Orion finds himself in the waiting area outside of Gritgnaw's office, a young sharp-toothed goblin handing him an enchanted velvet bag burnished with his family's insignia before scampering off. The weight of the new broach is heavy in his pocket.
"We will meet again soon Orion Black, we have much to discuss", Gritgnaw's whispered words broker no argument.
"Yes, we do. I think, perhaps, that an outside opinion may be exactly what I need." Orion replies, still a little dazed from recent revelations. Its a fluke, it HAS to be.
"I must be going, there are other matters I must attend to."
"May your luck be golden, my friend," It is a traditional goblin blessing, one not generally wished upon wizards. Orion can count the number of times Gritgnaw has said it to him on one hand.
"And May liquid rubies coat your blade," Orion says, returning his friends blessing. Gritgnaw only smiles blandly, a weariness in his eyes, then returns to his offices. Orion slips into the throngs of customers and out into Diagon Alley.
He makes his way to Twilfitt and Tattings. The shop is filled with clothes and cloths of a thousand colors and designs. Some remain under lock and key, kept for members of certain families and not to be used by others under any circumstances. None of them are what he is here for. What he desires is stored in an anti-magic room at the far back of the store, inaccessible by all but the current Twilfitt or Tatting in charge.
He stops at a small counter in the corner away from the main area and cashier working up front, obscured from the sight of any other patrons. A middle-aged witch with rounded features and shrew eyes seems to materialize out of the towering maze of fabric along the back wall.
"Lord Black, how may we here at Twilfitt and Tattings be of assistance to you today?" The witch says, dipping slightly into a half curtsy.
Madame Tatting (the 5th) is the personal seamstress of several members of the Black family. And one of the few people who knows how to deal with them. She has often worked with Walburga, including creating the continuous 'rebirths' of his wife's favorite dress, and has been given visitor's access to several of the Black family residences.
Orion throws up a complex notice-me-not spell before answering. The entire building is warded, with the best wards money can buy, to ensure there is no spying or eavesdropping, but one can never be too careful.
"I am in need of a full bolt of raw silk."
To her credit the witch's face doesn't so much as twitch from its polite smile, though they both know there's only one reason Orion could be in need of raw silk today.
"We are happy to oblige. I will personally deliver it to your place of choice."
Bless this witch for knowing his House's needs so well.
"To Cygnus's manor, if you would. Walburga will be waiting"
Walburga will want to replace Sirius's lost mantle, if it's truly been lost, as soon as possible, a process that will take several weeks as the damn thing has to be hand crafted and imbued with the magic of several family witches.
It won't do to have people know that the original has been misplaced, so a secondary needs to be made as soon as possible.
Cloaks are considered important in their society. The color, trim, design, and material all denote ones House, Status, Wealth, and Allegiances. Offering someone your cloak can be considered an insult or an honor. It can mean offering someone your protection, personal or house. Or Initiate a courtship. Even start a feud (and no small amount of wars have been started this way). The only truly neutral cloaks and robes were those worn as overcoats or as a uniform. Even Auror cloaks and robes came in a variety of cuts and trims, though the colors and materials had to be to standard.
A Mantle is a cloak crafted for a child's first name day and is meant to stay with them into adulthood, growing alongside them. They are more than just fabric, it's a swath of magic made of family and power and trust deeper than one could truly describe. The very essence of it is Home, an undeniable link to ones family and heritage. The Mantles, which have been imbued with the magic of several family members (generally witches, who guarded the secrets to crafting mantles jealousy), could never truly be replaced as the first mantle was always the most powerful. Any others made never seemed to fit as seamlessly as the first, either, for they had not grown with the child, had not intertwined with their core from their infancy.
One could not not have a mantle.
The appearance of the mantle itself reflects the magic of the child it is made for, mantles are known to drastically change when a wix's magic goes through an upheaval. Puberty and sexual awakening each sent cloaks into a kaleidoscope of colors, one of the reasons they could not be worn to classes at Hogwarts, as it posed a great distraction for the other students and rampant gossip in the hallways. Colors and shapes swirl in and out of existence on a pregnant witches mantle, an indication of the inherent magic of the child growing inside of them. Low birth rates and high levels of miscarriage and squibing had led to too many witches having dark bands around their waists. Colors can brighten and darken with fierce emotions or mental instability. People born soul bound will find their destiny written in the colors and designs on their cloaks.
The only time a wix gave away their mantle was in marriage.
When a wix chooses to marry they clothe their betrothed in their mantle at the altar, each person claiming the other; offering their protection, love, and magic to their beloved. The Exchange of Mantles is a time honored tradition and one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking to witness. If the family magic in the mantles acknowledged the bonds of the wix getting married then the mantles would evolve into fine wedding capes, twisting and combining the magics of the couple in a gorgeous display of magical craftsmanship.
More than once a witch or wizard who had lost much of their family would be brought to tears when their mantle, now resting on their beloved's shoulders, would flare with the magic of their lost loved ones, seemingly approving from beyond the grave, before flowing into a gorgeous wedding cape. A phenomenon known as a Departed Blessing.
In equal measure, a mantle that rejected a union was a hard thing to watch and often harder to experience. The mantle would grow dull if it merely rejected the marriage, the family magics finding the match unacceptable.
The average arranged marriage was 'accepted', though often not enthusiastically, often with lovely but impersonal capes being created.
If, though, the marriage was forced or coerced, the mantle had been known to magic itself into an impromptu noose and end the magical binding early itself. Who died depended on the situation, usually the coercing wix, but sometimes the victim would use their own deaths to power spells and rituals to protect their family and friends. Or exact horrendous revenge. Suicide at the alter was a very powerful and lasting magic, entire lines and Houses had been snuffed out using it.
Eventually, once the excitement of the marriage wore down. the mantle would return to a more acceptable size and appearance. Maintaining a lovely, but more practical, design for the remainder of most wixes lives. Upon a wixes death the mantle would become their death shroud, many wix were buried or burned in their mantles.
Sirius's mantle being gone is a great hindrance and Orion will have to begin a search for it as soon as possible. It could be ransomed, used as blackmail, or used in a ritual to harm his son. All discretion necessary or unsavory people will hunt it down before it can be retrieved.
Luckily, Twilfitt & Tattings is known for discretion and not asking questions. So no one will know that Orion has ordered so much raw silk, a material exclusively used for making mantles. The same cannot be said for the other tailor, seamstresses, and clothiers of the UK.
Hopefully Orion will be able to recover his son's lost mantle and just end up footing the bill for a large quantity of unused silk, at worst the mantle may fall into the wrong hands. Most likely,though, the mantle is lost or destroyed and a new one will have to be made in its place.
Paying Madame Tatting, and tipping well, Orion heads back out into the Alley and towards the apparition. With some of his work done, it's time to play.
Time to visit the Auror Office.
One moment Orion is standing in an alcove off of Diagon Alley, the next he is standing in the richly furnished space of his Wizengmot office. The room is done in rich purples and silver-grey, the leftovers of one of Walburga's fits of pique. Her mother Irma, damn the witch, had insulted her daughter's choices in interior design and Walburga had chosen to redecorate every single property they had between them in turn. Except for Grimmauld Place, which had only gotten a few adjustments to better fit their collective tastes.
As a Lord and Member of the Wizengamot Orion has direct access to his 'personal rooms' within the Ministry of Magic, which allows him to apparate directly into the building without having to use one of the more mundane entrances and thus lessening the chances of him being seen or disturbed when he doesn't want to be.
It also happens to make for a good scare tactic, as very few people expect danger from above. Usually its the Department of Mysteries you have to watch out for.
Almost all levels of the ministry are below the Wizengamot offices, which reside on floor six. Only the Minister and under-secretaries permanently reside above on floor eight, seven is used as a series of meeting rooms for the Heads and other higher-ups, as well as areas for entertaining foreign dignitaries. A measure to ensure there are no international incidents.
Orion takes his time locking up and warding the case he had brought with him from home, his House's business is none of the Ministry's after all, before further warding his office as he leaves. More to keep out the more busybody Lords and Ladys than anything else.
He strolls leisurely to the elevators, greeting the other Wizengamot members and their secretaries along the way, politeness is paramount in his profession. He may be annoyed with this 'appointment', but there is no need to let the others know. It would be a sign of weakness in these halls. This lot can smell blood in the water, like a school of piranha.
When the elevator arrives, and the passengers inside realise he intends to board, it clears out immediately, giving Orion the elevator to himself. The only remaining person is the elevator operator, who refuses to meet Orion's eye in the mirrored walls as he boards and grasps onto one of the handles dangling from the ceiling, his cane bracing him on his other side.
"Wh-where to?"
"The Auror office, I have a standing invitation." Orion replies with cheer, his bad mood at being summoned, by a lowly Junior Auror no less, has come full circle. Add in a splash of the madness inherent in all Blacks and Orion is ready to play.
Less than a minute later, after a short descent and a sharp shifting to the right, they come to a stop and the elevator dings.
"Level Three, Wing Six: Auror offices, Sir", The last word comes out strangled as the wizard finally looks up at Orion. The Lord Black appears to be smiling, it's just the barest upturn of the lips but it was a sight rarely seen at the Ministry, and never wanted.
As the elevator doors open the sounds of the Auror Office rushes in; paper on paper, officers chatting -perhaps even processing a low level miscreant or two, even a whistling tea kettle from the small kitchen area off the main room, a saving grace for the graveyard shift workers.
Orion takes his first step out of the elevator and allows his tightly wrapped magic out to play.
Everything goes silent as a wave of malevolent magic sweeps down the hall and into the offices, the only sounds left Orion's own sedate gate and the quiet cursing of the elevator operator as the elevator crackles and shuts down, unable to handle the surge of magic. He scrambles to lock the doors as Orion makes his way down the hall.
Good he doesn't want people coming and going too easily.
The sight that greets Orion upon his entrance into the Pit* warms the cold, embittered cockles of his heart. Each auror has frozen and is staring up at him, fear scattering the weaker ones to various side rooms. Several others appear to be fighting the urge to flee or go for their wands. One or two look on the edge of fainting.
Neither he nor his magic have ever been very amicable, and these people know it.
A hag being booked only looks on in mild interest a slight smile on her aged face, they are not called Bloodlust Seers for nothing. Orion idly wonders what he would have to do to make the hag laugh, something awful, surely. The idea amuses him.
"I'm looking for a Junior Auror Anderson Davies, he was so kind as to invite me here today."
Nearly the entirety of the office turns in unison to eye a young man in basic green robes Orion can only presume is Davies. A few of the smarter and more paranoid ones keep their eyes fully trained on Him, unwilling to show their backs, earning them some grudging approval from Orion. One young man in particular catches his attention, a tall Black wizard with Shafiq-style robes on, though still the green of a junior auror, and sea-green eyes who looks vaguely familiar. He holds himself loose and ready to fight and has maneuvered himself so he can't be backed into a corner easily. He's also wrapped his magic around himself to act as a buffer against Orion's own, something that takes great control, especially for a rookie. Noticing Orion's attention on him he offers a small nod of acknowledgement and a slight smile, a faint humor in his eyes. He seems to be slightly amused by the unfolding events.
Movement catches Orion's eye and he looks back to find that Davies has finally regained the strength to rise, though the slight sheen on his skin makes him think the other man has broken out into a cold sweat.
"O-of course, If you would just follow me." The young man says and gestures towards the hall leading to the Pen*.
Several people in the room stiffen and stare at Davies incredulously, including the young Shafiq who immediately returns his stare to Orion a moment later. He no longer seems amused, his demeanor cagey. While what Davies has said isn't rude to say to the average person, it is an insult to someone of Orion's status.
He should have been greeted by an actual Auror, at least. He should have been thanked for taking the time to come to this charade. And He was never to be requested to follow anyone not his equal, let alone a trainee.
The man must have used an auto-correcting dictation quill to write this mornings missive because this idiot clearly had no sense of protocol or self-preservation.
"Of course," He parrots back, mocking the other man, though there is no mockery in his voice. One should never give oneself away; especially to prey.
Orion only smiles that little smile and goes along, the thunk-thunk-thunk of his cane on the hardwood floor reminiscent of nails being driven into a coffin.
He hears a mumbled curse in a deep bass voice and catches sight of the Shafiq wizard making a break for the exit in his peripheral.
As Orion enters the room the other man has led him to he realizes that Anderson Davies is a moron.
They are in one of the Interrogation rooms.
"Please have a seat", Davies gestures to the sparse solid oak chair across the table from his already seated form.
Orion pulls his wand and Davies flinches immediately, almost falling out of his chair in order to grab his own. Before the other wizard can speak Orion gestures to the other chair.
"May I? These old injuries of mine have been catching up to me these days." Orion leans a little more heavily on his cane, anything more subtle and he doubts the idiot before him would even notice the implication that he is 'growing old and feeble'.
"Yes, Yes, please by all means make yourself comfortable." The other man acquiesces easily, hurrying to put his wand down on the table. Usually a tactic used to make the Auror in question appear more in charge or in control of the situation. Instead, he only reminds Orion of a child in his first transfiguration lesson, nervous and fumbling.
A flick and swirl of his wrist accompanied by a quiet incantation turns Orion's wooden chair into a wingback made of dark leather with firm but comfortable cushioning. Pure envy slides across the auror's face as he sees Orion's skill and magic at work. Or perhaps it's merely his choice in seating.
In truth the only reason Orion had modified the chair, he had sat in much worse when being trained to be a 'proper heir', is that the chairs have built in restraints which are nullified by transfiguration. Having access to the Auror budget has its perks.
"Thank you for coming in on such short notice," Davies starts out the interview "though an owl ahead would not have been remiss."
"Yes, of course, terribly sorry for that. It's been a hectic morning, you see. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."
"No trouble. Can I get you any refreshments? Tea, Pumpkin juice, snacks?"
Not likely Orion thinks.
"That's not necessary. I would like to wrap this up quickly, I would like to be home in time for tea." A small lie since Orion still has one more stop to make before he gets home, he'll be lucky to make supper tonight.
"Oh! Yes, let's get started then. Just a few questions and we'll be good to go. Yesterday, Aurors arrived at a scene in a muggle park to two men being taken to a muggle hospital. Each of them registered positive for magical exposure, as well as the surrounding area. Upon further investigation we were able to discern one magical signature registered as your own and a second signature registered as being from the Black Family. Can you tell me why a pair of heavily injured muggle men had your magical signature on them?"
"I found them injured and as for the magic," Orion pauses slightly for dramatic effect, "Why, I healed them of course."
"W-Wh?" Davies sputters, shock writ across his face.
"Not a great deal mind you, just enough to keep them from dying. And they were both out cold, so neither will remember. I believe such actions are protected under the Emergency Aid Acts that were passed in the 1910's."
"I-, bu- Yes, uh, they are."
"Good, now then. I was unaware I had earned a magical signature file here in the DMLE. Especially one so far back as the Prague competition."
"Not here, but sports has it on record."
"Oh?" Orion's eyes start to dance and he can feel the pressure building up under his skin.
"Yes, we were able to match it with them. Though the other signature we could only verify was a Black using the Familial Magic Records."
"Funny, I was under the belief that all personal athlete files within the Department of Games and Sports were under legal and magical protection due to the fact that they fall under MMHA."
Davies stiffens.
"May I see the warrant?"
"The warrant?"
"Yes, the one you used to gain access to my file." Orion knows he doesn't have one, because he would have had to go to a Higher ranked auror to even get authorization to petition for one. And said Auror would not have let him lead this case.
Davies appears to have broken out into a full on sweat now.
"I-"
"You do have one don't you? Because it's a crime to touch those files otherwise. Infact they're so heavily protected that it shouldn't be possible for you to get to them, unless you used unlawful magics."
"Now see here! Your magic was all over the crime scene!" The other man stood up, defiant. Orion was surprised he could stand, but then again stupidity was often mistaken for bravery.
"Are you to tell me that you had the audacity to sit here and cast thinly veiled accusations against my Character and Insinuate that I have Attacked two muggle men and yet you have stolen my medical and magical records in an attempt to catch me in some make-believe crime?" Orion had risen, slow and sure as thunder, murder written on his face. He towered over Davies, who flinched back at his proximity and fell into his chair
KnockKnockKnock
Orion's game of mouse is interrupted by a familiar bespectacled Auror sticking his messy head in the door.
"Lord Black! I heard you were in the office somewhere and knew I had to come see you! It's been too long!" The Older Auror's face is stretched into a lopsided grin, his eyes sparking with a mischief Orion has known for many years, lopsided glasses making a valiant attempt to fall from his face. He is completely unmoved by the look on Orion's face.
Davies, for one, looks desperately relieved at the intrusion.
"Davies! You wouldn't mind terribly if I commandeered Lord Black for you, would you? We haven't seen each other in ages."
"B-but sir, we're in the middle of an interview, and-", Orion never hears the rest as the younger auror is cut off. For the best really.
"Interview? Well that's no matter. I'll take the case off your hands, why don't you head on out. I heard some of the other boys saying they were going out for some pints. You wouldn't want to miss out." The older auror smiles at the other man genially, though Orion can see the ice in his hazel eyes.
"Thank you sir, that's very kind. I think I'll take you up on that offer." The younger auror says, sweeping the paperwork into a haphazard stack, before scurrying out the door.
"Good, Good. Lord Black! Why don't you and I head on up to my office, finish this interview and have some refreshments and catch up?" The man at the door says, though they both know it's more a show for nearby eavesdroppers than anything else.
Orion sidles up to the other man as they make their way down the familiar trek to the Auror's office.
"Nice magical shockwave by the way, pretty sure some of the greenboys pissed themselves." Comments the other man, a wry grin stretching his face.
"You know how I like to play with my food." Orion replies, warring between annoyance at his fun being cut short and amusement at his companions antics. The man has always been mischievous at heart.
"Oh yes, ever since you were young. I do remember that now."
"Now, now. There's no need to get nasty Uncle, bringing up boyhood mischiefs. Especially since it was you that gave me half my ideas anyway."
"Don't call me that." THe Auror grumbles, " And I helped get you out of trouble a number of times, as well, if I remember correctly."
"I'm sure you do, your mind has always hoarded knowledge like a dragon does treasure." The other man snorts at the analogy, a common one made by those who know him well. Those that don't often believe the man dotty and jovial. A fool's mistake.
They stop before the Auror's office door, the man undoing a plethora of wards and enchantments, Orion respectfully turns away and doesn't pay attention. To do otherwise would be an insult to their familial alliance.
Orion's eyes pass along the hall, observing the changes that have occurred since his last visit, and catch a glint of gold, a name plaque set into the wall.
He coughs into a fist to stifle his laughter.
Advanced Auror
Lord Charlus Potter, DMM
The Lord has clearly been magically carved into the plaque, in Darling Aunt Dorea's handwriting no less.
"I see they finally got around to fixing your title." He says, voice tinted with good humor, as the wards finally slip away and the door slides open.
Charlus only shoots him a look of exasperation, before his own eyes slide to the plaque in question, a fond smile barely touching his lips.
Charlus moves aside and allows him into his office, closing and locking the door behind them. He rounds his desk, offering Orion a seat in one of his guest chairs, before seating himself.
"I could have sworn there was a meeting you were supposed to be attending right now? Dear cousin Bartemius will be quite cross with you for missed." Orion says, knowing full well his uncle in-law/cousin had been in said meeting when he arrived. Charlus's magic had definitely been on the floor above the wizengamot offices when he had arrived.
"That brat can stuff it, he's been getting too big for his britches ever since he got that promotion." Charlus grumbles, "And I was called away by an 'issue regarding a time sensitive matter.'"
MmmHmm, Orion hums noncommittally.
"That's a good one, I'll have to remember it for later."
"Can't take the credit, Kings came up with that one."
"Kings?" Orion asks, intrigued.
"Kingsley Shafiq. You've seen him at a few galas and such. You remember there was a huge scandal when his mother, Regina Shacklebolt, who was in line to inherit, was married off to a Shafiq cousin. Now her younger cousins, all 3 brats mind you, are set to inherit everything."
"Yes, I remember her. She was a Ravenclaw prefect when I was in my first year."
"Luckily the boy takes after her, smart and with a good instincts. He certainly knew you were on the prowl." Orion shoots the other man a disgruntled look for the comment. He would admit that he kind of liked Shafiq, he had potential, but he was still irritated and losing his prey.
"Which brings us to what you're doing here. The paperwork said something about an inquisition, which only means that nobody was stupid enough to open an investigation against you, but its still not good."
Orion sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He had hoped to put off tell anyone else what is actually going on until after he had gathered more information.
"Due to the nature of the situation I cannot tell you everything. But yesterday Sirius got lost in the muggle world and was nearly assaulted. Another man fought the assailant and was heavily injured, himself, for it. I arrived after and healed both men enough to keep them from dying and allowed the Muggles to take it from there while I took Sirius home."
"You know that I'll be forced to do something if something 'happens' to either man. Orion i have no wish to arrest you." Charlus says, he seems to have aged behind his glasses.
A dark little laugh escapes Lord Black.
"Oh, I won't be laying a hand or wand on either man." There is an unspoken threat in those words I don't need either.
They sit for a time, discussing trivial things and some political matters. What votes they should ally on and which ones they should play off of each other to get the best results. Nothing important. It's only as Orion leaves that a thought that has been niggling at the back of his mind escapes from his lips.
"Charlus?"
Hmm? Said wizard looks up from his paperwork.
"Why did the boy even ask for access to my file? And how did he get it?"
Orion has one more stop before going home.
Hamish Ammurabi is an aged wizard and one of the best solicitors in the wizarding world. He and his family's law firm, H.A. and Progeny, have won thousands of cases throughout their history of 230 years. They run their family business out of their family seat, The Lybab Fort, an older fortified manse that housed much of the extended Ammurabi family. They have been both solicitors for, and allies of, the House of Black for many years.
As head of the family Hamish is the primary lawyer of the Black Family, and it is his office that Orion is currently in.
"Let me see if I understand this correctly, Lord Black. You need someone who can go into the muggle world and gather information on a certain individual and their activities?" Hamish's voice grows incredulous over the word Muggle, he does remember when one of the late Black witches tried to restart muggle hunting for sport.
"That is correct." Orion's words broker no argument.
"This is not normally the type of work you need from us. Is there anything I need to know before we get started?"
Orion does not answer, only passes over his suitcase filled with folders and paperwork. Inside is detailed the myriad of crimes and criminal activities of one Davon Crane; murder, rape, extortion, human traffiking, child abuse in every form.
Hamish reads through the entirety of it, growing paler with each crime listed.
"We have a wizard, half-muggle you see, who does this type of work for us. He goes around gathering information and evidence that either Aurors or muggle law enforcement wouldn't know where, or how, to look for. I'm not sure how the muggle laws work to be honest. I know the basics are the same as they are here, but learning how we can use them isn't something we've ever had to do."
"In all truth most people can't even give us names or locations, the amount of information you've given us is enough to dig up the man's entire life within a week."
Orion seems to think it over for a moment. "I want as much information as possible within 3 days, leave any evidence. I'll need it for later."
"As you wish, from the acts listed I can only hope that you show this man your tender mercies. We also offer a cleaning service, for a small fee, of course." Hamish says, a wicked smile.
Orion's smile answers back.
Hags - magical beings known to eat the flesh of dead people; called bloodlust seers after the belief that they could see the future, but only if it was about something violent (which may or may not be true)
The Pit- An admitting area filled with the desks of lower level aurors used to process petty criminals, it's very open. Upper Aurors have offices.
The Pen- Interviews and interrogations are held here, rooms range from very comfortable to very inhospitable. Orion was taken to one of the less comfortable ones.
MMHA- Medi-Magical Health Act, equivalent to HIPPA, ensures that medical and magical information can not be given out without consent of the patient or a warrant.