r ö s l e i n

Interns assigned to the case are reminded that all information associated with this case is sensitive material, and while the media does have a good amount of information from their snooping, please do not comment on any inqueries that the press may present, nor do not share any with anyone without proper clearance (employment within the Ministry or St. Mungo’s). 

Evidence found at the scene of the crime is as follows: 

The main target of the bombing was a memorial statue in the center of the neighborhood of Damocles Rowle, Rowle was the Minister for Magic from 1718-1726, and was a resident of this village, he is also well known for his anti-muggle stance.

Carved into the side of a nearby home were the words, “Those truly of pure blood will rise from their shackles, as those who live in deceit will pay for their transgressions.” This phrase has been used as a signature of sorts from other verified New Blood Order attacks, and it is suspected to be as such.

Witnesses around the neighborhood remember seeing a group of individuals earlier that morning at around 2a.m. Out of all the statements, the group appears to be around ten in number, and presumably they were in plainclothes. Witnesses reported that they were unable to get any good looks at the faces of these suspects, even though they remember no efforts to conceal their faces. It is suspected magic was at work here.

There is one bomb that appears to have been a “dud”, it has been taken back to the Department of Magical Technologies for further investigation. 

There were several areas throughout the neighborhood where bombs were successfully set off, but given the level of damage that occurred, it is suspected that both magic and muggle technology was used. It is suggested that only healing and diagnostic spells are to be used at the scene of the crime. Any other sort of magic may trigger any left over artifacts from the explosives.

Blishwick and Belgarde, 

First things first, I don’t like having interns. There I said it, I don’t like playing baby sitter to you lot. You don’t got the training to be of any actual help, and you ask more questions than a house elf in a whore house. BUT, apparently taking you lot under my big shiny wings looks good to ol’ Ira Cromwell, and if I want to make Head Auror by the time I’m thirty-five, then I’m just gonna have to suck it up and do it.

Anyway, so I’m sure you’ve all heard about the incident in Chelsea, bomb went off killed a few folks, major news right now. Well that’s not your case. I’ve been itchin’ to get my hands on anything New Blood Order related too, but oh no some wise ass needed to go startin’ a fuckin’ werewolf fighting ring. So looks like we’re all stuck together, I need to kiss ass to the boss man, you need a nice looking rotation spot on your resumes, and the auror office is spread so thin the annoying rainbow shitting redhead at Ministry Munchies will probably get called in next. But that’s auror work for ya. 

Back to the fight ring case- and let’s get this straight right now, this is my case. Not our’s, mine. If shit hits the fan, it’s my ass on the line not your’s. Though I’ll definitely make sure some shit comes your way too. You two are my assistants for lack of a better term. You’ll take notes, follow me around all day, hell make me tea when I ask. And if you do well I might just let you ask me some questions, maybe.

My grading scale is easy, I don’t kick you out of your spot before the two weeks is up then you’re golden. I run by a strict rule of one fuck up then you’re out, I ain’t here to baby you and I ain’t here to get fired over your asses either. You both can meet me in my office at 8a.m tomorrow morning, I got a couple CIs of mine I wanna track down and see if I can make ‘em sing a little for us.

Don’t forget your NoteBooks. 

Intern Evaluation: Rose Blishwick

Weaknesses of Intern: None to report, here!

Strengths of Intern: Very skilled crime scene photographer, especially for a newbie. I barely needed to steer her all that much as far as what to photograph.

"Oh, some of my friends ended up being reduced to open mouthed dummies around veelas. I wasn’t much better to be perfectly honest. Sounds like a good idea to me, especially with the point of almost being on the same case."

"Honest question: does it matter what gender the veela is or what gender the person they're unconsciously seducing is? I've always wondered. And you, speechless? I don't know if I could believe it. Well, I'm sure we''l have a lot to talk about, then. I should write to my mother! She was worried I wouldn't be able to make friends."

Reaching the area, he could see that there was quite a crowd. Not a robe in sight, he was glad he had not worn his own. He sighed, Muggles really did have a tendency to stick their nose in where it wasn’t particularly wanted. Taking a look around whilst drinking his coffee, Mason caught sight of who he remembered to be Morgan Greenwell. He strode over to the police tape, and dug around for his ID when prompted by the severe looking police officer. A grunt from the other man, and he was allowed through.

Slowly making his way over to the familiar face of Morgan, he mulled over the case. A dead werewolf. It was a frightening thought, and accompanied by a large question he was sure the MLE CSI group would have as well — who or what in Merlin’s name would be able to kill a werewolf so flippantly? Certainly Mason had learnt about werewolves being shoved to the sidelines of community in the past, but murder?

Before he even reached where the other intern was standing, he was intercepted by a smaller figure for whom he guessed to be Celia Dennis.

"You, must be Mason Belgarde. Right, okay. I should take you over to meet Castor and his interns, so you can gather information. Oh, have you seen Aditi Kapur? I was so sure I flumed her!" Her slightly erratic way of talking already had Mason’s head spinning, and he was hoping she would lead him to do work so he perhaps didn’t have to listen to her. "Maybe she just lives a little further away than you do! Come, come, I’ll introduce you to Castor and his interns."

Mason found himself nodding silently, following Ms. Dennis with a hand in his pocket, and empty coffee cup in the other hand. He guessed he would need more coffee before the day was over.

When the reached other wixen, he nodded a hello to Morgan, before extending a hand and introduction to Castor Harewell. Celia and Castor exchange small words, which Mason assumed were about the deceased werewolf.

She elbowed her way through the gathering to its front edge, where police tape crossed the alley. A policeman held up his hand to her and she flashed her ID. “I’m with Castor Harewell,” she said, grinning inwardly. It was like a television show!

But then the policeman waved her through and she wasn’t thinking of television shows anymore. A dead wolf lay on the pavement, his head lolling to one side, fur matted with dirt and blood.

Morgan glanced up and into the eyes of a curly-haired man with bright eyes and a scruff of facial hair.

“Castor Harewell,” he said, striding over swiftly and offering her a hand even while his head craned over her to examine the onlookers. She shook it with a careful firmness and smiled at him, and he refocused his attention on her. “And you are… Morgan, is that right?”

She nodded, knowing the question was most likely a polite pretense. Any man in his line of work must have a brilliant memory for detail, and surely he had looked at her file. “That’s me. Thank you so much for taking me on – I mean, I know you could have just had me running for coffee or something –”

“Oh, nonsense. We need all the help we can get. And, you know, supporting bright young minds and all that.” He winked. “But! On to the case! Have you seen the body? Real werewolf, haven’t had one of those in ages.”

Morgan flashed back on the mention of excitement in his note and had to work hard not to glare. A man was dead, couldn’t he care a little more? But then, she was sure he had his reasons. And he saw these things all the time, right?

“All right, you stand over there and write down what I say, got it? And the other one – Rose… is she here?”

Morgan glanced around, looking for the other girl.

Rose had woken up early that day; London was just so different from home, and that made it difficult for her to sleep. She'd gone to work, hoping for a chance to work with the camera before they were assigned to check the body. She'd had enough time to figure out the basics when she decided to check her flume. It seemed she'd gotten a message to go to the scene of the crime.

Reading the coordinates, Rose concentrated and Apparated to East End She hated the feeling, but getting to the crime scene was urgent. It seemed she was already running late, and she would hate to disappoint on the first day of work. 

She ended up beside one of the wixen she'd seen around the Ministry during her interview. There was a crowd of Muggles surrounding them, but given the charms that were in place -- she could sense a light one placed, else they would be panicking about the dead wolf -- it was unlikely they'd noticed her appearance. 

Camera in hand, she walked to where the wixen were crowding around. Spotting Mason, she moved toward him slowly, wanting and not wanting to see the body. She was a few feet away from them when she saw it.

Gruesome and bloody, the body shocked Rose to the very core. It had only been a few days since the last moon, and to see someone of her own kind so mangled, lifeless, was terrifying. Rose nearly whimpered, but held herself together when she saw Castor Harewell waving her over. 

"There's a girl! Rose, I hope you've met your fellow interns, Morgan and Mason? And you're acquainted with the body, of course." He grinned at her then. Lächeln, Rose, she thought to herself. If her returning smile was a little strained, no matter. They had work to do. 

Castor wasted no time. Pointing at the man's shoulders, he said,  "If you take a look here, you'll notice the bite marks. Note how the scratches match up to claw marks? These don't seem to be his, given the direction of the strokes." He looked up at them. "I want you two to document this thoroughly. Our wolf here appears to have been attacked by another of his kind." 

Rose steadied herself behind the lens, willing herself to ignore the sudden waves of nausea she felt. Not only was the person dead, but he was a werewolf, hurt by another of his kind. Meine Verwandten. Brüder des Mondes, Rose thought. Her hands were shaky, but she managed to get the job done. 

J.P chewed vigorously, using the stretch of silence to frantically assess his options–– hex her and run away? No, he was in the Ministry, for merlins’s sake! Pretending he had no idea what she was going on about obviously wasn’t working, she had the memory of a sphinx. There was only one option left, only one thing he could do in this corner the blonde ––What had her name been, Rhonda? Rosalind? Rose?–– had painted him into.

After he swallowed he abandoned the rest of the tart and, wiping his hands on the frilled apron he’d been forced to wear over his robes, reached for the girl’s wrist. “Come with me. Quick, before someone sees.”

He grasped her hand , and she was dragged along to a secluded room, a broom closet. It was more spacious than the one at home, but its sterility made it seem scarier.

Rose looked up at him. "What is it, Joaquin? Something must be bothering you." 

“Whitehall.” He breathed the word to no one in particular. Octavius did not make it a habit of speaking aloud, not even to himself, but he could smell something stirring today. Something about the conclusion felt right enough to voice. He seemed not to notice there was anyone else in the corridor and gave the explanation to the ceiling and walls as if they had requested something further than the statement.

The closet was empty, the rooms quiet. Leaving early was  a blessing, and everyone else had taken it, except Rose and that disembodied voice muttering about  something white, then sunsets.