Vaughn studied the array of pictures scattered across his desktop with a sigh. Two young children had been reported missing, the trail cold enough to warrant his team's special tactics. He ran his fingers across the pictures' glossy finish. They were the last images the grieving parents had taken of their daughters, two dark-haired girls playing in the grass with the family dog.
The officer glanced at the time stamp he had already committed to memory. It had been exactly two weeks since the picture. Twelve days since their disappearance.
The local PD had originally suspected custodial kidnapping and interviewed countless family members, scrutinizing their statements with a fine-toothed comb. In the end, the young girls' relatives were cleared of all suspicion, leaving the police with no suspects, no leads, no witnesses, and no motive for the crime that left the small town buzzing.
It was then that the FBI took ownership of the case and discreetly passed the delicate investigation to Vaughn's division. A division dedicated to finding missing No-Maj children using a wealth of magical resources.
Vaughn stood from his desk and paced the small office with a sigh. He brushed his hand against the standard-issued gun resting along his hip. A No-Maj invention with the power to defend and take life, much like the cream colored wand he kept hidden within the folds of his jacket. The MACUSA's pocket within the FBI was a small one and kept as such through their necessity for secrecy. Outside of his unit, Vaughn's coworkers were No-Majs, as oblivious to the magical world as they were to the meaning of the Gordian knot necklace he still wore from his Ilvermorny days. One slip up and the MACUSA would ruin his career, decimate his selectively chosen crew, and pull any and all magical personnel from the FBI's payroll. Vaughn rubbed a hand across his face and spared another glance at the pictures.
The door to the cramped quarters opened with a loud creak and one of Vaughn's crew crossed the threshold carrying two Starbucks cups in his hands. Vaughn accepted the beverage with a faint smile. Special Agent Matts. The heart of the team.
"Let's hear it, Matts. You only buy me a cappuccino when you've got something in the works." The slender blond feigned ignorance.
"Aw, c'mon, Vaughn. Maybe I just felt like being a charitable guy today."
"Charitable. Right." Vaughn took a drink then nodded toward the envelope sticking out of Matts' bag, stamped closed with the Hogwarts seal. "It looks like someone received their Hogwarts letter a little late."
"Ha ha, very funny," the officer retorted as he fished the letter from his satchel. He handed it to his superior with a shrug. "It was delivered to my house this morning by HORSE. Can you believe it? A mailman rode up and gave it to me in the driveway. Anyway, I couldn't open the darn thing. Probably some type of magical mumbo jumbo keeping the likes of me out, huh?"
Vaughn laughed. It was a rough, hollowed sound after hours of misuse. He pulled the wand from his jacket, muttered an incantation, and cut through the stamped seal with a letter opener. The wand was returned to its hiding place with a practiced hand. "Too bad your kid isn't eleven yet, or you could've had him open it up for you."
"Ryan? Nah. If it doesn't have something to do with Ilvermorny, he's not interested. Just three more years to go and then he'll be heading off to Massachusetts."
"Well, tell him that all the best wizards go into the Thunderbird House," Vaughn smirked. "We're the undefeated Quodpot champs twenty years running." He returned to his second-hand chair and flattened the thick parchment on his desk.
"Yyyeeaahhh, he's already picked Wampus," Matts said with a grin.
"You still have plenty of time to change his mind." The dark haired man suddenly paused, missing his partner's sarcastic response, as he skimmed the beautiful calligraphy. Matts craned his neck over the front of the desk and tried to read its contents upside-down.
"Matts. Get Bridgeborn," Vaughn instructed, his cappuccino now forgotten. Matts stumbled backward toward the door.
"Sure thing, Vaughn. Give me one sec." And then the blond was gone, closing Vaughn's office door with a light snap. The wizard reread the passage for a second and third time before the meaning stuck, and he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He rubbed his thumb over the inked signature at the bottom and smiled.
"Headmistress McGonagall." Vaughn owed her a great debt and wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to thank his benefactor in person. His smile wavered. The headmistress was a living legend, known for her undeniable grit and valor during the bloody Battle of Hogwarts and her limitless compassion and leadership following that harrowing day. For such a heroine to lend her services to a pair of missing No-Maj children hundreds of miles across the Atlantic Ocean was almost too good to be true. Vaughn hoped he wouldn't let her assistance go to waste.
Matts returned minutes later with a petite woman at his heels, her wavy hair pulled back into its customary ponytail. Special Agent Bridgeborn. The brains of the team. She glanced at the haphazard shape of Vaughn's office with an air of disapproval.
"Another all-nighter, Vaughn?" she crossed her arms, perturbed. "We're a team, you know. If you needed extra help with the case—"
"Bridgeborn." Vaughn returned her steely gaze and silenced any further debates on the matter. His voice softened as he tapped the parchment before him. "Hogwarts accepted our request." The female officer gaped at her superior in surprise.
"I don't believe it." She snatched the letter and read the fine penmanship, ignoring the lanky form of Matts trying to find a good vantage point over her shoulder. "Vaughn, you do know what this means?"
"Yes. And we've got to work fast." Vaughn made to rise from his chair, but Matts stopped him with a shrill whine.
"Wait, hold on! Anyone care to fill me in before we go all guns and wands blazing?" Matts didn't bother waiting for a response and took the letter from Bridgeborn's hands. His frown deepened as he read the text. "Okay. So Hogwarts is lending us six of their owls? That's cool and all, but I don't see how this helps with our investigation."
"It helps because it's practically unheard of," Vaughn said. His pointer and middle finger tapped a haphazard rhythm across the desk. "These owls are trained to deliver letters and packages virtually anywhere in the world. They'll travel miles to remote islands, mountains, boats, any place you can think of."
"Don't forget cupboards," the brunette added wryly. Vaughn gave her a knowing nod.
"Exactly. Hogwarts owls have a GPS sense of direction. I'd be willing to bet that we can use those same tracking skills in a search-and-rescue operation. Namely, in finding these two young girls." Vaughn waited for Matts' predictable rebuttal as the young man knit his brows in confusion.
"You're telling me that a bunch of birds are gonna find these missing children?"
"Barn owls, to be precise."
"But why use an owl when a drone could do the work instead?" Matts pressed. "We've got drones equipped with thermal heat imaging and facial recognition software along with all the other bells and whistles. Wouldn't that be more effective?"
"Not for this case," Vaughn replied with a shrug. "Our search area is nearly two hundred miles wide, in mostly wooded terrain. The PD already had some of their guys scope out the area by plane, but came up with nothing."
"That doesn't mean anything, Vaughn. You said it yourself. Those woods are huge. They could've missed something." At this, Vaughn ceased his restless tapping. "When I say that they came up with nothing, I mean it. The video footage they reportedly took was nothing more than static, and the airborne pictures were blurry at best."
"Why wasn't that on the books?" Matts asked.
"Because apparently those woods have been like that for years," Bridgeborn clarified. "The locals call it their very own Bermuda Triangle. That's part of the reason why the FBI snatched up the case so fast. Something weird is going on, and I doubt it's the UFO rumor the townsfolk cooked up."
"Which means we go old school. Hence the owls. Keep in mind, Matts, these little girls are barely four and five years old," Vaughn continued, his voice losing some of its calloused edge. "In my experience, a little kid like that is far more comfortable around a small animal than some flying computer. Besides, even if we could get a drone to work out there, that's still a lot of ground to cover. Six of our feathered friends should be able to handle it well enough." Matts leaned against the desk and ran a hand through his sandy hair. After a moment or two of silence, he eventually conceded defeat.
"Okay, okay. You win. All right, let's do this." He made a beeline for the door before hesitating at the threshold. "Uh, exactly where are we going again?" The female agent procured her wand from the satchel she had slung across her shoulder.
"The local bird sanctuary. That's where we'll find our Hogwarts owls." She gave the boys a sly grin. "I'll get a head start and make sure everything's in order. See you boys there." Within moments, the witch had vanished.
"I hate it when she does that!" Matts groaned. Vaughn placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the door.
"Try doing it yourself. You'll hate it even more." The lead detective had only ever Apparated once in his life and had promised himself that he'd never repeat that horrible experience ever again. He shuddered at the memory—throwing up over his shoes and succumbing to a week long bout of vertigo was not the way he'd intended to spend his vacation at Yellowstone National Park. "Let's go, Matts. We've got a long drive ahead of us." The duo exited the office and made their way to the elevators. His lanky companion raised an eyebrow.
"Like thirty minutes long?"
"Try three hours."
"Oh, C'MON!"
Vaughn smiled to himself as the elevator doors shut. If Matts was the heart of the team and Bridgeborn was the brains, he was the backbone, balancing the No-Maj and magical worlds he shared between them.