Absit Omen RPG

Just before 5pm

Well, it was official. Flora Blake and Grace Eddy were officially fully fledged aurors. He’d given them their badges, allowed them to pick up the red robes and…well nothing more. What else was there to do, really? Did they want some massive congratulations? A celebration? A party? They were aurors, not Irish dancers.

It was a Friday evening, nearly the end of the work day and Pratt was contemplating his last few jobs to do before he took off for the evening. He was sat at his desk, top button of his black shirt undone and tie hanging loose. Slightly receding blond hair was shaggy and unkempt, and his five o’clock shadow was beginning to itch. The kids were with Quincy this weekend, that meant he’d either pull some extra hours to catch up, or hit up a pub or two with his colleagues. Not exactly a difficult choice.

When the open doorway to his office filled with a couple of figures, Pratt looked up from the report he’d been reading and grinned.
“Look at you pair. Crimson robes. Proper grand. Do ye know why we wear crimson? Have ye ever asked? ‘ides the blood well. Easier to wash because that’s the worst stain.” It wasn’t the real reason, but Pratt had always found it convenient. Merlin knew he’d found himself in St Mungo’s enough times over the years.

“So... I bet ye both were wonderin’,” Pratt leaned back in his chair, eyeing up both Eddy and Blake “ye’ve ‘ad these badges and robes and no celebratory present. Well, what kinda boss would I be if I didn’t give ye both a little gift?” The grin didn’t leave his face as he picked up a file from his desk and offered it to the newest aurors. “Happy qualification, Aurors.”

The questions were unorthodox. They were far more interesting than the usual first date questions that Ed had almost memorised answers to from his attempts to find a fun woman to spend his spare time with. He’d almost given up, bored of the monotony of those first dates where you regretted agreeing to meet up. Theta Pepper may have been younger, but she was at least pretty and interesting. Could be a fun evening of not looking at his watch, at least.

The next question, Ed reacted to with a serious look. for a yorkshireman, the condiment choice to pair with chips was a serious choice to make. So, green eyes fixed on Theta’s blue for a moment, his brows narrowing.

“Ye need t’be more specific, lass. Wi’fish and chips, it’s gotta be curry sauce. But if ye wer talkin’ ‘bout pie, well that’s obvious. Chips alone? Never ‘appens, I ent a peasant.” There was a distinct possibility that Ed’s already strong accent only intensified in response to this question.

“Can tell yer a southerner.” The wizard grinned and took a swig of wine.

“You think I’m scared of commitment?” Theta asked, causing Ed to raise his hands in mock surrender. He had no idea what she suffered from. Just friendly conversation. Or so he’d thought. Fortunately, she agreed to the bottle of wine and pointed out an elfish white. While more of a fan of red wine, Ed was not the sort to argue with a witch on a first date.

“I’m not sure I see that happenin’, lass.” This short little witch seemed lovely enough. Hopefully she could hold a conversation better than some of his previous disaster dates, and they’d be forking out for another bottle. After so long being single, Ed could certainly hope.

When Theta asked him the most bizarre question he’d had on a first date, Pratt suddenly let out a laugh. He liked it. Maybe he liked her. Random and a bit different. That was far more fun than bland and indifferent.

“Ah…not that exact dilemma, no.” That was very specific. “Dragon sized chicken, no doubt. No fire breathin’ then. Can’t fly. A bit dumb. I reckon ye just gotta watch out for the beak all too eager to make soup with yer brains. Ten mini dragons can cause a lot more trouble, if yer ask me.” He had 4 kids. He knew what miniature trouble they could get up to and they didn’t breathe fire.

Well, if they were going down the route of odd questions…
“Being surrounded by a clan on banshees or only being able to sing like a banshee?”

When Miss Theta Pepper suggested they get a drink, Eddie swiftly downed the beer he had in his hand, and on arrival at the bar, plonked the tankard down on the sticky wooden surface.

“Those are always the start of trouble,” Ed’s glance followed Theta’s to the drinks being served up. Strong whiskeys. Some sort of dare for the young’uns, maybe?
“Drunk in ‘alf the time, then?” He asked with a wink. She was slight. Dainty. Cute.

His date asked about his preferred drink before suggesting water, and Ed laughed. “Water! Can’t ‘ave no fun on water, Theta.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Water, indeed…” But what did he drink, she’d asked. “I function on coffee, as ye might imagine.” She’d recalled that he was the Head Auror. Coffee was the life sustaining substance for any auror, wasn’t it? Like blood sucking vampires sucked on the life source of humans, Aurors sucked on the life source of the fateful coffee bean.

“Beer’s good. Or wine. We can share a bottle if ye like?” He asked with a smile, “Unless, ye know, ye gotta make that signal to yer mate? Wine’s quite the commitment on a date, ‘ent it?”

The witch brandishing the fork had a nice smile. She was short, even with the black heels on. Ed tried not to let his eyes rake over her, that was rude, but he did do a quick glance. Nice legs, flattering red dress (red for danger, maybe?), leather jacket. Auburn hair pulled back to frame a pretty face. Young. Not too young, he hoped.

“Can’t think I’ll need it,” Theta said, and now, Ed’s cheeky grin appeared with a raise of his eyebrows. A compliment, surely.

The knife was shoved in his pocket and Ed took the hand, giving it a shake. “Theta Pepper. Pepper.” He recognised the name Pepper. Fairly large wizarding family, several members in the ministry.

“I think I’d remember meeting ye, Theta Pepper.” The Yorkshire wizard definitely didn’t recall this face, and her rarely forgot a face. “Edward Pratt. Ye might’ve sin me face about or in t’paper.”

Why he had agreed to sign up to this, he did not know. One of his wizarding mates had suggested it when the other more conventional forms of dating had backfired. He’d been seeing witches off and an and was starting to grow weary of the entire process. Two ex-wives down, and he wasn’t sure he’d actually find anyone willing to take on a wizard with four kids and a dog. Tonight, Ed chose to attend, because he’d already agreed to it. If he didn’t show, maybe the love of his life would be stood up. Maybe.

So, Charlie and Brooke were with their mother and Eddie was dressed up in a smart crisp white shirt, open at the collar. He had black trousers on and a black jacket. His scruffy blond hair was still scruffy, and his cheeky grin was ready to play the part. He stood near the bar with his fuchsia envelope in one hand and a pint of beer in the other. Pint down, Pratt ripped open the envelope and emptied it onto the bar. A Knife. Was he expected to meet someone who was carrying butter or a doll that needed stabbing?

Resting back against the bar, Ed scanned the busy crowd. Couples were already coming together over their array of odd matching objects. And there, he caught a glimpse of a shining silver fork. Knife and fork. Made more sense than a knife and butter, he guessed. Far more sensible.

As such, the Head Auror made his way through the crowd.

“As for all the old men. Erhm. Well, it’s one place they can get a date without trying? But if we get paired with some old guys we should totally bail. Let’s agree a secret signal.”
The holder of the fork said, her back to him. Old. Was Ed an old man? He frowned, taking a swig of beer, still holding the knife in his hands. What did he look like now? An old murderous psycho with a blunt knife?

"We have got to find out who our dates are Theta." Her friend replied.

“You’ve found yours, lass,” the Northerner interrupted with a smile, “you appear to be the fork to my knife.” his green gaze settled on Theta. “Got yer secret signal practiced?”

Awful aftershave, that could describe a multitude of men. Pratt briefly considered Cameron Rosier whose aftershave had made him think of veela piss. He brushed that thought out of his mind. It was certainly down to perception as to what ‘awful’ aftershave smelt like.

When Blake started talking, Pratt stared across at her, lips pressed together in thought. She talked as if she’d witness it. Mini Carstairs from Level 9 had shown her his vision of a man being murdered by a direwolf. Bloody brilliant.

“You’ve seen it, Blake?” Pratt asked quietly, serious. “You’ve watched this vision?” Bloody young wixes and sharing things. Witnessing something like that really messed a person up. Why would the Carstairs kid show his friend rather than just telling her about it? Pratt sighed, realising now wasn’t the time to berate some young wizard that wasn’t even on his staff.

“Ok, I’ll shoot Carter a memo on four. We’ve got extra patrols out on the 9th, anyhow. But best give them a head’s up.”

Pratt stared at the young Carstairs. Crap, he’d really hoped it was just a dream. The more Carstairs reaffirmed how he knew it to be a vision, the sicker the Head Auror felt. The kids even confirmed that he didn’t know who the poor wizard was, but he knew it didn’t end well. Didn’t end well was crappy code for ‘dies’.

Blake was talking, explaining why they’d come. Green eyes shot across to her. She knew what direwolves meant. She’d been around as a green eyes little rookie, hadn’t she? Or did he remember wrong? He could suddenly feel his memories spiralling out of control.

“Ok ah...” Pratt started, reaching for the previously ignored coffee and taking a swig. “It’s gone to Nine? Ye need to pass info onto four. And ah…well,” He looked back to Carstairs, trying to let his brain catch up. “Ye can’t spot any clues in the vision? As to who it could be? Ministry?”

With a flourish of his quill, Ed scrawled his signature on the dotted line, and placed the pixie report on the pile of completed reports ready for his assistant to file if he had an assistant. There was even a little note on front of the pile that said that. Carstairs had an assistant. Division heads on Beasts all had an assistant. Ed Pratt? He got crappy trainee aurors who didn’t know their arse from a quill nib.

Talking of trainee aurors…Flora sat down. Clearly, she didn’t just want to introduce him to her little friend from Level 9. Hang on.
He considered the name again. Why hadn’t he twigged. Virgil Carstairs from Level 9. Any relation to Solomon Carstairs from Level 2? Solomon Carstairs of bureaucratic hoops and pretty suits? Ed looked up now and stared. He looked like he, too, spent his life in perpetual turmoil. Like he’d just crapped his pants but he couldn’t figure out what the smell was. They must be related.

"Virgil brought me a vision of a direwolf attack, sir."

In an instant, comparisons of pant shitting vanished from his mind, replaced with something far more vivid. His expression hardened as an image flashed through his mind. His own parents, lying on the living room floor, victims of a direwolf attack. Now his living room floor. … perspective of the victim, attacked in his own home…

“The ah…” Ed stopped, his voice having been quiet and without his usual fervour. He lifted a hand, brushing it through his messy blond hair. “man. The man in the vision?” Was this some sick joke? Was it real? Why would Blake bring him this? He looked at the blond lad.
“A vision or a dream?”

Edward Pratt was extremely tired. While the obvious work was most undoubtedly a factor in this exhaustion, the largest factor had been his children. The last 2 nights had been his nights. Normally a joy, Ed had been horrified to find out that Brooke, his almost 3-year-old, happened to have, in the previous week, discovered defiance. Not normal toddler defiance, but refusal to comply with almost anything defiance. As such, it had been at least 11 in the evening but the time he’d managed to settle her and her 5-year-old brother in order for him to go to bed. That may have been okay if she hadn’t woken in the night to come into his bedroom and scribble all over the room in crayons and scream until he relented and let her climb into bed with him where all she did for hours was kick him and starfish.

As such, Edward Pratt looked exhausted when he was sat at his desk. He looked up, groggy eyes taking in the young brown haired wizard at his office door. The wizard looked like a teenager, fresh faced and just out of Hogwarts.

“To me?” Pratt asked, lifting his hand to rub his chin where he’d not shaven this morning. Thin blond stubble had begun to grow, making him look a little more unkempt than usual. It had been worth it for an extra 5 minutes asleep this morning. “Wha’s yer name, kid?”

The office door had been shut today. Eddie Pratt had been bent over his desk, checking reports given to him by fairly sloppy aurors. They were much like the reports he’d written as an auror. Someone clearly suited to this job wanted to be out there investigating and catching the dark wizards rather than sat at their desks writing about the excitement. His own job, while more money and better hours meaning he got more time with his children and less headaches about being able to afford 4 children, means that he got to read the all of the half-arsed reports.

The office door was shut because he didn’t fancy being disturbed. Normally it was open. Normally he was okay being disturbed because it was a break from boring paperwork and pretending to be happy sat at a desk most of his day.

So, when the door opened to admit Flora Blake and some blond kid, Head Auror Pratt frowned up from his paperwork, looking none too pleased. Why the hell had she brought up with her a child from Level 9? Was this a field trip to see people actually working and not playing with coloured clouds and crystal balls?

The coffee was placed on the desk, but Ed didn’t acknowledge it yet.
“Hello Virgil Carstairs from Level 9.” The Head Auror greeted blandly before returning his gaze to the report in front of him. Pixies stolen from a farm in Somerset. Auror Bailey had investigated. Had no leads so far. Why someone would own pixies, Ed didn’t know. Why someone would want to steal pixies, he understood even less.

Ollivander, at least, seemed less likely to hurl a spell at the intruder now. Pratt lowered his wand, allowing his eyes to scan the chaotic mess that had amassed in the claustrophobic little wand shop. The witch, a close relation to Garrick Ollivander was checking the wand, and Pratt was satisfied with letting her for two reasons. The first, she was clearly distracted by that now, and work tended to somewhat calm people. The second, she was evidently the expert when it came to wands.

“Please check.” Eddie asked, stepping up to the door to glance down the steps to the wizard now with wibbly wobbly uncontrollable legs. Almasy hadn’t done a terrible job. He’d have to give her a pat on the head when they got back to Headquarters. Maybe he’d even let her do the interrogation, just for fun.

A moment of staring at the wizard’s less bloody face sparked some semblance of recognition for Pratt. He’d seen this scruffy; he was definitely not unknown for law enforcement. Petty crimes that barely registered for aurors to involve themselves.

“Actually, Madam Ollivander, I know who he is.” Shufflebottom. Unfortunate surname, really. Pratt turned back to face the witch. “At some point today, ye’ll need to come down to Level 2 for a statement. Sort yerself out first.”

A wave of his hand indicated for Raine to collect her prize. Ollivander could tidy up. This was an open and shut case.

"Are you going to help or what?" The older wizard whined. Had he not heard Ed?

“1…”
"I GOT HIM!" Raine called from the back of the shop. Ed shrugged, waving towards where the shout had come from as if to say ‘told you so’ without actually saying ‘told you so’. His expression said it all.

The white-haired witch was gone before he could stop her, barging through the crime scene that he’d just magically cordoned off like the ignorant civilian that she was. Perhaps he should have used a stronger spell to actually seal off the place. Fortunately, they had their perpetrator and this seemed like fairly smooth sailing. Ed threw his hands up, rolling his eyes at the white-haired witch in the colourful glasses.

Her wand was in her hand, fine. She was probably nervous. But then, from the way she raised it, Ed knew it wasn’t going to be so nice.
“Protego!” The Head Auror Yelled just past Ollivander. This meant that her spell bounced back from the shield he’d created, instead smashing a vial just above Ed’s head.
“Madam…” He stepped up to the frazzled witch, “really not in your interests to hex him now he’s in our custody.” He smiled kindly at her, and placed a delicate hand on her arm. “Perhaps we can sit down and ye can tell us what happened?” Maybe she needed a cuppa, too.

“Almasy, tie him up outside. Is he out cold? I don’t ‘ear yellin’.” Instead of waiting for a response, Ed stepped up to the doorway and looked down. The wizard wasn’t exactly recognisable with all that blood on his face. “Clean up ‘is face and see if e’s got identification.”

Apparently, this wizard wasn’t the perpetrator.

Whoops. Well, the idiot was standing in the middle of the doorway! What did he really expect?

“Well, that’s awkward.”
But through the shop, Almasy darted like a little speeding whizzer. Her figure transfigured into a feline, and she was gone. Pratt, rather satisfied that she would have little trouble, didn’t make a move to run after. How else would the trainees learn if they didn’t get to do a little chasing themselves? Ed was good like that.

The second cat, white and fluffy and puffed up on the other wizard’s shoulder jumped down, transfiguring into an older, white haired witch. And she was shouting at him. Rude.

Of course, he wasn’t letting him escape.
“Of course, I’m not letting him escape.” Ed gave a shake of his head as if it was obvious. “Give it a minute.”

He stepped closer to the shop, towards the threshold, boot crushing into the broken glass. “I’m Head Auror Pratt. That was Trainee Auror Almasy. She’s quick.” He flashed a perfectly polite smile before scanning around the room.

Now that the shop was a crime scene, Ed, chilled out as anything, took his time in using his wand to set up a perimeter. A red line formed across the threshold and smashed window.

Once complete, he pulled his pocket watch from the pocket of his crimson robes.
“3…2...1…”

Oh Merlin, she had to mention the one woman she’d caught on the sofa bed in her living room. Now, Ed could smile. That morning, smiling certainly hadn’t been on the cards. The muggle woman hadn’t supposed to have fallen asleep. Ed shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Sure, he could accept that it was perhaps pushing it having brought her to Frizzy’s house. A step over a line, yes. But to douse them with water in a rude awakening? Not friendly.

“You totally overreacted that morning, Frizz.” Ed smirked, sitting back with his drink in hand. “She only had two braincells to rub together,” did this count as inappropriate, again? He wasn’t talking about her chest, at least. “She probably wouldn’t remember even without a touch of obliviation.”

“Right, worst thing…my date’s husband turned up, once?” That had been awkward. Obviously, Ed hadn’t known, but the husband hasn’t cared about that particular reality. “Oh, a chick I met a couple times told me she loved me.” He took a swig of beer to let that sink in. “end of second date and I were dropping her off at home, nice guy that I am. Well, she leans in to me and whispers it in my ear. Proper bunny boiler.”