Prologue II
November 1st, 1981
Chesterfield:
Crimes can occur anywhere, from a desolate shoreline where a body washes up to a disastrous fire that ravages an apartment building or a fatal car accident. In such cases, crime scene investigators play a crucial role in conducting a systematic examination of the area to uncover physical evidence that can help identify what happened and who was involved. However, it is imperative to perform this process with utmost care and thoroughness to ensure that critical evidence is collected without damaging weaker evidence.
The case investigator and crime scene personnel collaborate to define and secure areas that may contain evidence, examine and document the scene, collect physical evidence, and preserve, package, and submit it to the laboratory for analysis. By using these essential pieces of evidence, investigators can attempt to piece together the crime's elements accurately. The accuracy of the investigation depends on the thoroughness of the crime scene team, which ultimately impacts the attorneys' ability to argue the case's facts and the jurors' ability to reach a verdict on guilt or innocence.
Patrick Parsons, the chief inspector of the Chesterfield police force, followed these guidelines for the past forty years. However, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he arrived at the scene of Steven Blakeley's death. The young man was found lifeless on the ground outside a local supermarket, despite being invited to the VIP stadium box by the city's mayor.
While Chesterfield was generally a peaceful town, occasional brawls occurred after tense football matches, such as the one held the night before Blakeley's death. However, there were no signs of violence on his body, and the forensic team reported that he was in perfect health, leaving Parsons bewildered. He could have closed the case with this information, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. How could a young man die for no apparent reason?
As Parsons reached for his Laphroaig bottle, he was interrupted by a young constable wearing a uniform. In a small town like Chesterfield, constables had limited duties, such as watching over children playing football in the street and assisting seniors in crossing the road or issuing tickets.
Everyone at the station knew that it was a sacred rule not to disturb the inspector chief at such an early hour of the day. Firstly, it wasn't yet 10 a.m., thus that would force him to talk to another human being. Secondly, he was the only one who carried a firearm. With a glare, he addressed the officer who stood before him, "Is there anything you need, officer?"
The officer replied, "Sir, I apologize for bothering you. I have been instructed to report to the inspector in chief. I am beginning my two-year probation period today," handing him a file.
Parson remained motionless, suspiciously eyeing the man standing in front of him. He analyzed the officer's uniform, searching for any reason to lash out at him and chase him from his office. Finally, he sighed and spoke in a slow voice, "I'm sorry, lad. We usually approve our recruits before they arrive. Perhaps you should call your supervisor and leave while you're at it," pouring himself a drink.
"I must insist, sir. The proper procedures have been followed, and if you would be so kind as to review my file, you would be convinced," replied the officer with a kind smile.
Parson let out a long sigh and darkly glared at the officer before reluctantly accepting the file. He feigned interest in the pages, but before he could delve deeper, he looked back up at the officer and asked calmly, "What makes you think I have time for a foolish prank like this one? You better tell me this is for the tele and point at the cameras because impersonating a police officer is enough to lock you up in a good while."
Confused, the officer responded with a smile, "Sir?"
Parson returned the smile, took a sip of his drink, and said, "Alright, the case isn't going anywhere, and I'm bored. So, you're 20 years old, graduated from Eton College, hold a master's degree in criminology and criminal justice from Oxford, and recently returned from a diplomatic mission in South America, where you arrested a drug lord. Although we are not currently concerned with that matter, you specifically requested to work at our station. At only 20 years old, is there something I'm missing?"
The officer replied, "I am confident that you will find all the answers you seek in my curriculum. It will enlighten you about my situation."
Parson smirked and said, "Why not? I would love to know more." He then returned his attention to the file and began reading. As he read, everything became clear to him, and his confidence was replaced with shame and embarrassment towards the officer who stood in front of him, with a kind smile.
Patrick Parson never left his hometown; he had joined the police force straight after finishing high school, seeking a stable job near his family and childhood friends. Like many men his age, he had endured hardships in life, but nothing compared to the experiences of the young man whose story he was reading. The police chief was engrossed in the lines before him as if they were written in black ink rather than a pen. Gradually, his mind cleared, and he lost touch with his own memories. He forgot where he was and even what he was reading until a distant voice called out to him. He didn't want to listen; all that mattered was reading on, even though the words and letters became indistinguishable. The voice grew louder, pounding in his head. Suddenly, he blinked and found himself back in his seat, looking dumbfoundedly at the young man whose words had finally reached his ears.
"Pardon me, sir, sorry to bother you again. I was tasked with informing you that the supermarket where the victim was discovered this morning now has a new surveillance system, known as "CCTV cameras." The owner appears quite confident that he possesses valuable information regarding the case, as stated by his secretary. Personally, I overheard him yelling at her on the telephone, saying 'Tell him to drag his fat arse here right now!'"
Parson rose to his feet and, in an impressive display of athleticism for a man of his age, made his way to the office door. He gave a nod to the young man who was observing him with a mix of amusement and surprise, before barking at him with what his two sons referred to as his "bulldog voice."
"Ah, yes, I know a thing or two about staying fit. Are you going to stand there like a ninny or follow me?"
"Yes, sir!"
Driving down Chesterfield's main avenue, they rode in silence. Parson struggled with how to apologize to the kid he had mistreated earlier in his office. Words were never his strong suit, aside from scolding his men. Failing to find the right words, he discretely peeked at the young man from the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but notice his passenger's interest in the radio and the Beatles tune emanating from the speakers. Parson smiled to himself, he too loved the Beatles, one of the few things he and his sons agreed on.
After only ten minutes on the road, they reached their destination and proceeded directly to the manager's office. They found Elli Easton, an old school friend of Pearson, intently staring at a pile of twenty television screens. Upon their arrival, Elli jumped to his feet with a broad smile and a wink to his secretary before nodding towards the door. The secretary shook Parsons' hand and gave him a knowing look as she left, causing Parson to chuckle.
Alone with Elli, Parson met his friend's gaze before being greeted with a theatrical tone, "Salutations! Good morning to you, your supreme highness Patty, Lord of the police station! The gentleman who made alcoholism alcoholic! The grand..."
"Shut it, Elli!" Parson snapped at the man who had stopped bowing, smirking at him.
"I suppose you chaps are here for the vomit on ale 5? It's the second time this week, what are our constables doing? It pains me to see how this town has changed, how much I don't recognize it anymore! Where are our taxes going? I don't know what stops me from writing to Scotland Yard to complain! I recall when the old Jim was in charge, you know the one who was doing a much better job than you..."
"I warn you, Elli, today is not the day, and by the way, do you realize a dead man was found in your car park?"
"Well, it's not my fault! Do you think that's the kind of thing I want to see coming here? Especially after yesterday? You know Anabel and I went to try that new spa..."
"YOUR GUYS CALLED ABOUT A VIDEOTAPE," Pearson shouted at him, "p-l-a-y i-t- t-o m-e n-o-w," he insisted on each letter.
"Ok, ok, calm down. I was just jesting…Jesus…you've been like this since we were kids, I wonder how your wife bares with you... You forgot your drink this morning, right?" Elli asked, looking at Parson.
"I didn't forget my gun," Parson answered.
"I won't be surprised if you slept with it under your pillow knowing how much every soul hates your guts in this town…. Ok, sit down, folks, movie time! Ok, the manual says that I just have to press play, and voila!"
The scene portrayed on the screens could have been plucked straight from a low-budget sci-fi flick, and no one would have batted an eyelid. It lasted no longer than half a minute. At the outset of the black and white footage, a man who could easily be recognized as the victim strolled across the car park and halted in front of a motorbike, whereupon a rat scurried onto the asphalt. Their eyes widened as the creature's form changed and grew until the rodent had transformed into a man. The victim spun around, after which there was a brief moment of inactivity before one of the two men thrust his arm upward, and the picture became distorted. When the image reappeared, Steven Blakeley was lying on the tarmac beside the motorbike, with no trace of the other man.
"What was that, Elli? What did you do? You know you've got to keep everything in its proper place!" queried Patti.
"Patti! I swear on my life, this is the first time I've laid eyes on this tape. The three of us are the first! And I only just figured out how to make it work when you guys arrived!" protested Elli.
"So, it just vanished into thin air? By magic?" scoffed Patti.
"Yes, exactly like magic," replied a deep voice from behind Elli and Parson. It was a voice that caused both of them to jump and turn around. Parson had entirely forgotten about the presence of the young man who had accompanied him to the store. He was now standing by the door, pointing a stick at them.
"Um...What are you doing, kid...Oh...Your name's Kingsley, right?" stuttered Parson, his voice quavering, as Elli attempted to take cover behind him.
"Fear not, gents, everything is alright...OBLIVIATE!" assured Kingsley, casting a spell.
November 1st, 1981
Chesterfield:
Kingsley Schaklebolt stepped out of the supermarket and looked around before heading toward the parking lot where the murder had taken place. It was his first assignment as a trainee Auror, and it served as a test to see if he was fit to join the Auror office. Kingsley had chosen to pursue this career to help put an end to the war and fight alongside other brave men and women. It was a decision he made after the death of Eloise Vane, a Ministry employee who was brutally tortured and burned alive in front of her father by Death Eaters. Kingsley had lost the girl he loved, but he was determined to do everything in his power to prevent others from experiencing the same pain.
Becoming an Auror had never been Kingsley's dream or goal. When he was attending Hogwarts, he was under the protection of Albus Dumbledore, a time of innocence when he could close his eyes at night without fear. But reality set in every morning when he received his daily copy of the Daily Prophet. However, the death of Eloise Vane changed everything, and Kingsley knew that he had to do something to stop the darkness and violence that threatened to engulf his world.
He would always remember the day he decided to pursue a career as an Auror. During Easter break, when he chose to stay at school to study for his NEWTs, Professor McGonagall came to seek him out in the library and took him to the headmaster's office. It was there that he learned about Eloise Vane's death and decided to fight under the Auror banner.
Now, as he walked towards the parking lot, Kingsley was determined to show the Auror office that he was worthy of being one of them. He was ready to give everything he had to ensure that others would never have to experience the same pain he had endured.
Aurors hardly ever involve themselves in non-wizard crimes, unless the Dark Mark has been cast or there's a strong suspicion of wizardry. Kingsley wasn't expecting to be dispatched to Chesterfield that day, let alone to investigate a murder. However, since he couldn't catch a wink of sleep that night, he decided to leave his flat before sunrise and head straight to the Ministry of Magic, where he was scheduled to start his shift a few hours later. He walked a few blocks before apparating not far from the visitor entrance, which was mandatory due to the ongoing war.
Upon arriving at the Ministry's atrium, he noticed the frenzied activity around him but didn't have a chance to investigate. Alastor Moody charged towards him like a raging bull and thrust a file into his chest. "Murder, Chesterfield, Police, Parson GO! NOW!" Moody barked urgently. And so, Kingsley found himself working on a case on an empty stomach.
Before entering the crime scene, Kingsley paused to locate the surveillance cameras and disabled them with a flick of his wand. He then used the "revelio" and "prior incantato" spells to determine that the killing curse had been cast at the scene. However, this raised questions for Kingsley: Was a Death Eater involved in the murder? If so, why wasn't the Dark Mark cast? And why did the perpetrator kill a Muggle and flee without an audience, when Death Eaters usually relish terrorizing others?
The murderer was also an Animagus, as revealed in the tape. After approaching the victim from behind, the Animagus looked at the victim for a while before casting the spell. This raised questions about whether the victim and the Animagus knew each other. After thoroughly investigating the scene, Kingsley returned to the Ministry of Magic.
As soon as he set foot in the atrium, he was greeted by a tumultuous hurricane of cheers, a throng of people embracing each other, and music so deafening that his ears were left buzzing. Whenever he tried to ask someone about what was happening, another person would wrap their arms around him tightly, tears streaming down their face as they mumbled words drowned out by the celebratory noise. Older Aurors smiled at him and slapped him roughly on the back, while men and women who could have melted him with a glance the day before surrounded him, all united in celebration. Eventually, he made his way to the Department of magical law enforcement and then to the Auror office, where he found Alastor Moody sitting alone with a glass of scotch in hand.
"Sir, everyone is celebrating!" exclaimed Kingsley.
"Of course, they are, Shacklebolt! Why aren't you?" Moody replied, with a tone of surprise. "The war is over! Last night, the one-who-must-not-be-named, or rather the one who got screwed badly last night, went to Godric's Hollow and was destroyed," he continued.
"He...He's gone?" asked Kingsley, his voice trembling slightly.
"Apparently..." Moody replied. "Sit down, you're making me nervous," he ordered, gesturing to a nearby armchair.
Kingsley sat down, still in shock. "Where have you been this morning?" Moody asked sharply, eyeing him severely.
"Chesterfield, sir. You sent me there two hours ago, remember? The muggle murdered..." Kingsley replied.
"You can leave that. We know who did it" Moody interrupted impatiently.
"All right...So, what happened exactly with...you know who?" Kingsley asked hesitantly.
"Long story short, last night the Dark Lord went to Godric's Hollow to kill James and Lily Potter, as well as their baby boy Harry," Moody began. He paused, knowing that Kingsley was a friend of the Potters from their school days. "I'm sorry, Kingsley. He killed both James and Lily, but apparently, he couldn't kill the boy. When he tried to kill Harry, it somehow backfired and killed him instead. Now he is known throughout the entire world as the boy-who-lived."
Kingsley was struck by the news and stared blankly at Moody. He knew it to be true - Alastor Moody was not one to joke or have fun. The Aurors and the brightest minds in the country had spent years planning and debating how to stop the dark wizard, but for a decade they failed miserably, unable to even get a lead on his whereabouts. Some began to doubt his existence, while others gave up altogether, believing it was useless to resist, and instead joined his ranks. And then, his downfall came at the hands of an innocent baby who couldn't even hold a wand. It made no sense, yet it did - perhaps innocence, the absence of corruption, was the light that could vanquish darkness. Kingsley would have plenty of time to ponder this. He took the drink from Moody, smiled, and raised it in a toast: "To James, Lily, and Harry Potter!"
"To the potters!"
Kingsley rose from his chair, nodded towards Moody, and headed towards the office door to leave. However, he stopped abruptly and turned back to ask Moody, "Sir, you said you've already found who killed that muggle. Who was it?"
"Sirius Black. It's bound to make the news anyway. Fudge just got back, and that fool can't keep his mouth shut. He went straight to the press," replied Moody.
Kingsley was taken aback. "Sirius Black, sir? Are you certain? I knew him from school, and I find it hard to believe."
"The same goes for everyone, lad. The same... But Black was arrested this morning, just after blasting away Peter Pettigrew and the entire street behind him, killing twelve muggles. Dumbledore confirmed that he was informing the Dark Lord for the last two years and gave away the location where the Potters were hiding," said Moody sternly. "It's only a matter of time before this office becomes a real shitstorm, so you should keep your distance."
"...Yes, sir...Thank you, sir," Kingsley said before leaving Moody's office. He went straight to one of the small cubicles located in the office he had to share with six other trainees. There, he sat down on his chair, gazed at the ceiling, and put his hand behind his head, trying to process the news he had just received. Kingsley remembered Sirius Black from his years at Hogwarts; the chap was the last person he would have imagined as a Death Eater. Always fighting and hexing his cousins from Slytherin, they didn't stay in touch after they graduated from school, so a lot could have changed since. Well... He did learn to transform into a rat, who knows how many other tricks he's got up his sleeve?
Kingsley couldn't stop thinking about James, Lily, and Harry... Who was going to take care of him now? He knew that the poor child had no grandparents anymore. Would they put him in an orphanage? No, Dumbledore would never allow that. There were plenty of families who would be honored to take the child in and raise him as their own. Harry would grow up happy; Kingsley didn't doubt that Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic would make sure of it. Today, Harry Potter became important.
But for now, it was time to join the world and celebrate. Kingsley smiled and stood up from his chair. He locked the tape he had brought with him in his tiny desk drawer, put on his jacket, and left the office.
