie; the tight lipped women cast an ambiguous glance at the board once more, "An unexpected meeting has occurred the Minister will need you to report to level eleven, section c, corridor six; door forty nine..."
"Do they demand my direct response?" Brian asked. He had been expecting this meeting for awhile now and although he was relived it had finally arrived and the sleepless nights could stop; he was suddenly rather nervous.
"Yes...it is urgent, so to speak," she responded her nails scratched at the wood on the board with frustration. Brian thanked her and let her be on her way. The air was cool and the elevator eerily silent; Brian tapped his good foot anxiously on the floor, the whole of the seven departments would be gathered if this was about the issue he thought it was. The door slid open and he raced out following the signs to locate the designated room; once located, he pushed it open with a tentative hand.
"Brian Shackle, take a seat," Alastair Bode the Minster of Magic ordered, pointing to the fourth seat on his left; Brian took it. All heads of the seven departments were sat in their seats hands folded, grasped, clutched, and crossed; each Witch and Wizard trying their best to disguise some underlying emotion, the only Wizard who seemed entirely at ease was Tron Radford. Brian turned frosty at the sight of him. Tron Radford had slick, slimy black long hair greased back into an inanimate ponytail, Brian despised him and his old ways; having fought many death eaters in his time Brian couldn't help but notice the tenacious ways in which the man moved, the way his eyes caught the weaknesses buried in the human mind.
Brian was now extremely alert.
"I wish I had bought you here on happier terms, however, this is not the case as the Department of International Magical Cooperation are aware there has been a stir in the Magical community both nationally and internationally."
At the mention of his department Brian straightened up in his dragon scale chair and faced the Minister with his full attention; the Minster continued "It seems the belief of that of Voldemort are returning to our attention, it is believed that his followers are returning with more rage than ever," Bode continued his clipped ginger hair flashing in the glow of the light.
"Nonsense, its mere children creating rumours that's all Minister, we have nothing to worry about, "Tron purred his body lying slack in his chair. Brian flared, "The statistics being shoved in our faces are too supported to be ignored." Brian had a strong voice and it rang out in the room as he bashed a fist on the desk. The Department of Internationally Magical Cooperation had been spending long painful nights analysing the data that proceeded to be thrown before them in despair; the facts were not to be ignored.
"Do share this hard core evidence Shackle," Radford mocked, he was the head of the Department of Law Enforcement; the biggest department in the Ministry and an extremely influential man. Puffing out his chest and retrieving the files from his briefcase; scanning the papers and placing them on the table he gave a flick of his wand and copies each appeared before the Head of each Department.
"The papers before you will provide statistical evidence for what I about to say. We first noticed the signs of Voldemort's ideology being reborn when the city of New York began to experience a shocking number of deaths, of those who sometimes get referred to as 'muggle borns' the American national Crime and Security Department stepped in and about five months ago the culprits were revealed; there were several pureblood men who referred to themselves as 'Deatheater's. Now if you turn the page you can see the graph, it has a positive correlation and shows how the deaths of 'muggle borns' has not only risen in America but also, Canada, France, Germany, Spain, Brazil, England and the list goes on, each gang caught, each person protesting going by the same ideology, the same name, 'Deatheaters'." Brian faded out and scratched his beard nervously.
There was a mumble of agreement within the room although Brian could sense that some refused to believe it.
"Thank you Brian," Alastair said addressing him in a respectful manner "As you can see this is becoming a significant problem and I brought you all here today to raise the issue and decide a proper and formal way of handling it in the most effective way possible."
A muscular man beside Brian leant forward in his seat, "It is obvious," he spoke.
"Jenkins, do elaborate." The Minister encouraged.
"It is obvious the outcome, we must demolish all activity whenever it takes place," Robert Jenkins continued, his face had flared a vibrant red as he spoke with such passion " Many innocent lives have already been taken and I refuse to stand by and let a repeat of what happened twenty two years ago happen now."
Brian was nodding in agreement with the wise young man sat next to him. The room was fizzing with anticipation, "But how do we know it won't pass," a tall, blonde lady spoke from next to Tron, her blonde hair was braided down her back, she took a sip of her water and then continued, "It is clear that it is an issue, however, if it is an issue at the present moment I am not certain. I have similar feelings to Tron in that it could simply be a passing phase. Young Witches and Wizards like to feel powerful and break rules-"
"BREAK RULES! BREAK RULES, THEY ARE MURDERING," Robert roared his fists clenching.
"Accidents happen," she continued, "AN ACCIDENT, IT WAS MURDER." Brian placed a reassuring arm on Robert who had his wand drawn in anger.
The concession seemed to be in uproar as people threw obscure theories at one another, Alastair sat silent in his chair a hand nervously finding a loose thread on his jacket to pull; he began scanning the room it appeared as if everyone was standing...no not quite everyone, Alastair thought. Tron was perched in his seat a small smile playing on his lips he seemed almost pleased.
Five hours later Brian left the room feeling more deflated than ever, his eyes stung; his pride bruised and a hollow mind. He returned to his office in a state of utter discontent. His department were waiting anxiously for the news of how the meeting had gone and Brian had the unfortunate job of informing his colleagues that all their effort may have been in vain, it seemed that many of the people sat in the meeting today had found no sense in putting a stop to the murders and the uprising of evil. It was happening again; Brian cast a soundproofing spell on his office before unleashing his rage. Frustration overtook ever neuron in his brain as he screamed; it was happening again, right before his eyes and even as an official he had no power to stop it. He was useless. Brian tore open the files and began reading them with a determination that would scare a Dementor.
Brian left the office that night with a spring in his step he had spent another four hours rereading ever piece of information uncovered to try and figure out who was behind the uprising. There had to be a leader and there was. Brian Shackle had uncovered the mystery that his department had been slaving away to uncover for months. The sun had gone to bed by the time he finally made his way out of the building; he weaved between the streets his breath coming out in shallow pants.
He would tell the Minister tomorrow and the three prophets would be safe. Brian peered into an abandoned alley way, it stank of the corpses of half eaten food and festering rats; he ignored this though and deemed the place safe. He was just about to apparate when his spine twisted painfully. Brian jerked forward in pain and his knees shattered on the hard cobbled floor as he fell. His senses were becoming distorted; a face flashed before him...Tron. The man smiled as his wand slashed through the air and 'crucio' hung on his lips.
Tron gazed down at the man before him. The soldier, the warrior, the old man beneath his feet was withering in agony his joints twisting in positions deemed impossible. Tron felt nothing; his heart was black, his eyes a soulless pit. He spat at the man's feet and relived the pain long enough to be heard.
"I can't let you live Brian, you're ruining my plans, you uncovered the mystery and now it must die with you." Tron flicked his wand one last time and Brian Shackle fell to the floor, dead.