So, here is a small Prologue and proof of concept. Further editing will follow when I can look back at this with some distance.
Alexander Bay
The young man followed the line of Aurors through the snowy winter garden. Icy air cut into their faces and let long cloaks whip around in the wind as the mages and witches advanced towards their goal. They were committed, their duty obvious, their targets identified, and their mission righteous.
In the front and center walked his younger brother. The young man, now in charge of the British Auror office, led them up the center path. Flanking the talL silver blond man was an American Auror named Samson. A tall slender half Vila, the representative of the French Aurors walked at his other side.
With them were three more Aurores, one Australian, and two more Brits.
The Scottish witch with the fiery red hair from Magical law enforcement, his wife, walked at his side, holding the rolled-up warrant in her hand. "Why did it have to be the Bavarian Alps in the dead of winter?" Yela growled and pulled her cloak a bit closer.
Like all of them, she had her wand drawn.
With a slight gesture the line of seven Aurors spread out, heavy boots trampling through meticulously kept gardens. Alexander and Yela let their companions pull ahead by a few feet.
"Just tying up loose ends with the end of the war. The Germans have their hands full enough, without our own coming over here..." Alexander reasoned.
He didn't really get the appeal either. These so-called orders or brotherhoods were more often than not compromised of wizards of varying abilities and backgrounds that came together as a merry group to gang up on some very unfortunate muggles, usually young girls.
With his brother conducting a furrow and meticulous purge of these cultists in Britain, they were abandoning their island-like rats on a ship. With everything he had learned about the dark arts, there was almost no magical gain from sacrificing young girls or boys, apart from the pleasure it might bring to the more disturbed
"Aurors," Maxwell ordered softly and the two flanking mages pulled forward, forming a half-circle, as they closed in on the small castles' main gate.
"Halt!" the American Auror warned sharply, his almost comical Texan accent completely out of place in this winter garden.
"The gate is boobytrapped. Some sort of Incendiary," he reported.
"How big?" Maxwell asked.
"We should be fine here. It's set up to hit anyone trying to charm their way past the locks. They are in those vases left and right of the door, Greek fire I reckon. Whoever set this up was an amateur."
His brother sighed. "And there I was hoping we could go in quietly." Maxwell raised his wand. No spells were uttered but for a second the air seemed to shimmer as a wave of faint mist struck the front door, shattering the reinforced oak door and blasting it right from its hinges.
A heartbeat later a wave of heat washed over them as the incendiaries went off, engulfing the doorway in an explosion of bright green flames that dissipated quickly leaving the Aurors free to advance through the main door with their wands raised, his brother at the front and center of the small formation.
"Catch alive if possible. Kill if more convenient. Remember, a number of muggles are unaccounted for. Let us see if we can recover them alive."
As his brother moved through the doorway they were met by a flash of emerald light and the sound of rushing air. One of the British Aurors, a middle-aged chap by the name of Corbyn staggered backward and fell to never rise again.
The Aurors responded in kind, sending a volley of curses into the darkness before swarming into the residence as fast as possible. Alexander and Yela too surged forward, their wands at the ready but by the time they caught up to their companions the French witch called out. "I got him."
The elegant young woman with long blond hair was standing between two of the marble pillars that lined the hallway, her wand pointed at a slumped figure on the floor.
Alexander glanced back at their fallen comrade. He hadn't known the fellow very well. It wasn't like them to get sloppy. Unfortionaltly sleep deprivation eventually took its toll, even on a group as driven as his brother's.
"Let us make quick work of this. If they are in the ballroom they will most certainly have heard this," Maxwell warned.
They swiftly fanned out and moved through the hallway and headed deeper into the castle, now slower and much more cautious than before until they stopped before two flights of stairs, one leading up, the other down.
"We'll split up. Alexander, Yela, Adrianna. The three of you are with me. Tom, Samson, Michael. The three of you will check the rest of this floor, then proceed to the upper floors." Maxwell ordered sharply. "Once finished we will meet up again."
The group parted and Alexander and Yela followed the two Aurors down a narrow flight of stairs into the dungeons below the main building.
With their lit wands raised for illumination, they passed through a wine seller first and down long cold hallways, passing empty chambers as they went. The four wizards finally reached a heavy wooden door at the dungeon's end. Even as they approached they could hear the tortured screams coming from the thick woods' other side.
"Let us end this," Maxwell ordered quietly and raised his wand. "Leave one alive."
"With pleasure," The French witch replied gently and turned the door nob and gently pushed. Once open ajar she swiftly opened it all the way and stepped into the room, her wand raised.
"Avada Kedavra," she snapped on her way through and the dark hallway was lit up by the flash of emerald light and the roar of death rushing forward.
Maxwell and Yela were right behind them, the wands lighting up with unspoken curses. The view that presented itself to them in the room was one of almost comical cliche. A pretty young blond wearing a simple white dress lay chained to a marble altar, surrounded by figures dressed in dark robes. The girl screamed in terror and agony as one of the hooded figures drew bloody lines over her skin. It was his name that Adrianna's first curse bore and death stuck him square in the chest, blasting him off the altar and into two of the hodded figures, sending them sprawling.
The chanting quickly turned into a quire of terrified screams as jets of green light tore into the crowd. It was obvious that their enemies weren't skilled duelists. The long seconds the cultists took to respond cost them more than half their number and when they did, their response was sloppy. They bunched up in their panic, getting each other's lines of fire, further hampering the hexes and curses they hastily cast.
From the second line, Alexander cast a warding spell, allowing for a few seconds in which his companions struck with almost impunity. A burst of red light concluded the few seconds of chaos and a deathly silence fell, only broken by the hyperventilating gaps of the panic-stricken victim.
"Tend to the girl," Maxwell ordered and sent out a messenger Patronus before slowly strolling towards a clearly unconscious man, snoring between his dead friends.
"Nein, bitte nicht!" the girl screamed when she was approached.
As if one second thought Maxwell pointed his wand at the girl as he passed her, and without even looking cast a stunning spell, finally silencing the panic-stricken screams.
"Now too you," the Auror mused, turning his attention to the unconscious man.
"I want this Girl sent to St Mungo's or the Charité," he ordered. "She'll need to be debriefed as well, just in case these chaps weren't only playing: Ask the germans if they want to debrief the girl or if we can do it in London before someone obliviates her?"
Here you go, just a quick story idea.
Do review,
with regards.
Henry Locker