Chapter Thirty-Four: Fame Infamy
Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.
"You're the one from the Prophet!"
"Let me go!" Rosalind cried, the man's grip tightening on her arms. "Where are you taking me?"
The man's body and silence were heavy against her, leading her deeper within the Ministry, the flames from the torched walls casting dark shadows against their faces. The tall oak doors opened into a familiar room, two rows of iron cells and the musky smell of grime and desperation approaching her. One of the iron doors slid open, the man thrusting her inside before locking her in the cell.
"We'll call you when it's your turn for questioning," was all he said before turning a sharp heel to the exit.
"But I didn't do anything!" She pounded her fists against the cell bars, noticing the other body in the room. A young, cherub-faced officer stared at her, his light blue eyes on the brink of tears.
"What're you in here for?"
The young man jumped, avoiding her gaze. "They think I killed someone," he squeaked. "But I-I didn't, I swear!" He sat on the stone bench, his head low. "I was just doing my job."
"What happened?"
"After the Dark Mark was conjured we left in haste to the camp. They didn't have much time to brief us and it became chaotic so quickly. All I knew was that we were to save the children and take the werewolves to safety." He stared at the folded hands in his lap. "I saw one of those men after one of the children so I disarmed him yet he still went at it and he tried to grab my wand-so I had to subdue him on the ground and had my knee on his chest while trying to keep the child at bay and I may have used t-too much pressure on his sternum." He groaned, burying his face in his hands. "But he was still breathing when I left, promise!" He looked at her with innocent eyes, regret written all over them. "I-I wouldn't-I would never do that-"
"I believe you," she said quietly as the young man nearly burst into tears.
He glanced up at her, his thick lashes salted. "You do?"
She nodded. "You're just a kid yourself."
He sniffed, wiping a strand of snot from his nose. "I was just trying to do my job. Honest."
She pitied him, as he sat like a scolded child. "What's your name?" she asked gently.
"Afta. John Afta. They call me Johnny." He attempted a smile, unable to shake her hand.. "What's yours?" She introduced herself, his eyes widening. "Blimey, you're the one in the Prophet! I heard about what they put you through in there-I dunno how you did it."
"It's part of the job sometimes." She shrugged, surprised at his enthusiasm. "I didn't expect this though." She nodded at their cells. "Who's the other guy?"
"Oh, that's Arthur Shelley. He's an older bloke, been with the Ministry quite a few years. I'm not quite sure what his story is but I think he changed the course of the direction of a bullet and it hit someone else and wounded them. But in all his years with the department he's never come in contact with Muggle weaponry. The whole situation was bizarre."
"Extremely," she agreed. Their heads snapped in the direction of the oak doors as the officer named Arthur Shelley was escorted in, grey hair frayed, his clothes ruffled. His tired eyes were defeated, and he sat wordlessly in his cell without a glance at the others.
"Afta. You're up," the same man who arrested Rosalind opened his cell, the young man cowering. She attempted a smile at him, his melancholy face unable to reciprocate the gesture.
"Bloody fools," the man grunted. "Been with the department decades and this is how they treat me." He spat on the floor so hard the remains splashed her leg. "They reckon you killed the big guy, aye?"
"Something like that."
He shook his head. "What a bloody mess. It's the first case of its kind where Muggles were involved like this so of course there were going to be casualties." He crossed his arms, leaning into the stone wall, huffing his chest. "Don't mean they're our fault."
She studied him, at a loss for words, her head beginning to pound. She just wanted to go home, but instead walked from one nightmare into another. They had to believe her-she didn't kill Sal. She only wanted to.
After what felt like hours later, Johnny Afta was escorted back into his cell, pale faced and drained of emotion, unable to meet Rosalind's gaze.
"Morana." Her cell doors slid open, her wrists bound by invisible cuffs. She complied wordlessly, his long, cold fingers pressed against her back, leading her into a bare square of a room, brightly lit with a large window into another room on the north wall, a sole table in the center with two chairs. The man motioned her to sit, the invisible cuffs releasing her wrists.
She sat, a manilla envelope between them. His hooded eyes stared at her, hands clasped. He was fairly young, with only a few fine lines on his forehead and faint grooves around his mouth, a few day's stubble peppering his jaw.
"I am Farran Hadeon of the Special Task Force," he began, squaring his shoulders to show off the badge on his chest. "Do you know why you're here?"
"No," she responded, careful to keep her cool.
"You are under investigation for the death of Sal Amaya."
"But I didn't-"
He held a finger to silence her. "I am not the enemy. This is protocol."
Rosalind raised her brow, eyeing the window to her left. Interrogations usually had onlookers.
"I assure you, none of your colleagues are watching." He opened the manilla envelope, producing a tin of cookies. "Biscuit?"
Her face remained unchanged. "That's a trap."
He chuckled, a gesture that caught her off guard. "I'll eat the other one if you'd like."
She nodded, taking the cookie hesitantly, her stomach grumbling from the scent of warm chocolate chips. She inadvertently groaned, wolfing down the dessert. She wiped her mouth as Hadeon finished his own, wiping the crumbs from his shirt.
He cleared his throat. "I know we gave you quite a fright and I apologize. Afta and Shelley will be alright. Their investigations will be short. Yours however…" he sniffed, running his thumb and middle finger over his jaw. "Is a bit different." He removed sheets of parchment and photographs from the envelope, shoving the photograph of a middle aged man to her. "Do you know who this is?"
"Sal Amaya," she said without studying the photo.
"What can you tell me about him?"
"He's a gang member. He gave me a potion the night I was initiated. Everything is in my report."
"It hasn't made it into our hands yet."
"Can't you just go into our department and ask for it?"
He sighed, crossing his arms on the table. "Not exactly. There are several officers involved so it is rather lengthy. We'd prefer to hear your firsthand account before reviewing it."
"Why?" she eyed him. "Aren't you going to know either way?"
"Well yes, but this is a bit of a shortcut. We would like a better understanding of the events."
"So am I or am I not under investigation for his death?" she asked slowly. "I don't even know how he died."
His lips flattened. "You are. Simply because you were the last seen with him." Two more photographs were produced from the envelope, the first showing Sal on the snowy floor covered in blood.
"That's what he looked like when I left," she said internally wincing at the photograph and still suspicious of Hadeon. "Except with his eyes open."
"Why did you attack him?"
Rosalind's head jerked back in surprise. "I didn't attack him." She wanted to scoff but held her tongue. "He attacked a member of the Order. She was defenseless. I was helping her."
"Did you Stun him?" he inquired.
"No," she averted her gaze. "I knocked him over with a spell and confronted him." When pressed why, she continued. "He wasn't attacking me back. Not like-not like he was to Angelina. But he tried. He had a wand and a machete but the wand wouldn't do anything for him."
"Did you know he was a Muggle?"
"No. No one knew. What he did-he had them brainwashed. Sometimes the wands would work for them and sometimes they wouldn't. They were unpredictable."
"What happened after he told you he was a Muggle?"
"He asked me if I was going to kill him."
"And?"
"And," she continued in haste. "I told him he deserved worse than death."
"Hmph." He made a note on a pad, his quill scratching away before proceeding. It was odd that the quill wasn't recording their entire conversation. "And then, as we have been told, you left to aid your sister." She nodded in agreement as he pushed the last photograph before her: a dead Sal, blood crusted, the hole in his shoulder pitch black. "Care to explain this?" he asked, pointing to his shoulder.
"A dead man?"
"The curse, Morana." He spoke slowly, his words making her squirm. "Our investigation has shown it was from you." He leaned forward, dropping his voice. "Where did you learn that?"
"In El Salvador," she said in a low voice. "I only meant to slow him down."
"I see," he said jotting another note down. "Mr. Amaya officially died from exsanguination. Loss of blood."
"He was already bleeding before I got to him—"
His nod silenced her. "That was confirmed by the healers. But that," he pointed to the blackened skin. "Is another matter. That is a piece of quite advanced Dark Magic, Morana."
She bowed her head, staring at his hands, unsure of what to say. The interrogation was odd—why was he more interested in the curse she used against Sal than anything else?
"Unfortunately," he continued with a drum of his fingers on the oak table, "the Prophet got wind of the situation and is poised to publish an article on the Ministry's heavy handedness. Dark Magic of that level leaves traces, and we must avoid a scandal."
"So I'm not in trouble for him dying?" She said slowly. "Just for the Dark Magic?"
Hadeon took a sharp breath. "We do not like to discipline our officers, especially for doing their job. But sometimes information is leaked before we have a handle on it and the appropriate measures must be taken." He leaned forward, hands clasped, lowering his voice. "In order for the Ministry to keep its reputation intact and us to continue our investigation on the depths of this gang, certain er-precautions must be taken, especially since Mr. Amaya was a Muggle. This could wreak havoc. You understand, of course."
Rosalind eyed him, unmoving. "Of course."
The corners of his mouth raised into a small smile. "Excellent." He continued to question her lightly, taking sparse notes, leaving her uneasy. When he was satisfied, he flipped his notepad shut and tucked his quill away, shaking her hand. "We will be in touch, and you will receive word from us via owl post soon." Rosalind stood, murmuring an inaudible thanks, heading to the door.
"Oh and Morana," he said just before her hand touched the door handle. "Do not say a word to the press. Let us handle them. They can be a bit...chaotic."
She frowned, turning towards him. "Got it."
Hadeon smiled. "You are dismissed."
Rosalind reciprocated his close-lipped smile, sighing deeply, turning on her heel to leave. No one escorts her any not a soul around. When she reached her exit the crescendo of voices reached her ears, several bright flashes blinding her, accentuating her headache, a thousand questions hurled in her direction.
"Miss Morana, is it true that you killed notorious gang lord Sal Amaya?" a balding wizard blurts out, quill in hand. She stared at him in disbelief as another reporter grabbed her arm.
"Marietta Edgecombe with Witch Weekly here," a plain faced witch with several acne scars on her forehead followed her, her out of style peasant skirt dragging across the cold ground. "Could you answer a few questions for me? How do you feel about the possibility of being sent to Azkaban? Are you afraid of running into the men that you were responsible for arresting?"
Rosalind's jaw drops as she ignores her, taking an alternate route in case they decided to follow her home, the flashing of the lights blinding her. The witch pushes her way through the other reporters, their voices swarming her ears and increasing her anxiety.
"Is it true that you tortured him?"
"Who will your sister live with if you are sent to Azkaban?"
"Does the Ministry encourage its employees to use unethical tactics in their investigations?"
"How does it feel to be the most talked about woman in London?"
"Enough!" she bellowed, confronting all of the reporters. "Please leave me alone. I have no comment." She made her best attempt at remaining calm, her wand tucked under her cloak, breath huffing clouds as she stared at them all. "I just want to go home." She slowed her breathing, eyes wide from exhaustion, the reporters taking the cue to leave for her to walk the remainder of her journey alone.
She opened her door quickly, glancing around to ensure no one followed her. Throwing her soaked boots on the floor, she dropped her body face first onto her bed, head pounding from the stress of the last few hours. She forced herself to sit, fixing a pot of tea, piecing together this new conundrum she was in. It did not make sense for the Ministry to protect her, she is a mere employee. The Ministry is trying to protect itself from the public. But how? By not releasing certain details on the case? What did Afta and Shelley have to do with anything? They were barely involved and clearly innocent-unless they were easy targets. Afta the young officer, eager to do the right thing, easy to bend his will. And Shelley, seasoned officer with possibly not much to lose. And then there was Rosalind, the one who committed the offense of Dark Magic but was clearly questioned the least.
She rubbed her forehead, a large tawny owl hooting at her window. She gave the bird half a slice of toast, the main headline of the Daily Prophet glaring at her:
GANG MEMBERS DEAD. DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS GUILTY - OF MURDER?
It has been released to our sources that the gang lord who was recently captured, Sal Amaya, passed in St. Mungo's due to a substantial loss of blood. Two of his high-ranking comrades have passed as well, resulting in the investigations of three officers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When pressed for more information, Special Task Force agent Farran Hadeon briefly stated, "Our department and the Ministry have conducted a thorough investigation of the events and have dispersed the proper punishments. All three officers have been suspended with pay, and will resume their posts upon completion of their suspension."
Department of Magical Law Enforcement officers John Afty, Arthur Shelley, and Rosalind Morana have caused quite an uproar in the wizarding community. Mr. Afty and Mr. Shelley allegedly injured the high-ranking gang members, thus resulting in their deaths in St. Mungo's. Ms. Rosalind Morana on the other hand, was present at the camp during her undercover investigation, having attacked Mr. Amaya as he was dueling with another officer.
But is this punishment enough? Does the death of three criminals equal justice, or was it a pervasive abuse of authority? Ms. Morana herself is a descendant of the same country these criminals are from, and showed no mercy.
This is a developing story, and will be updated with new information once available.
Rosalind threw the newspaper on the floor in disgust, a small roll of parchment drifting down with it. Hadeon knows full well that Afty and Shelley did absolutely nothing wrong, they just needed someone to blame along with her to cause a distraction. The Ministry doesn't want the public to know of the little misdoings within it.
She picked up the scroll of parchment, reading the thick, blocky writing:
Dear Ms. Morana,
After reviewing our files and notes, the Special Task Force has found you not guilty in the death of Sal Amaya. However, due to our conversation, you are suspended with pay for thirty days. Should you have any questions or would like to use the Ministry's several resources for this difficult time, you may do so.
Sincerely,
Farran Hadeon
Special Task Force
Her stomach dropped. Suspended. For a month.
Yikes-from one problem to another. This month of suspension is going to be crucial for Rosalind, so hopefully she takes some time to reflect on her past. Thank you for reading! I know this chapter was a bit slower than the last few, but everything will pick up again soon and we will be done :)
Next chapter: Sleepwalking Past Hope