Absit Omen RPG

Omari’s thoughts were a tumultuous mess, each thought fighting for their space. How had the intel been so disastrously wrong? If they had known the extent of the gathering currently taking place in the cottage, they would sure have asked for more than two wands, right? And why would there be ten people at an illegal dragon sale? Surely whoever set it up would prefer as few people as possible to know about it?  And what were they to do now? Run in, wands at the ready and hope for the best? No, that was a stupid idea, even for Omari. Split up and cover any entrances from the back? Shoot stunning spells through the window?

          ”I have a plan if you’d like.”

And why wasn’t he coming up with a plan faster than the annoying witch he had been forced to take with him? It was his job, as the Auror of the two, to plan and give orders, hers to execute them. He sat still for several more moments after Tara had spoken, scrunching his face up in concentration whilst examining every possibility. But something about Tara hunching beside him, apparently already with a full scope on the situation, made him draw a blank. Hi sighed, and turned to her.

“Alright, go on.”

The faint light emanating from the crystals sent a small shiver down Omari’s spine. This was not good, and he cursed gargoyles under his breath for confirming his suspicions. This whole thing of people losing their magical abilities had put a lot of Level Two into overdrive, and it seemed random whoever got targeted. Praecantatio Deliquus was one thing, but this was something worse.

Omari gave Athena a meaning look and scribbled something in his notepad, whilst Theta and Josie started talking about dementors. He looked up from his notepad, and gave Josie, what he hoped was, a reassuring smile.

“No, ya haven’t dated a dementor,” he said. “If that was the case, I suspect more people would’ve noticed, don’t ya? And ter answer yer question, Ms Pepper, I don’t think it’s the magic measles either. It doesn’t usually make yer lose whole days of memory.”

He took a deep breath.

“Nah, I think this has been done deliberately to ya, Josie,” he said, the smile now replaced with stoic seriousness. “Do ya have any enemies? Anyone who ya think might want to hurt ya?”

The wizard had a nonchalant air about him that Omari found intriguing. It was apparent that he owned the place, and that this was his domain, his place to do whatever he wanted to. There was definitely more to him, and Omari wanted to find it all out.

“That’s the problem,” Omari said, scratching his neck. “I’ve known them fer years, which somehow makes it even harder.”

He gave the store a quick glance, but realised instantly that it was too much to take in. With the amount of things on display he had no idea where to start.

“They both work fer the Ministry,” Omari continued. “One’s a linguistic fer the International Department, the other is the Head fer the Creatures Department. Not sure if that’s anything to go on.”

A rather dashing wizard appeared from somewhere deeper in the shop, and plumped down behind the desk. Omari seemed to have caught him in the middle of something, as his t-shirt was completely drenched in the front. Omari didn’t recognise the man, even though, by his head calculations, he seemed to be around Omari’s age. And if he made a habit of working with a wet t-shirt clinging to his chest, Omari wasn’t sure why he had never been in here before.

With a broad smile on his lips matching that of the shop owner’s he walked up to the desk, and stretched out his hand.

“Good day,” he said. “Omari Warrington. And I think you might. I’m lookin’ fer a wedding gift, but I have no clue where ter start.”

With a crack splitting the still air the red-robed Auror and blue shirted Hit-Witch appeared on the edge of a thick wood in the Cotswolds. The leaves had already started to grow back, even though it was only late February, and the old and gnarled trees were starting to get their lives back. There were no Muggles in sight, and Omari breathed a sigh of relief. He would’ve hated to start the mission with having to obliviate some bird enthusiasts, as that would have resulted in more paperwork than was necessary.

He stretched his neck and shook out his robes, his hand keeping a firm grip of his wand.

“The cottage is just up ahead,” he turned to Tara and said. “I’m not expecting too much trouble, but keep yer wits about ya.”

With that he started into the forest, heading North. The undergrowth was thick, and hard to walk through, and Omari was struggling with his metal leg getting caught. It was not ideal, as each snapped branch made him more aware of how loud the duo were being. He hoped the wizard was too preoccupied with the Common Welsh for them to still have the element of surprise.

It took almost a quarter of an hour for Omari and Tara to reach a clearing where a small cottage stood. It was an old building made out of timber and with moss and fungi covering its roof. A crooked chimney let a steady stream of unnaturally coloured smoke out, and a couple of mishandled broomsticks leaned against the wall. Omari motioned for Tara to stop at the edge of the clearing and kneeled down, letting the sounds of the forest take over. Voices were coming from the cottage, and Omari tensed.

Not a voice—multiple voices!

He was sure Tara had heard it too, and had probably also realised that the information they had been provided with was wrong. It wasn’t just one wizard who had an infant dragon in his house, there were more people involved. How many, he wasn’t sure, but he had to find out before they did anything further. He raised his wand.

“Homenum Revelio,” he said, and soon he could feel the swooping sensation flowing over him. Normally it would’ve readied him, but this time it made him tense up even more. It didn’t come back once, or twice, but he felt the wave swoop over him again and again and again. He turned to Tara, his face now serious.

“There’s ten o’them.”

---

Art by Eva Kedves

Only seven years below me? Only seven years below me!? What was that supposed to mean. For each passing second, Omari felt more and more inclined to head back to the Auror Office and ask for a replacement tag-along. Only seven years below me. He hadn’t counted the ten years before that where he had become a Duelling Champion in multiple tournaments, but he decided against saying anything. Boasting wasn’t a good look on anyone. His mother had been sure to teach him that.

He decided to ignore the comment as he accepted the burn cream with a short “Ta’”. It was a good idea, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of saying that sentiment out loud.

“Then I suggest we had out,” he said, turning and heading for the lifts. He assumed Tara would follow. She seemed ready enough, with her bag hoisted on her shoulder, and her better-than-you attitude. He hoped for Merlin’s sake that she wasn’t all talk.


Continued in The Fog, the Dust, and the Pain

Johann and Balfour’s wedding was just a week and a half away[1], and Omari had still not found a suitable wedding gift. Being friends with Johann for as long as they had been didn’t make things easier—it was actually the opposite. It had to be perfect, encapsulating both their friendship and humour into whatever he got. It had to be special, and mean something.

Whatever that meant.

To be honest, he had completely forgotten about getting a gift until his mother reminded him a week ago. Since he had scrambled for any free time he could get to find a gift suitable as a wedding gift. He had been to Flourish & Blotts, but realised that a book was kind of boring. He had swung by Eeylops, but decided that it would be a gift that would require constant care. He had even gone to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but quickly walked out as even though he wanted something humorous, that was probably a bit too childish.

So today he had ducked out of work early, and headed down to a store someone at work had recommended him. He had never heard of the Yelling Compass, even though it was located in Diagon Alley, and he was really hoping that he would find whatever he was looking for there. Time was running out.

The doorbell rang lightly as he entered, and the quiet store instantly put Omari at ease. Without any other customers there he felt like he would be able to take his time, and not get rushed by the common hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. To one side he saw bookcases filled with books (which he instantly dismissed), and to the other a mix of what seemed to be anything and everything a wizard could think of.

Omari felt hopeful.

1.	Happily Ever...?

If it wasn’t for his first cousin once removed, Omari probably wouldn’t have spent St Patrick’s Day in Hogsmeade. Usually you’d find him glued to whatever Irish wizards and witches were the rowdiest in the Leaky Cauldron involved in a game of who-could-drink-the-most. But Osha had seemed very excited for the possibility of him showing up[1], and since he was off work for the day, he couldn’t see why he wouldn’t.

With a crack Omari’s broad-shouldered figure appeared on Hogsmeade High Street, dressed in civilian clothing. In his hand he was holding a bouquet of hyacinths and daffodils, carefully wrapped in yesterday’s Daily Prophet. Before travelling to Hogsmeade he had taken the detour to Floriblunders to pick up some flowers from Osha’s mother. They were Osha’s favourites.

As he walked towards Zonko’s, where Osha had told him that the protest was happening, he was humming. After seeing Osha he was looking forward to grabbing some pints at the Three Broomsticks. You always ran into friends at the Three Broomsticks. But as he rounded the corner, and laid eyes on the joke shop, both he and his humming stopped.

It seemed not everything had gone to plan. Green smoke was billowing out of the store; the manager was in a shouting match with a young girl and the reporter he had met at St. Mungo’s a month prior[2]; people with plaques were still waving and shouting. And then a little off to the side he saw some people he recognised.

“Kurby! Rosheen!” He hurried over, a broad smile on his face. “What’re you guys doin’ here?”

1.	(March 3) Hairy Things Afoot
2.	[Feb 14] Never Quite as Solid or Strong

Omari could see the wheels turning behind Jonas’ eyes, but he wasn’t sure exactly what his colleague was thinking. He had more knowledge when it came to this matter, and Omari knew that Jonas’ questions would be more pressing to the subject at hand, so he fell quiet and let the exchange play out, as he made himself ready to further the search in the graveyard.

The hesitation in Moira’s answer, however, made him pause. His first thought was that she was hiding something, but before Omari could say anything, Donnan spoke.

     “- and I got a sense that someone was watching.”

Alarm bells went off inside Omari as the younger McBoid agreed with the suspicion. Omari had been in too many situations to not take that sort of hunch seriously. Humans seemed to have a special sense when it came to being watched, as if something inside them itched if they were being observed. He was sure Jonas was thinking similarly, and he had a feeling that whoever had been surveilling the McBoids was also behind the desecration of the grave.

He fished a small object on a silver chain out of his pocket and held it out towards the McBoids.

“Even though yer say it’s just a hunch, ye can never be too sure,” he said, as the object lay in his outstretched hand. “Take this. It’s a pocket sneakoscope. If nothin’ else but ter ease yer minds, I would like for ya to carry this with ya. And if it does start makin’ noise, yer could alert us straight away.”

As Josie went into her retelling of the evening, fished out a small notebook and self-refilling-quill from his pocket and started jotting down key words. Pepper shaker. Salt. Inappropriate conversation. Death & Co. Cocktails. As he looked down on what he had just written, he scratched out the salt and pepper notes, as he didn’t think that would get very far. But maybe if they managed to send someone down to look at the glasses to find any traces of potions it could lead somewhere. As long as they hadn’t been washed already.

“I don’t think yer name will be in the Prophet, miss Flint,” Omari said. “Hopefully we can keep yer suspected involuntary involvement under wraps fer now.”

With the last comment he gave all of the witches in a room a meaningful glance. He knew he could count on Athena to keep things quiet, with the whole healer-patient-confidentiality thing, but he hoped the other two would understand to be discreet.

Omari accepted the magazine from Theta, and held it out in front of him. A myriad of pictures mingled on the page, each black-and-white figure with a look of excitement on their faces. It took him a couple of seconds before he noticed Orion Gamp together with Morgenthau and Iravani. It looked innocent enough, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s where Mrs Gamp had gotten to Morgenthau. He also made a mental note of visiting the DoIMC to speak to Iravani. His eyes then stopped at a picture of Pratt and Theta, and he looked up with a barely noticeable smile at the witch in front of him.

“I see ye attended the mixer as well, Ms Pepper,” he said. “Did you notice anything out o’ the ordinary?”

Tara’s nonchalant attitude was grating on Omari. Being an Auror, he often came across wixen who had an air of cockiness about them, or an aura of being invincible. Taking down dangerous criminals had that sort of effect on people. But Tara was new to the force, and even though she might have gone through perils before (and based on the scars she was joking about on her face, he assumed she had) she could benefit from being a bit more serious. At least that’s what Omari thought.

     ”How many years have you been serving? Oh and do you want a smoke?”

When Omari had asked if she had any questions, small talk was not what he had had in mind. He rolled up the file in his hand and shoved it in one of the coat pockets.

“I don’t smoke,” he replied shortly. “And I’ve been on the force fer five years now. Good, honest work.”

He straightened out, and glanced up at a clock hanging on the wall.

“Do yer wanna head out fer yer smoke before head off, or shall we get goin’?”

Omari had to suppress a small grin as the two witches flustered around him. The patient’s ’hex me’ almost made him crack open a smile, but he had to remind himself that this was official Level Two business. Cracking a joke in response could come later, after he had gathered all the facts.

Then Josie held up her arms, showing him the fresh cuts, and any thoughts of jokes vanished from his mind. He had seen cuts like this before. Other Aurors had worked on a case a year ago that related back to students disappearing from Hogwarts. When the students had been found, down in Level Nine, they had all had the same markings on their bodies. Mortimer Gamp had been arrested for it, and it had been a big deal. There was a lot of secrecy surrounding Level Nine, but when a Head of a department gets arrested, it is sure to be big news.

As Josie was talking, Omari couldn’t help but feel bad for her. She had gone out for an evening of fun, and had, against her own will, been dragged into something much bigger.

“Aye, this is not a creature,” he said to Athena. “We’re dealin’ with somethin’ else. Could we get Ms Flint tested with those crystals? It might clear some things up.” He hoped the healer would understand just which crystals he was referring to.

     ”So what’s the deal with Gamp?”

Omari turned back to Josie and her companion.

“There was an incident upstairs just a few minutes ago,” he began. “As I’m sure yer read about it in tomorrow’s Prophet, I don’t see why I can’t share some details with ye. Mrs Gamp, who we presumed perished in the fire last year, tried to break her husband out o’ the ward.”

Omari stopped for a moment, mulling the next words over in his mind, deciding what to say. He could tell Josie wasn’t in the best state of mind at the moment, and he didn’t want to make it worse for her, but at the same time, he felt that she had a right to know what she had gotten herself mixed up in.

“Mrs Flint,” he said in a soft voice, addressing Josie directly now. “Was there anythin’ strange about yer date with Orion Gamp? Anythin’ about his manners or way o’ speakin’? Anything that would make yer think that… well… he wasn’t Orion Gamp?”

The pain in the McBoid’s voices was palpable, and for a second Omari was stopped in his trapped and found himself just listening. It was horrible to lose someone, regardless of the circumstances, but then to have their loved one’s resting pace desecrated like this? There were some really twisted people in the world.

Gris’ comment snapped him out of his momentary daze, and he turned to the trainee.

“Make sure yer writin’ this down,” Omari turned to Gris and started firing of instructions. “We need to look into the neighbour, Norma, to see what she knows. We also need ter get in contact with the Prophet. It might be a dead end, but let’s see if they got any owls regardin’ the obituary.”

He took a couple of steps forward to get close to Gris, placing a gentle, but heavy hand on her shoulder, and leaning in so that only she could hear.

“An’ keep the jokes ter a minimum, Herico,” he said softly. “These people’s pain is still rough, an’ we need ter show them the respect they need.” Then, with a wink, he added; “But don’t lose that sense o’ humour, aye?”

He stretched back up, and turned to Mr. McBoid.

“Your neighbour, Mr. McBoid,” he said. “Norma. Do you know her surname?”

        ”Nah nah, he’s six feet under”

Omari tried to focus her eyes on the girl, scrunching up his face in the process. He was just about to say that he wasn’t desperate enough to do an excavation, when the conductor handed him a drink. His expression turned from confusion to that of pure glee, and he quickly (and more smoothly than should’ve been possible) produced a metal hip flask from the depth of his robes, and poured an amber liquid into the mug. He held it up to the wix and the witch and shook it slightly, producing a sloshing sound.

“Anyone want some hair o’the dog?” he said with a smirk.

He took a large gulp, and you could see his muscles visibly relax as he sank back into the seat. Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey always hit the spot. As he was enjoying the burning feeling running down his throat he closed his eyes, barely aware of the other two. Until the mention of the Leaky Cauldron. In another sudden movement he jerked forward and cheered loudly.

“Aye, Leaky Cauldron it is,” he exclaimed, raising his cup. “Night’s still a wee child. And yer right in the lodging. It’s always easier when yer don’t have to Apparate home in the early hours.” Under his breath he mumbled: “I can’t afford ter loose more limbs.”

He turned to the conductor.

“Care ter join fer a night cap, wee sir-or-mam?”

“Not yet,” Omari said. “Level Four will get involved after we take out the bampot. Reports say it’s just a wee hatchling, so we go in first.”

It did strike him as odd why the Office hadn’t asked him to get a Level Four to tag along, rather than a Hit-Wix, but he wouldn’t voice those concerns to Tara. To her she felt the need to seem in control, and wouldn’t give her the pleasure of thinking otherwise. But he hadn’t dealt much with dragons, and he secretly wished that one of the Level Fours were accompanying him on this rather than this witch.

The Hit-Wix finally offered him her name, and a completely unnecessary tangent about it afterwards. Was she trying to brag? The name didn’t ring a bell for Omari, as he had spent most of the Second Wizarding War in Canada (which was yet another thing he wouldn’t tell Tara.)

He closed the file in his hands, and looked back up.

“Omari Warrington,” he said with a small, almost unnoticeable nod of the head, before continuing. “The bampot’s livin’ outside o’Cirencester. Report says he lives alone, but has a tendency ter lash out when surprised, so we’d better be prepared. We’ll Apparate to just outside the woods, and walk ter rest o’the way. Questions?”