Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, except my original characters. You'll know who they are. Everything else is JKR's. So please don't sue. If I forget to put a disclaimer in any future chapter, this one goes for them, too.
Chapter 2: MI5, X Branch
Kingsley Shacklebolt was bored out of his mind. He sat in the Prime Minister's grey-carpeted, fluorescent-lighted press conference room, listening to the man giving yet another of his long-winded, frighteningly dull policy statements to the media. Today, apparently, the man was concerned with the ever-present international dilemma of poverty. He was currently outlining his "revolutionary" new plan to combat world hunger, which, like most of its predecessors, would doubtlessly fail to have any revolutionary success. However, even if Kingsley had been mildly interested in what the Prime Minister had to say, he would have gained nothing from the speech that he did not already know. After all, he had been forced to type it up himself. Another one of his seemingly endless duties as the man's secretary.
The problem was, Kingsley did not want to be a secretary, even to the Prime Minister. He was an Auror, a Dark-wizard-catcher, and one of the best at that. He had once been one of the highest ranked Aurors in the corps, and by far the best werewolf hunter, but after the debacle in the Ministry of Magic a year ago, his true allegiance had been made clear. Once Scrimgeour had realized that Auror Shacklebolt's first loyalty was not to the Ministry, but to Albus Dumbledore, Kingsley had been shunted out of the way, into a dead-end job guarding the Muggle Prime Minister. However, as it turned out, the Prime Minister didn't actually need guarding. No attempts had been made on him by Death Eaters, and the man's bodyguards were better trained than Kingsley was to handle any Muggle threats.
And as time had progressed, Kingsley's job had deteriorated even further. The Prime Minister, after finally coming to terms with the fact that his new secretary was a wizard, began to realize the advantages it afforded. Since Kingsley was actually a bodyguard in disguise, the Prime Minister had realized that he couldn't simply quit the job, and as a wizard he was a far more efficient worker than a Muggle could ever be. So Kingsley ended up with more than double the work a traditional secretary would get, and received practically zero benefits for it. Lately, he had begun to half hope that someone would find a way to assassinate the Minister, just so that he would be transferred out of this dead-end job.
Kingsley was jerked out of his brooding by the sound of polite applause. He looked around, belatedly realizing that the speech was over, and quickly brought his hands together once or twice. The reporters who had been listening asked their questions, the Prime Minister gave his evasive answers, and then the ritual was over. The press began to file out of the room, ultimately leaving just Kingsley, the Prime Minister, and his bodyguards.
"What'd you think, Shacklebolt?" asked the Minister needlessly, as though Kingsley had actually been listening to what the Muggle had to say. "I was worried that the plan may have seemed a little extravagant, but then I figured…"
However, Kingsley was no longer listening. A buzzing sound was emanating from his left pocket, and the device inside was vibrating uncomfortably against his leg. He pulled out what looked like an old-fashioned pocket watch, and with a feeling of dread, flipped open the cover. Sure enough, his portable Dark Detector was registering something.
"Shacklebolt?" said the Prime Minister curiously. "Shacklebolt? Are you even listening to me?"
No, thought Kingsley silently, I stopped listening to you a year ago. Without even bothering to respond to the Minister's inquiries, he peered into the miniature Foe Glass that was attached to the inside. There were five shadowy figures that appeared to be moving closer, but their images stubbornly refused to become clearer. Kingsley knew of only two creatures that couldn't be seen using a Foe Glass: vampires and werewolves. Kingsley grinned viciously, causing the Prime Minister to jump in fright. I hope it's werewolves.
However, even Kingsley couldn't protect the Prime Minister and fight five werewolves at the same time. As much as it irked him, he had to call for backup. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out an ordinary cigarette lighter and a small, brown leather pouch. He flicked the lighter, causing a small, quivering flame to appear, and reached into the pouch with his other hand. He pulled out the tiniest pinch of a glittering purple powder and tossed it into the lighter's flame, which rose slightly and turned purple. The Prime Minister's bodyguards were watching him like he was crazy, but Kingsley ignored them, too.
"Gawain Robards," he said clearly into the purple flame, and then waited for a response. It was not long in coming. Five seconds later, the flame crackled and turned red.
"Auror Shacklebolt," said a deep, gravelly, rasping voice. The Auror commander sounded intimidating even over the low-quality portable Floo. "What's the situation?"
Kingsley wasted no time. "I have five possible hostiles. No image on the Foe Glass."
"Vampires or werewolves. I'm on my way."
The flame crackled from red back to purple, and Kingsley flicked the lighter closed, snuffing out the flame. Kingsley raised an eyebrow. The commander was going to show up in person. He must really care about the Muggle.
"Bloody hell!" cried the Prime Minister's lead bodyguard. "What the hell is going on?"
"Calm yourself," barked Kingsley. He didn't have time to deal with the Muggles. "The Prime Minister's life is under threat. Form a circle around him, protect him with your bodies. Things are going to get a little hairy in here."
"And who the hell do you think you are? You're a goddamn secretary!"
"That's my cover," said Kingsley, rolling his eyes. Time to spill the truth, or at least part of it. "I work in MI5, X Branch. I'm here to protect the Minister, at all costs. And I suggest you follow my orders, captain, because if there's one thing I hate, it's incompetence."
The bodyguard opened his mouth as if he was going to argue further, but at that moment, all hell broke loose. The wall to Kingsley's right exploded inward, sending choking white clouds of plaster dust into the air. Kingsley whirled, whipping his wand out of its wrist holster, pointing it with a steady, two-handed grip into the blank white haze. He noticed the security men moving next to him, and he noted with an approving eye that they immediately moved to protect the Minister, even before going for their guns. These men were well trained. Too bad they would probably die today.
The security men opened fire. NATO-issue hollowpoint bullets flew into the clouds of dust, filling unseen enemies with metal. For a moment, Kingsley hoped that they might have been successful. A bullet would kill an unprepared wizard as easily as it did a Muggle, but if one was prepared, a few simple spells were better than any bulletproof vest. Now Kingsley would find out whether his magical enemies knew what they were doing.
They did. The dust started to settle, and five unscathed werewolves walked out of the haze. Kingsley recognized their faces from the Auror facebooks. All five were child-killers, rapists, and man-eaters, the most repugnant kind of werewolf. And their leader, Fenrir Greyback, was the worst of the lot. He walked out in front, snarling as the Minister's bodyguards tried to fill his chest and head with useless bullets. As each slug impacted him, a small nimbus of pure white light appeared around it, and the bullet fell harmlessly to the floor. As soon as the bodyguards saw this, they stopped firing, conserving ammunition. Very well trained, thought Kingsley.
Greyback sneered disdainfully at the guards, and brushed the plaster dust off of his shoulders. "Kill them," he rasped, baring his yellowed, blood-caked teeth.
"Avada Kedavra!" yelled four voices in unison, and four of the bodyguards dropped dead, not even understanding how they were killed. The last two guards stepped in to take their places, but the looks of fear in their eyes were clearly evident. As for the Prime Minister himself, he was cowering uselessly on the ground, whimpering in fear.
Even as he observed all of this, Kingsley moved into action. He moved slightly to the left, keeping the remaining bodyguards between himself and the werewolves. At least these two would serve a purpose as his human shields. As two more Killing Curses cut them down, Kingsley sprang into the space where they had stood, putting himself between the werewolves and the Prime Minister. He felled two of the werewolves with nonverbal stunners before they even knew that the man facing them was a wizard.
A third werewolf turned to him, and triumphantly cast another Killing Curse. However, Kingsley calmly sidestepped and stunned him, too. The werewolf's curse sailed harmlessly over the Prime Minister's body, curled as it was into the fetal position on the floor. A braver man would have died, thought Kingsley without humor. Contrary to what they told you in boot camp, cowardice actually could save lives.
Fenrir Greyback was unaccustomed to losing, especially to one Auror. With a snarl of rage, he leapt toward Kingsley. He pulled a vicious, four-inch hunting knife out of his belt, and with accuracy born of years of practice, flung it towards Kingsley's wand. Before Kingsley could react, Greyback's knife sliced his wand neatly in two.
Kingsley ran through every swear word that he knew, but before he could say anything articulate, Greyback was on top of him, his strong arms forcing Kingsley to the ground. He could feel Greyback's hot, rancid breath all over his face, and with a roar of rage, tried to throw him off. But the werewolf was too powerful. With a savage grin of victory, he lowered his teeth to Kingsley's neck and started to squeeze. The scream of rage turned into one of horror, and then faded into a gurgle as Greyback did what he did best: rip, devour, and kill.
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"Werewolves or vampires. I'm on my way." Gawain Robards turned away from the roaring green fire in his office, moving quickly because there was no time to lose. He lifted his enormous body out of the too-small chair and loped out of the office, heading into the rows of cubicles housing his Aurors, some of the finest in the world. Most were away, either on active duty or taking one of their rare breaks, now that Lord Voldemort had returned from oblivion. In fact, Robards could only spot one Auror he would be willing to take on such a potentially risky mission. Well, one would have to do.
"Johnson!" he called sharply, and the man snapped to attention.
"Sir!" cried Reggie Johnson in response. Robards looked him up and down approvingly. The kid might be young (twenty, if Robards remembered correctly), but he had the demeanor of someone twice his age. He had impressed the Commander from the first day of Auror training with his cool, collected approach to crises. The man was unflappable, and had been trained personally by Robards. Both excellent reasons for Gawain to take him along.
"Follow," commanded Robards, and Johnson fell quickly into step. "I'll debrief you on the way to the Atrium. Auror Shacklebolt is currently guarding the Muggle Prime Minister from five werewolves, but it's unlikely he will last. We must hurry, or we'll be too late. I will guide your Apparition. You are familiar with the new Anti-Apparition and Portkey barriers I instituted?"
"Yes sir!"
"Good. We will set them up in a one-mile radius around the target site. Four corners. I will place the markers on the sides, you place front and back. Meet up opposite, run to the target area, ETA three minutes. You can run the mile in under three?"
"Yes sir!"
Robards allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction, despite the grim situation. These new Aurors were shaping up well. In a year, he'd have the forces necessary to engage Lord Voldemort fully. But until then, they had to make do. "When we enter the fight, flash-bangs at the ready. You throw first, I'll assess the situation. Questions?"
"No sir!"
"Good, then grab my arm. We Apparate now."
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Fenrir Greyback grinned savagely as the scent of death assaulted his nostrils. To him, there was no sweeter aroma. The Auror had put up a good fight, but numbers had worked against him. As the man's dying gasps filled his ears, he kicked him viciously in the ribs, savoring the grunt of pain and terror. But sadly, his fun had to end. There was work to do.
He turned to the Muggle, the man they had been after. Lord Voldemort wanted the man dead, but Greyback had other ideas. He would, after all, make a perfect addition to Greyback's band of werewolves.
"Bind him," he rasped, and his lone companion still standing obeyed instantly. Fenrir didn't even remember the wolf's name, but that was unimportant. All that mattered was furthering his own goals. After the Muggle was securely bound, Greyback lifted him up by the throat, growling theatrically. A sharp stench filled the air, and Greyback chuckled in delight. The man had actually pissed himself! What a joke. He growled again, relishing in the whimpers of terror. He slung the man carelessly over his shoulder and then turned to leave the room, his associate trailing close behind.
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Gawain Robards moved efficiently. The pair Apparated in a mile out from the target zone. He immediately Apparated three more times, dropping a small black disk at each location. The black disks, unassuming as they looked, were the keys to success in many a mission he had had with S.N.O.W. When four of them were placed at corners around an area, they formed a box within which Apparation and Portkeys would both fail. This would keep the assailants from simply vanishing from the grasp of the law. He Apparated to his final location, and less than a second later, Auror Johnson joined him.
Johnson was one of the new recruits, one of the few to have been trained personally by Gawain Robards. Robards didn't need words to tell him what to do. He simply started running, and Johnson followed. Their destination, a little less than a mile away, was the very room in which Kingsley Shacklebolt lay dying. Robards opened up his stride, allowing his magic to flow through him and lend speed to his feet. He felt Johnson doing the same beside him. Soon they were running faster than the fastest Olympic sprinter. Two minutes later, they arrived.
As Robards' noted the structural damage to the side of the building, his experienced eyes could pinpoint the exact places where four men had stood when they had fired the Reductor curses. As he neared the gaping opening, the acrid smell of blood filled his nostrils. Without pausing in his stride, he donned a pair of special sunglasses and earplugs. Johnson did the same. They ran up to opposite sides of the hole in the wall and paused outside.
"Bind him," came a rasping voice from the inside of the room, and Robards inhaled sharply. That was the voice of Fenrir Greyback. That he was talking so calmly implied that Shacklebolt was disabled, if not dead, and the Prime Minister was in custody. Now was the time for action, and his years of training and experience took over. He made a complicated hand motion, to which Johnson nodded. Robards slowly tilted his head around the wall, and saw Greyback, with the Minister over his shoulder, sauntering back to the hole in the wall. He made another quick motion with his hand, and then sprang around the corner with a cry.
Greyback suddenly saw the impossible before him. Against all odds, another Auror was blocking his path, quite literally. The man's seven-foot frame nearly filled the gap in the wall. However, before he could do much more than register the man's presence, the world seemed to explode before his eyes, and a thundering boom resounded throughout the room, knocking Greyback off his feet.
Robards quickly analyzed the situation, protected from the flash-bang's explosion of light and sound by the glasses and earplugs. Auror Shacklebolt was down, but not yet dead. Greyback had hurled the Prime Minister away from him, to relative safety. He would undoubtedly have some broken bones, but he would survive. Greyback and the other werewolf had been momentarily disabled by the sensory overload from the flash-bang. Robards silently stunned the one, but Greyback had inadvertently stumbled behind the protection of the Minister's podium. Robards snarled and ran towards him.
Johnson ran in behind Robards, surveying the room as he did. It appeared that the Minister was safe, and that the Commander had the two werewolves under control. However, Shacklebolt was in bad shape. He immediately ran over to the man, trying to stabilize his condition.
Gawain breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Johnson tend to Shacklebolt. That left him free to deal with the werewolf. The wolf would have undoubtedly recovered from the flash-bang's effects by now, so Gawain slowed and approached the podium with caution. He stopped ten feet from it, pointed his wand, and let off a powerful blasting spell. The werewolf cursed as the splinters impaled him, but rather than running away, as Robards had expected, he charged forward, snarling furiously.
Gawain quickly pointed his wand at him, but it was too late. Greyback was nearly on top of him, and there was no time to get a spell off. Instead, he sheathed his wand to free up his hands and rose to meet his foe.
The two met in a furious collision of sinew and bone. It was a fight between animals, brutal and deadly. Greyback had the enhanced strength of a werewolf on top of his already solid frame, and he was used to easily winning in hand-to-hand combat. But the Auror in front of him was a monster of another sort. Standing seven feet tall and sporting three hundred fifty pounds of solid muscle, Gawain Robards could match Greyback strength for strength. But the Auror Commander had something that Greyback could never hope to match: training.
He pretended to fall back under the werewolf's assault, allowing his foe to overextend himself. Without warning, he lashed violently into his opponent's groin with his foot. Greyback buckled, and Robards charged, throwing him bodily into the air. Greyback landed with a painful thud, and snarling, whirled to face Robards once more. But Gawain had taken advantage of the break to draw his wand, and sent Greyback hurtling backwards with a well-placed bludgeoning charm. He ran forward to continue the battle, but was suddenly stopped in his tracks.
"Commander!" cried Johnson, whom Robards had all but forgotten. "I'm losing him!" It wasn't so much the words that stopped Robards, but rather the note of panic in the young Auror's voice. Auror Johnson quite simply did not panic. Robards growled with indecision, looking back. Fenrir Greyback was already up and running, fleeing the crime scene as fast as his legs would carry him. If Robards didn't go after him now, he would escape. But at the same time, if he abandoned Shacklebolt, the Auror would probably die. Of course, he might die even with Gawain's aid. Gawain was no medi-wizard, after all.
And then, as often happened in times of crisis, Gawain Robards heard the voice of Alastor Moody growling in his ear. "Always remember, kid," the disembodied voice of Captain Moody flashed through his memory, "that your first loyalty is to the corps. Not to the Ministry, not even to justice, but to the corps. These are not your coworkers, or your friends, but your brothers. Remember this one rule above all others: no one gets left behind."
Robards turned, his mind made up. He ran to the side of Auror Shacklebolt, checking the pulse as he did so. It was faint, barely a whisper fluttering through the once-proud Auror's veins. "Cancel the wards, put in the call to St. Mungo's immediately," he ordered. Johnson turned with a nod, and immediately began making complicated motions with his wand. Satisfied, Robards turned back to his dying comrade.
The main damage was at the throat, but Robards didn't have the skill to heal that. Instead, he focused his magic on keeping the Auror breathing and keeping his blood flowing. A few whispered spells allowed his magic to flow out of his wand and into Shacklebolt's lungs and veins, keeping the Auror's vital processes going strong. After a minute of intense concentration, Robards heard the pops signaling the arrival of the medi-wizards. He relaxed, released the magic, and stepped back from the body, allowing them plenty of room. Immediately, five medi-wizards rushed to the body, and one other turned to tend to the Prime Minister. He backed off, avoiding the temptation to interfere.
"Commander?" asked Auror Johnson tentatively.
"Yes, soldier?"
"What about Greyback? Should we go after him?"
Gawain glanced in the direction that Greyback had run off. "No, he'll be long gone. You know Moody's theory on the man?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you know that he knows this world better than we do. He'll have succeeded in disappearing by now. There's no point in trying to find him. Just take his four henchmen into custody."
"Yes, sir," said Johnson, and proceeded to do just that.
Gawain sighed. All in all, the day had been a success. True, Shacklebolt had been horribly injured, and Greyback had once again eluded his grasp. But no Aurors were dead, and four dangerous werewolves were in custody. All he had to do was make sure the Prophet heard nothing about Shacklebolt and plenty about the four werewolves. He would leave Johnson to clean the place up and modify any memories, but for now he had to get back to the office and make sure that if any other emergencies came up, the Auror department would be ready to act. And with a small pop, Gawain Robards was gone.
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A/N:
Questions? Comments? Complaints? Please review. Unfortunately, this chapter is not some of my best work, in my opinion. I haven't gotten as much time to edit it as I'd like. After this, the story returns to Harry's viewpoint for the duration. Gawain Robards, despite all the mentions he's gotten in the first couple chapters, will basically remain on the periphery of this story. Harry won't even meet him until the story's almost over. Trust me, the story's about Harry.
Chapter 3: The Last Visit