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This is the governmental authority for the Wizarding world in Britain -- it's main objective being to keep muggles from finding out about magic. The Ministry consists of seven departments, which can be read about here.
- Joined: 31 Dec 2013, 05:43
Aron Cayhill was having a shit week. No, not just a shit week, a shit month with random intervals of "okay" thrown in. Really, it had been a shit time in general for about the last fucking year. Ever since his parents' death things had been kind of touch and go, what with him almost dying and Ross Ferdinand managing to apparate across the ocean to get him to St. Mungo's. The bastard. Ever since he had perpetually been trying to solve the Ross Ferdinand Problem - which was to say, he was trying to grapple with the fact his best mate had moved to the States, managed to become a complete stranger to him, nearly killed himself to save Aron's sorry hide, and now there was this strange sort of tension whenever they were together. This inability to express how either of them was really feeling because they were so afraid of -
Knock knock knock
There was a sharp intake of breath that Aron refused to call surprise as someone rapped on the door of his office. Clearing his throat, he tried to gather himself and place in mind squarely in the moment rather than the mystery of his personal life. He was not going to solve that from his office, was he? "Come in."
A rather shy looking intern peaked into his office. He'd never met this one before and decided not to intimidate the poor bastard too much on their first day of meeting. The boy seemed to already be scared out of his wits. Someone must have warned him about Aron in advance, a thought that almost made him laugh. After a moment of looking like he was about to piss himself, the kid managed to quietly tell him that he was needed for an immediate interrogation. A young witch had been caught carrying a stash of basilisk fangs on her person and the aurors were fearing her to be a dark witch of some kind.
Instinctively Aron's hands balled into fists and he slowly rose to his feet. A dark witch? One that had managed to sneak past him for nearly a year? He highly doubted that. Even so, the urgency in the boy's eyes made up for his quiet tone and there was not a doubt in Aron's mind that this was important to someone potentially higher up than he. "Where is she?"
"Interrogation room B."
"Will they let me talk to her up here?"
"I highly doubt it, sir."
With a sigh and a solemn nod, Aron rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. He hated those interrogation rooms. They were too sterile, too dark and dungeon-like. Interrogations in his office were easier, put suspects into a false sense of security and made things feel a little less tense. No one was on edge, no one felt the pressure of those eyes that they knew to be watching the whole thing, and, most importantly, the office was fucking private and he could do as he pleased to get answers. Public interrogations rooms didn't leave much room for that. If they were forcing him to see the suspect in a public room, it was incredibly likely that not only was she dangerous, but someone wanted to judge his performance. "Give me five minutes."
With a tired wave of his hand, he excused the boy to pass along his message and began to gather what he needed. There was apparently no paperwork, otherwise they would have sent the intern with it. He hated being unprepared, hated the disorganization with which his underlings tended to operate. No matter how often he stressed the importance of filling out files for him to go over before an interrogation, they rarely listened.
As promised, he was a few floors down at the interrogation rooms within five minutes. He could hear raised voices as he came down the corridor, which quieted as soon as he rounded the corner to the little room outside the actual interrogation room. "What are we dealing with, gentlemen?" No pleasantries, just straight and to the point. It was easier that way.
In hushed voices the guards told him exactly what the intern had. No name, no details. Just a witch that had been caught with an illegal stash of basilisk fangs. Wonderful. This would be easy.
Brushing past the guards, he pushed the door open and slid into the room, eyeing up the girl seated behind the little table. She looked scared, confused, a little angry. And she was young, younger than he had expected. Probably no older than seventeen, maybe eighteen, which meant she was fresh out of Hogwarts. He didn't say a word, not at first, just let the tension build as he eyed her and crossed the room. She muttered something as he took out his wand, but he didn't quite hear it and didn't acknowledge it. Not at first. Just let the squealing of the chair against tile floor fill the room, watched the way it made her tense as he sat down and met her eyes.
And then he smiled.
An easy, warm expression that he knew made his eyes light up almost amicably. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that Ms... Well, I don't believe they gave me your name. No use starting our chat without getting to know each other. I'm Aron Cayhill." And he chuckled, just to sell that good cop smile. The last thing he needed was to frighten the poor young witch they had brought to him. No need to go intimidating her...yet.
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- Joined: 31 Dec 2013, 05:43
There's this brief moment where he feels like a bit of a dirty old man. The guards had stripped her of her robes, as was customary. There was so much risk in allowing prisoners to keep their robes. Too many folds and potential pockets. This had left the young woman before him wearing nothing but a tank top and pair of shorts, leaving far less to the imagination than her robes would have. And, Merlin, was there a lot to look at. It wasn't even sexual, per se, just...intriguing. The girl was covered in tattoos, magical ones that twist and move. It's fascinating and he catches himself watching for a moment too long.
It's almost distracting, almost tempting him until she mentions his brother and then the moment is gone. He realizes just how young she is and feels his skin crawl. Can almost feel the way his mind jolts away from her. The way his stomach turns because, Merlin, she is something like ten years his junior. Not to mention how much of a jeopardy to his job the very thought of so much as touching this young girl was.
He clears his throat, trying to focus on the question she'd asked him. If he was any relation to Antony, that he'd been her Charms professor. And then she gave her name, Theolesia Dragomirova. That last name struck a chord with him somehow, he recognized it ever so vaguely. A dark wizard perhaps? No... He would have remembered that.
It feels rude not to answer her question, gives him a moment to think over her name. "Anto - er - Professor Cayhill is my brother, actually." There's a part of him that feels that perhaps he should not have shared that information. But there was hardly a doubt in his mind that this woman was innocent of whatever dark deeds his men believed her to be guilty of. She was young, fresh out of Hogwarts, and her family name was vaguely familiar to him. Still couldn't quite figure that out... He mulled over his past, the names he recognized from his days with the Death Eaters. Nothing, absolutely nothing.
Above all else, he can tell she is afraid. Her voice shakes as she says something about how his casual tone was offput by her current position being tied to a chair. He laughs at that, just a chuckle, concedes with a nod and then shakes his head. "I do apologize for that, Ms. Dragomirova. It is just a precaution. If you cooperate, I promise you'll be out of here in no time. Now, please, why were you carrying basilisk fangs without a permit?"
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- Joined: 31 Dec 2013, 05:43
If Aron Cayhill knew one thing, it was how to spot a liar. Years of experience in the Ministry had taught him exactly what to look for, the way people all had their little fidgety movements to signal their dishonesty, or the way they would start to sweat just a little. As he sat watching the young girl in front of him, he looked for those signs, just one little awkward itch at the back of her neck or sweaty palms. Nothing, absolutely nothing, which was funny because he was having an incredibly difficult time actually believing her story.
Granted, it was not entirely hard to believe, forgetfulness happened to everyone, did it not? Especially those who were notably less organized than he. Not everyone could meticulously organize their office and their life in alphabetical order. A place for everything and everything in its place, as his grandmother used to say.
For a long time he was silent after Theo finished her story. Allowed himself to process what she had said, watched to see if she would start to get nervous the longer he stayed quiet. A few notes were scribbled, his gaze flicking between her eyes and his paper. Eventually he straightened up, straightened his tie, and looked her over with hooded eyes.
"You....forgot?" There was not even a bit of humor in his voice. Just the disbelief and disgust that would get someone who was guilty to start to quake in their boots. "Ms. Dragomirova, I need you to understand the gravity of your current predicament. You laugh at your forgetfulness, but regardless of your magical allegiance I still have every right to throw the book at you. You understand that, right? Basilisk fangs are a highly illegal substance. It is frowned upon for witches and wizards with permits to carry them anywhere other than to their intended location. Yet you mean to tell me that you just casually forgot that they were kicking around in your pockets? I may a patient man, even an understanding one, but I can only believe so much. Do you really believe that pathetic story of yours has me convinced that you had no intention to abuse your current position and privilege to sell these for their far higher price on the black market?"
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