Chapter 1
The M.L.E.P.
Sam wanted to become an Auror more than anything in the world, it was his wish. It was his main goal in life. The problem was that in Hogwarts, he had never been a model student. When he graduated, he left with average grades and the thing was that when you wanted to become an Auror you had to be top of the class, or at least something close to it. And from the five needed NEWTs, he only had three.
This didn't stop him, though, from trying. His mother always used to say "You've got no, you can have yes".
He had arranged a meeting with the head of the Aurors, Mr. Dominus, and decided to use his 'boyish charm' to try and persuade the man into hiring him. He knew that the odds were against him, and that he would probably get laughed at, but he had to try. He had to know. He didn't want to wake up as an old man, wondering if he could have done it, if he'd only tried.
So here he was, in the office of Mr. Dominus. A rather old, balding man wearing a large, pointy hat. Probably hoping that this way, no one would notice the fact that he had hardly any hair left. Sam had spent the last hour of giving several arguments for why he should be accepted into Auror training, all the while trying to divert the man's attention from his school results. Until now, this had worked.
Unfortunately, when Sam was close to convincing the old man (or at least, he thought so), Dominus said: "You graduated from Hogwarts last year, did you not?"
Sam silently cursed. He knew what was coming next. They would discuss the topic of how many OWLs he had, and most importantly how many NEWTs. What his teachers thought of him and whether in the end, everything was up to standard to get into training. He nodded.
Dominus dipped his quill in a bowl of ink and rested it on the piece of parchment, "how many NEWTs?" he asked.
Sam cleared his throat. "Well... you see.. Three." He cleared his throat again and suddenly seemed very interested in the photograph of Dominus and Minister Bagnold.
The head of the Aurors looked over his glasses and slowly shook his head. "Sam, Sam, Sam," he said slowly, "I'm sorry, but three NEWTs? That's not good enough! You need five, at the very least."
He put his quill away and leaned back in his chair. There was no way that he could hire this boy. Even though he was the son of a brilliant Auror.
"But please, sir, just let me do one test, I will prove to you that I'm worthy enough..."
Mr. Dominus shook his head again, but this time with more determination, "We only hire the best of the best. We don't just take every student that comes into this office, certainly when the grades are not even up to the needed standard."
"Sir," said Sam, sounding desperate, "I'll do anything, anything. You name it and I'll do it. If you want me to jump of a cliff, I'll jump, if you want..."
"There's no need for you to jump of a cliff, dear boy. You won't be much use then!" Dominus interrupted. He looked at Sam, narrowing his eyes. There were, of course, other ways to still be allowed to get in Auror Training if the grades were not good enough but you still showed a lot of potential. And somehow, he found that the boy in front of him indeed showed some potential. And even if he was just half as good as his father was, he would be a great help.
'Besides,' Dominus reminded himself, 'We need all the help we can get.' Yes, he was certain that he should give him a chance.
"But I admire your motivation, so I'll help you a little here." Sam was about to sigh with relief, but the man quickly raised his hand, "hold your horses their, I don't think you'll be as happy after you've heard me out. Here's what I'm going to do. I'll station you with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol."
"What?" Sam cried out, "but..."
"You will stay their for at least five years." He continued, ignoring Sam completely, "If you will prove yourself to be worthy and a good worker, I will consider taking you into Auror-training."
This certainly wasn't what the young man had hoped to hear, for a moment their was only silence in the office, as Sam thought it all through. This meant that it would take another eight years - at least - for him to become an Auror, he would be 26 by then and he wasn't even sure of his position. What would his father have to say about this?
"Take it or leave it, boy," Dominus said, "you should be lucky with this opportunity. Most people who left Hogwarts with the same grades as you, never have any chance of having a career in this profession."
"OK," Sam said, before he realized it, "OK."
"Good, than I'll see you back in five years."
"How did it go?" His father asked.
He was standing in the kitchen, trying to cook dinner 'the Muggle way' but as always failed miserably. At the moment, Sam's father was in one of his phases where he swore of magic, unless the use of it was inevitable. He said that using magic for everything you did made you lazy and made you underestimate the power of it.
Sam only grunted in reply. He got off his chair, deciding it was best to help his father in his cooking, or it would really turn out to be a disaster. And considering that he had to eat it, no matter what, it was best to 'save the day'.
"Didn't get the job, heh? Guess your mother was glad to hear that," Senior said, slightly grinning, taking a step backwards so his son had more room.
"Haven't told her yet," Sam replied shortly. "But not all is lost. He said that if I do my best in the Patrol for five years straight, I may have a chance of becoming an Auror after all."
"That's nice of that old man," Senior said, nodding. But than he gave Sam a disapproving look, "I always told you to make your homework and do your best in school, but you just never wanted to listen to me, did you?"
Sam decided that the wisest thing to do, was to ignore this comment. It wasn't like he never did his homework, he just didn't do it all the time. And exams were just a waist of time, if you asked him. Besides, he always scored high enough to pass the year - so what was the big deal anyways?
"I just need to find myself an apartment near the Ministry, considering that I can't apparate and all."
Another exam that he had failed miserably.
"That would mean you'd have to live in a Muggle neighbourhood!" his father said, in shock, "can't you just redo the test?" Even though Senior didn't approve of using magic 24/7, contact with Muggles was out of the question. He'd nearly had a heart attack when he'd heard that his sister - Sam's aunt - was about to marry a Muggle.
According to him, Muggles and Wizards just didn't mix well and each should stay with its own kind.
Sam gave him a look and Senior sighed. "Very well then. You do what you think is best. But don't you dare come back in this house, telling me you're going to marry one of them bloody Muggles!"
Sam shook his head slowly and concentrated on dinner.
Everyone in entire England knew that everyone who worked with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, were actually failed aurors. They were the ones stuck with the jobs that were beneath the Aurors to solve. Sam knew that the next five years of his life would be anything but exciting, but he was willing to do it, if it meant that he had a better shot to become what he had always dreamt of.
"Damn," Mark - a 22-year-old employee of the M.L.E.P., whom had been a Head Boy in Sam's time at Hogwarts but lacked the ambition to do anything more important than working here - cursed, "you can't be serious, Perkins."
"Dead serious, Mr. Paresse."
"You want me to go after some guy for a practical joke?"
Sam grinned widely. In the time he'd spent here, Mr. Perkins always contacted them about the most ridiculous of things that they should solve. Mr. Perkins worked at the Improper Use Of Magic office, at the department of 'Misuse Of Muggle Artefacts' to be more exact. He always came by, telling them that a Muggle was unable to remove his underwear because someone had put a spell on it, or that someone had put a hex on a Muggle mail box so it spat out every letter that was deposited in it.
"He broke the law," Perkins said, somewhat shocked that Mark didn't find it as horrible as he did, "He sold a bottle of Never-Ending-Vodka to a Muggle, and you and I both know..."
"... that Muggles are not to get in touch with anything magical," Mark said in a bored tone, as if he had heard this speech a thousand times before. (And truth be told he had, because old Perkins repeated it at least three times a day - or more if the occasion asked for it.)
"Not to mention," the man said, "that it is not a practical joke at all because this poor Muggle now lies in the Hospital."
"Well, that's not the salesman's responsibility," he said smoothly, "if I remember correctly, it is a 33-year old man, and it is his own responsibility to put the bottle away on time. You can't possibly ask from us to charge the wizard from causing this man to drink to much."
"Well, if the Muggle had known that it was Vodka that never ran out he might have..."
"Perkins, I get the picture," Mark said annoyed. "I'll send someone over, but don't expect to much from it."
This seemed to satisfy the wizard, who wore an old, worn robe that was just to short and revealed some of his shins, his hear tossled in every possible direction and his eyes somewhat watered due to his age. Sam guessed him to be around sixty or seventy years old, perhaps even older. He left the office, returning to his own, without even daring a glance into the direction of Sam, who just a few steps away.
Mark did look at him, and his smile was almost honey-sweet.
"No," Sam said, "You go. Of the three months I've been here, this has been the most ridiculous assignment yet."
"Well then," Mark crossed his arms, "I guess I'll just go to Dominus to say that you are not showing enough motivation for this job, therefore you could never..."
"Alright, alright!" he said swiftly, "I'll go, but next time it'll be your turn."
Mark smirked and turned around to talk with another colleague.
Sam turned around to get his cloak, softly muttering under this breath. Just four years and nine months to go...
He crossed another month from his calendar and looked over his booth, "hey, Paresse."
"What?" Mark said, without looking up from his paperwork.
"Anything interesting to do today?"
He knew the answer, of course. There was never anything 'interesting' to do around here. Not that he hated his job, in fact - even though he hated to admit it - he had started to love his job at the Patrol. He had friends here, and the work was fun. Even though his jobs weren't all that and he never saved any lives or the world, it was satisfying.
"Perkins starts at eight, so we have ten minutes left of freedom," his friend muttered. "How much time d'you have left here?"
"One year and one month," Sam said proudly, "than I'm off to Auror-training." If he was accepted, that was. But that was not the way to look at it. He'd read somewhere once, that as long as you believed long and hard enough in something, it would come true. A 'self-fulfilling prophecy' of some sort. This could, of course, also work the other way. If you truly believed that you were going to fail, you would.
So he spent every day trying to convince himself in various ways that he was not going to fail.
Mark sighed, "and I'll still be stuck in this damn office."
"That's your own fault," Sam pointed out, "if you'd just show some effort, you'd become the Minister of Magic with ease." His friend chose wisely not to reply to this and got the Daily Prophet from under his pile of papers. "I'm guessing that without much effort, this job will get a whole lot more interesting in just a few months."
"How come?" Sam wanted to know.
Mark raised the Prophet and pointed at one of the article.
'ANOTHER WITCH FOUND DEAD
Special report by Annabel Écrivain
Mrs. M. Cokato was found dead in Knockturn Alley last night. Mrs. Cokato just turned 45 years old and worked as an Auror at the Ministry of Magic. It is not the first attack that is held against one of the employees of the department of magical law enforcement. Apparently, Cokato was.....'
"Excuse me." Dominus heavy voice filled the office.
Sam spun around so fast he nearly fell of his chair, so he spent a few minutes trying to regain his balance before he spoke up. "Sir," he said surprised. "I didn't expect to see you for another 385 days."
"Damn," Mark whispered, "you're even keeping track of the days?"
Sam shot him a death glare.
"People are being murdered and you two are wasting your time reading the Daily Prophet?" Dominus said angrily, "that is not the kind of attitude one would expect from people working in this department!"
"Well," Mark muttered, blushing, "usually we only get jobs from Perkins, sir. We only do as we're told... and since he doesn't start..." he checked the clock, "... for another three minutes, we figured that we might as well take some time off!"
"Fine," Dominus barked, "if you don't have anything to do Mr. Paresse, you just have to knock on my door and I've got a ton of things for a man of your caliber to do. At this point, I want the two of you to go to Knock Turn Alley. And if you're not at that exact location in one stinking minute, both of you will never work again!"
"Enough said," Mark said cheerfully, glad that he finally had an assignment worth doing, and without further ado he disapparated. Sam got his cloak and was about to walk to the elevator, hoping that Dominus wouldn't say anything, when the man called after him. "Smith, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going to the Atrium, sir, I need to take one of the fireplaces to Knockturn Alley."
"You're traveling by floo powder? Are you insane? That will take much more of our time. Just disapparate."
"I would, sir," Sam said quietly, "If I hadn't failed my apparation test..."
For a moment it was dead quiet, while the face of the older man turned tomato red. "EXCUSE ME? You failed your apparation test?"
"I have a perfectly well explanation for that, really, I do. You see, the day that I had to take..."
"JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE," Dominus shouted, "I don't care if you failed the damn test or not. You disapparate to Knockturn Alley right this minute or you will never become an Auror."
After those words, he himself disapparated, leaving a very confused and shocked Sam behind.
'Well, I could've done worse,' Sam comforted himself, as he found himself in Diagon Alley. 'At least I'm near.'
He took a run for it, and reached Knockturn Alley in a matter of seconds, where Mark was already waiting for him. "We have to interrogate the witnesses and we are not to go near the crime scene."
"What witnesses?" Sam asked, slightly confused, "not the Cokato-murder, I hope? That happened last night!"
Mark shot him a look, "complaining, Sammy-boy? You should be glad that we got the job. Had we stayed in the Ministry one second longer, and we would be off investigating toilets 'cause some stupid Muggle got flummoxed, meanwhile our 'dear' friend Elmer would do the exact thing we're doing right now."
"I'm not complaining," Sam protested, "I'm just saying."
Elmer was their main competition, at least in the eyes of Mark and Sam. He was the only one on the Patrol who was about their age - being 24 years old - and he always miraculously seemed to be able to avoid any assignment given by Perkins and end up with all the good ones handed out by Dominus.
Not that the Patrol ever got any major assignment, but everything was better than one of Perkins's.
"You two," someone barked, Sam looked around and recognized the face of the famous Alastor Moodey, his father's sworn enemy. His father and Moodey were the best Auror's (if you took their own word, that was) out there, and they both hated each other's guts. Sam smiled, his father would jump into the roof when he found out that his own son was working with his archenemy.
"This woman was their at the time of the murder. So, ask some questions." After that he strode away.
"Not a man of many words," Mark mumbled, as he walked towards the somewhat shaken woman. "Good morning, ma'am. Would it be alright if my friend and I asked you a few questions about the incident of last night?"
"Of course," the woman said and smiled sweetly. She was rather young, twenty at most. She had long, black hair, reaching to her middle and it curled slightly. Her eyes were big and innocent.
"Can you state your name and profession?"
"My name is Annabel Écrivain," she said, "I graduated last year from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have several jobs at the moment, should I name them all?"
Écrivain... Where had Sam heard that name before?
"One will suffice," Mark said shortly, not wanting to spend to much time on paperwork.
"I clean at the Leaky Cauldron," she said, blushing slightly. "Are you an Auror, you seem very young to be one."
"We're from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol," Sam said.
"Really?" She said, her voice turning honey-sweet, "That's wonderful! So you work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"It would seem so, yes," Mark cut her short, "but let's continue. What were you doing in Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night?"
"Walking home from work," Annabel said.
"Through Knockturn Alley," Sam said disbelievingly, "at your age, all by yourself?"
Annabel shrugged, "It's the only way I can get home... I live there. I don't have much money and the rooms their are cheap. But tell me, sir, a lot of wizards working in your apartment have been killed during the last few months, what are your feelings on that?"
"It's the risk of working there, ma'am," Mark exchanged glances with Sam, there was something not right about her.
She noticed the somewhat annoyed tone of Mark and thus she turned to the other young man, and asked, trying to smile seductively, "are you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Of being killed, of course!"
"Lady," Sam said, trying to sound friendly, "we work at the M.L.E.P., all we do all day is sit at our desk, secretly hoping that Perkins from the Misuse Of Magical Artifacts will stop by to give us something to do. We rarely end up in life-threatening situations and we certainly aren't important enough to be 'brutally murdered', as you put it. So, no, I'm not afraid.
"But we're not here to talk about our lives at the Patrol, we're here to talk about the murder on Mrs. Cokato, so, please, be so friendly to cooperate."
"I'm sorry," Annebl said swiftly, "I won't bother you with my questions any longer. Continue your questioning."
'THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT IS FAILING
Special Report by Annabel Écrivain
Even though entire England has faced sudden, strange deaths of employees of the Ministry and people are disappearing in thin air, the D.M.L.E. still isn't putting their employees to work.
Sam Smith jr., a young employee of the Patrol, stated the following last night:
"All we do all day is sit at our desk, hoping that someone will stop by to give us something to do."
He complained that employees at the Patrol were not seen as important enough to do the important work....'
"NEED I CONTINUE?" Dominus roared.
Sam could have slapped himself for the head for this, no, better said, he would have jumped straight of a building. "I didn't know that she was a reporter," he said desperately, "plus, that was not what I said at all!"
"Than why does she write it in the damn newspaper!" Dominus said, narrowing his eyes.
"OK, so I may have said something similar, but in a whole different context. She asked me if I was afraid to get killed, and I said that I couldn't get killed 'cause I work at the Patrol and..."
"All you do is sit at your desk, hoping that someone will stop by to give you something to do," the old man cut in smoothly, "yes, I've read that part."
"No, that was not what I said. I said that we always waited for Perkins to give us something to do, because no one else does, it's not like you stop by our office every day to give us an interesting..."
"That's because your in the damn Patrol! You're not good enough for something interesting!" Dominus shouted, "because you didn't get the damned needed grades to become something important."
"I know that well enough, sir," said Sam, trying to restrain himself, "but that we are not the best and smartest wizards out there, doesn't mean we're losers either. I'm satisfied with the job I have right now. Sure, I want to be an Auror, but if it doesn't work out, fine, I'll just stay with the Patrol. There is only one tiny thing that bothers me, in the four years I've worked there, this is the first time that you ever requested anything from us. Other than that, we just sat there, watching time pass by us, and all we had to do was help old mr. Perkins catching wizards that aren't worth catching.
"While people were killed by some freaking wizard that everyone's talking about lately, while the Dark Mark keeps appearing more and more, we just sit there. We all want to help, we all want to give some assistance, but no one is asking us, no one is telling us to do so. Yet you never here us complain.
"Once I talk about it. Just once, and it accidentally ends up in the Prophet, all mixed up and torn out of its context, but it isn't less true. Don't get angry at me, because some reporter published the damn truth."
It was the first and last time that Sam ever held such a speech to Mr. Dominus, because the outburst that followed afterwards was something that scared the hell out of Sam for good, he never looked at the old man the same way.
He had no idea what Dominus said, he just caught some phrases like "ungrateful bastard" and "I should lock you up in Azkaban for good", but the shouting, the yelling and the threatening looks that the man send him, were good enough for him.
When he ended, he took a deep breath and said, "Auror training starts tomorrow, now get the hell out of my office before I change my damn mind."
A/N: Starting from the next chapter, characters from the book will play a more significant role. This was just to introduce Sam and his background a little.
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