Disclaimer: I disclaim all things great and small, except the stuff I made up. That's all mine, so hands off
Scene 1.Sticks and Stones
The pain in my head; It rules me, although not in all ways. Not yet.
You see, ahh ... How to say it? Perhaps it is best to start with myself. Who I am, and why I search for the stones. I assume you are confused, good. Confusion leads to humility, which leads to respect. Two things that I confess I sadly lacked, though you would not have thought it to talk to me.
Who am I you might be asking; a good question. To the world I present myself too each day I am Einar Hauksson. Does this help? Of course it does not, unless you are moving in pureblood circles or the upper levels of the ministry this name would mean nothing to you. And if you think you know me, let me assure you that everything you assumed is wrong. Einar Hauksson, this is no longer who I think of myself as, for I am cursed. Not as you might imagine by one of those pathetic so called Death Eaters and their grandstanding master Voldemort. No I suffer from a much more malicious evil, one that does not set out to rule or conquer, like so many who use the darkness against its will. No I am afflicted by an evil that exists only to bring suffering. I am a captive of the Raven, and it will kill me, as surely as the sun rises each day.
Why have I been afflicted so? I find myself unwilling to share that knowledge, for I committed an act of great evil, which I shall not record here. I confess myself unwilling to relive it. But please, do not leave in revulsion, for I would tell you of two things. First, the circumstances in which I committed this crime; and second, the way in which I redeemed myself.
Before I continue, know this; I would do it again, without so much as a hesitation, to save that which I love. Perhaps you will one day understand why. However I would tell you of the first stone, and the depth of the treachery that pervades our world.
Have you ever been to the Ministry of Magic? I must presume that you have, and if you have not, my words simply cannot describe it to you, and I shall not try. Being, in the public eye, an upstanding member of The Wizangamot, and the head of the department of Magical Accidents and catastrophes I find myself in its interior somewhat more than I might like. I am a solitary person at heart, and I find the constant crowds to be less than relaxing. One of the reasons that I like my job is that it frequently takes me out of the office and into a variety of interesting and often dubious locations.
Of course, this is not the main reason. The main calling of my station is to periodically investigate the sights of major magical disasters. Not for the head of department the chores of splinch reversal and routine obliviation; the tedious false alarms and referrals to other departments. No I only deal with the major catastrophes. Big explosions and mass cover ups, with the main reasons for each often being an unknown artefact of power, in other words; just what I'm looking for.
My first find was the stone of Vas. This is how it happened.
I was sitting in my office, feet up on the desk, horrible dress robes hung in the corner, pretending I was savouring the memory of my new promotion, mainly for the benefit of the massed sycophants who popped their heads through my door at annoyingly regular intervals to simper over me and drop hints that they were ready for a pay rise, the fools. I reality I was dealing with a crushing headache and was in no mood for office politics. I hadn't 'been out' in a while, and Raven was making its feelings on the matter known.
So it was with barely concealed glee that I acknowledged the report of a large magical fire somewhere in the West Country. Responding to the messenger in a suitably serious fashion, I was soon hurrying to the apparition point wearing my favourite combat robes ( in my experience it's always best to be prepared ), a gift from a close friend. The robes now have a number of modifications, all my own work, many of which have got me out of a few tight spots.
I was greeted at the arrival point by a flustered junior employee, who's expression was reminiscent of one who has just realised that their totally out of their depth. He wordlessly pointed in the direction of the emergency, although by that time I had already pushed past him and was hurrying down the street towards the all too visible fire a short distance away.
As I drew closer I noticed the numerous figures in cloaks scurrying around the edges of the conflagration and spraying it with water, and as I drew closer still I noted the almost complete ineffectiveness of this tactic. Slowing down a bit I move up to one of the wizards further away from the flames.
"What's going on here" I asked. Not having noticed my approach, what with all his attention being on the fire in front of him, the addressed man jumped about three feet into the air and clumsily spun to face me wish a shouted oath, his wand drawn.
Upon taking in my appearance, and no doubt the lack of a visible wand, he visible exhaled. "By Merlin you scared ten years off of me life there, make no mistake." He stowed his wand away, and underneath his plain brown robe I saw the uniform of the Unspeakables. Before I could enquire as to why his department was present, he had turned back around to observe the flames, as if I had never addressed him in the first place.
I have often noticed in my years at the Ministry that the Unspeakables like to think of themselves as above us mere commoners, and I have often been treated with disdain, and on one or two occasions overtly snubbed, so this particular rudeness came as no great surprise to me. Choosing not to try and engage him in what would almost certainly be a futile conversation, I instead went in search of another member of my own department.
Following my nose, or more appropriately my ears, I soon found two such people. They had somehow deigned to make themselves heard over the shouts and other chaos of the surrounding area, and I recognised them almost instantly. The tall one on the right was David Blent, a dark humoured and dark tempered giant of a man, with a talent for making his opinion well know that was matched only by his ability to never waver from his point of view. I have long suspected his death eater sympathies, and though he carries no dark mark I believe it only to be due to his unwavering belief in his own superiority to all other. His opponent was one Rose Vhaldelt, also known as Sneaker, although not to her face. A woman of medium build and modest good looks, she seemed to have a special talent for popping up where you least expect her, often near the end of a private conversation. Handy with her wand and with a fair bit of power behind her on the rare occasions she ever saw fit to lower herself to fieldwork she wasn't someone to be taken lightly. I have little time for her and her office politics.
Ever since they started together in the department, the same year after me in fact, they became bitter rivals almost immediately. He disliked her sneaking habits and contradictory statements along with her snobbery, almost as much as she disliked his overly large male ego. There is only one thing that unites them, and that is the belief that they belong in whatever position I just got promoted to. Without being overly modest, I have to confess that I was somewhat better than them at my job, although neither would admit it. And so it was that I rose up the ladder of the department one step ahead of them at all times. Something that was simply inexplicable and terrible in their eyes. Not that I much cared.
I strode over to the two them and imposed myself somewhat rudely upon their consciousness with two well aimed stinging hexes. They glared at me. "What's going on" I asked calmly, before they had a chance to turn their righteous wrath on me. Somewhat taken aback by my deceptively calm tone, and no doubt slightly restrained by the respect they had to show me by dint of my superior position, they proceeded to tell me, in a highly contradictory fashion, just what the hell was going on.
As it turns out, they had no idea, and could only tell me two useful things. The first was that the fire was almost certainly caused by a magical artefact of some dubious nature ( As to how it came to be there they had several loudly voiced and unlikely explanations, which I soon felt compelled to cut short with another pair of stinging hexes ). The second, slightly more alarming and exiting point of note, was that the fire turned all things it touched into clear glass. Apparently one of the junior members of the department had found this out the hard way, and was now en route to St Mungos, to see if they could do anything with his leg
Tuning out the now resumed argument over the causes of this phenomenon by my esteemed co-workers, I paused to consider the full implications of what I had just heard. Fire and glass, it would fit the pattern, although whether it was dark or light remained to be seen. For the first time in over three months my spirit lifted. Grimly I allowed myself a small grin of triumph, although the fact that all my efforts had turned up less than the blindest of luck did somewhat gall me. Swiftly I decided on a course of action
With a final pair of hexes I once again regained the attention of my co-workers, and told them in no uncertain terms that they where to do as they were told and stay exactly where they were. I'm sure the blatant implication that I was their superior was not lost on them as well as the clear snub, and they both had dutifully murderous expressions on their faces as I turned and walked away from them, but I was feeling just a bit too pleased with myself to care. Something I would regret, in time.
As I approached that flames I put up the strongest shield I knew and then cast a specialised water bubble charm, more commonly used for work underwater, but could suit my purposes with only a little thought. The flames licked against the borders of my protection, and I paused, ready to jump back at short notice. My makeshift protection worked however, and with an acceptable drain on my concentration and power, so I moved forwards into the building.
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This is a bit of an experiment and hopefully part of a series of short stories, each consisting of around three to five chapters of about this length. If anyone could let me know whether it was ok i'd be grateful, I know I'm prone to a bit of over dramatisation, and also if the length was suitable or whether it could do with being a bit longer.