December 2, 2009
8pm, Cold and Rainy

Zora was nervous as hell.  She almost couldn't believe that she was going to be meeting with John Dawlish.  Zora had joined the Corps later than most, and had been pretty green during the Second War against You-Know-Him and the Death Eaters.  But she remembered John Dawlish.  His bravery, his fall, his redemption.  He was kind of a legend, in a way, but he'd been in retirement for a long time.  And it was well deserved. 

But sometimes old hands like him couldn't just slip away when there was more to be done.  Maybe there was more he could do.

She waited for him at the bar in the dimly lit Leaky Cauldron, clad in her red Auror's robes.  Every time the door opened or the fireplace lit up with green flames, she looked to see if it was him.  John Dawlish.  In her robes was a file full of questions.  Questions from the old days that perhaps only someone dogged and tried as Dawlish could answer for her.

"Dawlish?"

Dawlish stepped out of the fire within a few seconds after the flash of light from the emerald flames tore the room and temporarily blinded those who looked in his direction. No sooner had he arrived, when he heard a woman shout at him. Before he chose to respond, he sent the familiar sight an almost affectionate glance. The sparkling blue eyes focused not on why he came in the first place, but the room itself. Ever since he arrived for the first time as a youngster, he have had the impression that for a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. He shakes his head, focusing on the goal of his presence in the pub. A young woman sitting at one of the tables and waited for him. He recognized her in the dark glasses and went to sit down with her.  He offered her a slight smile, looking at her with a polite, attentive interest.

"Good evening, Miss Noh."

The words came in the form of a single short breath. Quick, concise and to the point. This was John, in a nutshell, though it did not prevent him from sounding friendly and accommodating.

"Auror Zora Roh," she said by way of both more formal introduction and to correct him.  She had to forgive him the error - she'd been younger back then and certainly second wand to a senior Auror like John Dawlish.

"Thank you for coming," she said and nodded towards an empty table abutting a wall.  A place they could both see the rest of the pub, a place they could have a little privacy.  Just the kind of spot that would make both trained Aurors comfortable.

She turned her sunglasses up onto her head, set down her coffee on the rough wood table and half smiled at the old veteran.  It was still a little strange even for the lion-hearted Zora to be sitting down in a pub with John Dawlish. 

"Sorry, to drag you out like this.  You must be enjoying retirement."  He probably wasn't, but she was counting on him disagreeing.

"It is true that this is a formal meeting, but however, it is not necessary to stand on formality." he said quietly. He did not seem to actually want to rebuke at their first meeting in eleven years, but the professionalism belonged at work, but had no place in a pub outside of the Auror Office in the conversation between two equal standing adults, who both was off duty. He forced hismelf to give her a tight smile when she brought up his retirement. "Well, that's one way of looking at it, if not a correct one."

Perhaps not necessary to be formal, but at least to know who they were talking to.  Zora had always rankled at being called Miss.  It was a title for little girls, not grown witches with wives and a wand set to kill.  But she'd allow the older wizard his foible for now.  He was Dawlish afterall and she needed his help, not to pick a fight.

She nodded and inclined her head.  "I can't say I'd be totally happy being out of the red robes, although some days... I am tired of it all.  A holiday would be nice."

"I know I wasn't able to say much in the letter," she changed topics, "but I need your help with something.  I don't know, maybe there's nothing you can do.  But it's about the investigation into the death of your nephew.  The Aurors taking lead on the case are doing everything they can, but there's still some questions we haven't been able to get to the bottom of."

Zora slipped a Daily Prophet clipping out of her pocket and slid it over.

Quote from: The Daily Prophet on June 11, 2012, 10:35:54 PM

Westminster Victim Identified
by Niobe Thursby

31 October 2009


The wizard found murdered at Westminster Abbey on 26 October has been identified as 34-year-old Terrence Dawlish.  Dawlish has been a professional Arithmancer for fifteen years, consulting often for Gringotts Wizarding Bank. 

The cause of his death remains unrelieved.  He is survived by a wife and young daughter.

John leaned across the table and took the newspaper clippings and looked at it with a thoughtful frown. Then his gaze slid down to the part where his nephew's name was, and the expression in his pale face hardened, and his eyes showed a practically luminous disgust. "I'm sure you do." he said, forcing his voice to be calm, without taking his eyes away from the photo of Terrence. It took several minutes before he looked up, and the sparkling eyes practically shone right through the shadows of the dimly lit tavern. "So young, so intelligent ... Of course I know all about it already. It was quite a shock." He folded the paper carefully together and put it on the table in front of him. "It's not the first time I have lost a dear family member to the Dark Arts." He leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. "How can I help?"

"Well, you can start by coming back to the Department," Zora said with a darkly mischeiveious smile.  It was a joke of course.  Dawlish was retired, he'd already done his duty.  But it had been in the back of her mind.  She shook her head and took a drink of her coffee before continuing on.

"But yes, it's about his family life.  Might he have been hiding something?"  she took out a small, battered notebook that was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

"Had you seen him often this last year?  Did he ask strange? Mention any threats or troubles at work?"  They were such basic questions but speaking with Terrence Dawlish's wife had been difficult, as if she was afraid to be too open.  Zora was hoping that uncle Dawlish here would better understand that the Aurors could help. 

John, who had started to move and look around in the pub after people who could overhear their conversation. He did this by sending sharp, suspicious glance towards the other guests. When he heard the proposal to start working again, the face contorted in a grimace, and he looked down at the polished tabletop. "Come back to the department?" He looked her in the eyes. "How can I? I failed them when they needed me most." His voice cracked, and the bright eyes glittered strangely. "How can I in any way justify such a weakness?" He sighed and looked up. "What value could I possibly have for the Auror Office? If that was all you wanted, Miss, I'm afraid this meeting is over." He gets up halfway as she continues to speak, before he allows himself to fall into the chair again. Thus, wrinkles his forehead concentrated. "I had not heard from him for more than eleven years." says John heavily and sighed. "As you can imagine, I was not particularly popular after You-Know-Who met his final defeat. Many, excluding Mr. Shackbolt obviously, thought I was serving for those damn Death Eaters knowingly and intentionally. You have no idea how it is like..."

Zora could only watch silently as her strange but innocent offer that he should come back seemed to cause him real damage.  She furrowed her brows as even the suggestion seemed to bring up a great deal of pain in the older wizard, the old war vetaran.  Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything. 

"Auror," she said again.  She reviled being called Miss.  She wasn't a little girl - she was a grown-ass witch with a wife, a child, and a badge. 

But thankfully, he came back.  Perhaps out of need to help his family, to answer her questions.  Zora was no good at all with dealing with the public and she'd hoped that Dawlish would be made of sterner stuff, but there was much more to this wizard than she knew.  Things were more complicated than she thought.

"Eleven years...?" she echoed.  That would do them no good.  A disappointing dead end.

"But you were cleared of charges," she insisted.  "It was the Imperius Curse.  Everyone knew that."  As much as Zora believed it, it wasn't that simple.  Those were dark days and even with the Wizengamot ruling in Dawlish's favor, doubts ran through veins hot and wild.

"Yes." he murmured quietly, without looking up. The pale face distorted in deep, weary folds,
and he rubbed his temples. "Except - I was not."
The Second Wizarding War. As soon as the topic was brought up, he felt many painful memories sneak up to the surface. He could not imagine how this inexperienced young lady - no matter how capable hub is or how good she was at her job - to even begin to understand how it was that night. The fear. the pain, the anger, the grief... And he remembered everything of it perfectly. Every detail... Every emotion...

He sat half upright in the hospital bed, with his arms behind his head and a little distant glance in the direction of the wide window at the very end of the narrow room, which really was not looking at anything at all. He was not particularly proud. Imagine ending up in St. Mungo's because of a small, ancient lady such as Augusta Longbottom. Well, he still believed that Mr. Yaxley could have warned him that the old hag of a woman bites more than she barked, and not the opposite. He underestimated her, and here was the outcome. The pale, otherwise serious face cracked into a large, self-criticizing smile. It actually looked like he was amused by his own bad luck. But, but, there was no reason to cry over spilled potion. What's done is done, and he could not think of an occasion where he would have a good conscience promise a magic wand to actually harm Madam Longbottom. Though she had been in the room now, he would have transfigurated that big, nasty nose of her into a watermelon and watch the weight of sending her straight to the floor. The thought of such an event, made ​​him chuckle. He looked up when he heard the sound of footsteps, and a somewhat absent-minded wizard with curly black hair and a thin mustache that did not quite cover half of his lip. He was writing on a clipboard, mumbling inaudible. for themselves while hazel eyes slides down the list of the patient.

"Stressful day at work?" I asked lightly, and met the eyes of the Healer with sheer resentment. Not that he had anything against the man, of course, on the contrary, he was a highly skilled practitioner of medical magic. It was just that when he was first admitted to the hosptial, and several of his bones had been completely pulverized during battle with the Longbottomwoman, he had to drink large amounts of Skele-Gro, which is never a pleasant experience. Just the thought of the liquid medication was enough to make him sick. He learned, no less than half a week after finishing his Auror Training, after having faced Bellatrix LeStrange, that Skele-Gro is a dreadful-tasting potion which causes vanished or otherwise lost bones to regrow in a notably slow and painful process. He had been forced to take that stuff for two whole days now, and he was not eager after more of it. Two days with feeling that half his upper body had a million splinters lodged in it, was more than enough.  He sighed heavily. It was not so bad, was it? One more day and he could he return to the Ministry of Magic and continue to do his job.

"What? Oh, no, no, not at all, Mr. Dawlish." grumbled professor Helbert Spleen and finally looked up from his notes. John could without great difficulty imagine that this fellow had exceptionally much to do at work, considering that he doubled as an advice columnist for the Daily Prophet, answering all health related questions. "No, just a little tense tonight." He sent his patient an unsuccessful attempt at a reassuring nod. "But who would not be? I mean, it's not every day that the Ministry is to such a high-scaled action."
Johan chuckled. "High-scaled action?" he repeated with mild disbelief. "I do not think that Agusta Longbottom is our greatest loss when it comes to escaped prisoners."
Spleen as the injured Auror and blinked rather stupidly. "Excuse me, Mr. Dawlish, I'm talking about the situation in Hogsmeade."

What a lovely place! He had lived there himself for nearly a year after he and a few other members of the Auror Office had been stationed there to give Hogwarts School of extra protection. The only all-wizarding village left in Britain. It was founded - if his memory from the History of Magic classes was accurrate - by Hengist of Woodcroft. It is a is a picturesque little village of thatched cottages and shops, with enchanted candles hanging in the trees during the holidays. It is also near the location of the train station used by the Hogwarts Express. The Hogsmead itself consisted of loyalty to the Ministry of Magic. Why, it even served as the wizards' headquarters during the goblin rebellion in 1612.
 "Well," said the Healer, giving him a conservatively gaze, "It is said that Harry Potter was seen in Hogsmeade, so half the Ministry is there now, looking for him."
"Indeed?" John sat up and was immediately much more interested. Potter in Hogsmeade? This must be investigated! He tried to crawl out of bed, but a sharp pain made ​​him wince, and he carefully left hand gently to a point slightly above his stomach. Spleen ran forward and pushed him back down. "What are you thinking, Mr. Dawlish?" he said loudly, and laughed a fake, annoying little chuckle. But not only did the little man laugh him in the face, he also  smiled in a confused fashion, as if he literally thought that the idea of a patient should be allowed to get out of bed without his permission beforehand was insane. "You are not well! Not well at all, your - your ribs is not finished healing, Mr. Dawlish, so remain calm. I'm sure your colleagues are more than proficient enough to cope with the awful Potter boy. "
John leaned back in his bed, quite a bit dissatisfied with how the situation had degenerated. He sighed heavily, and looked at the Spleen. "What do you know about the matter?" he demanded, looking at the alleged medical genius.
"Well, I know from my cousin Howland who live there, that the Ministry folks are running around, kicking up doors and searches through the houses, because they think the Potter boy may have allied himself with someone who live there. Hogwarts's headmaster is informed and have increased the security around the castle. It is only a matter of time before they catch him. "

"And the Ministry believes that Harry Potter will try to break into Hogwarts?" John asked slowly, although he could not see the the logic of such an action.
"It seems so," replied Spleen and shrugged. "Let's just hope he does not come in at Hogwarts, he has allies in there, so then it will probably have a big fight or something."
"What?" John sat up and stared at him with shock in his face. "Do you think that the Ministry of Magic are planning an attack on Hogwarts to capture him? My daughter is in there!"
"Pull yourself together, man!" Spleen snapped, waving his hands in resignation. "Your daughter is probably just fine -"
He got up from the bed, and did not care about the stinging pain in the ribs that were not yet fully healed. "What the hell do you know about that? She may be hurt!"
Spleen thrust his hand into a pocket on his robes and fumbled for something, and while he doing that, went in front the door and blocked the exit. "Now, now, Mr. Dawlish!" Spleen said in a tone that did not quite fit with the raised wand. "Now, if you could be so kind as to calm down, otherwise I will be forced to stun you."
"I am calm..." John breathed. "But Helen is at Hogwarts and may be in danger. So I say this as a father, and I will only say it once... Get out of my way, if you know what's best for you."

He looked healer lifting wand and open mouth, but a moment later had John ran forward and planted his fist in his face, and sent the professor straight into the wall and slid down unconscious. It was actually quite a satisfaction to see the man collapse and remain unconscious. And it looked as though maybe his nose broken. John Dawlish wasted no time. He tore off his long hospital shirt and grabbed his clothes and dressed fast. Just as he threw on his coat and slid the door open, and a chubby little nurse with round glasses and ponytail came shuffling into the room. "I heard a bang, what happened here, Mr. Dawlihs? I -" she gasped at what she saw colleague who was knocked out. "P - Professor Spleen?" The little witch hurried over to him and began to examine him, and had known completely forgotten that John was there. "He has just taken a nap." John said in a voice dripping with a cold sarcasm. Then, without further ado, he grabbed his wand, which up until now had remained untouched on the nightstand, and marched out of the room. "Mr. Dawlish!" He heard the nurse calling after him. "Where do you think you are going? 'Your stay is not complete!"

"I'm finally doing what I've dedicated my life to!" John yelled over his shoulder. "My Job!"

John shook himself and blinked a few times. How long had he been sitting there, lost in memories? He cleared his throat self-consciously, before taking out his wand. Then he made an almost imperceptible little bumping of the wrist, and a bottle of Firewhiskey came rushing towards them from the far end of the bar at a surprisingly high speed, even for a Summoning Charm, but Dawlish grabbed it easily as it reached them, and the man put it on the table, and afterwards, he was busy conjuring two glasses out of thin air for them to drink from. He poured both of them.

"I was not under the Imperius Curse, I was merely Confunded." he said gloomily, and took a little sip of the redish liquid which now filled his glass.

Had it been Confundus? Suddenly Zora was searching her memory for the details of that case from so long ago - had it been Confundus?  Of course it was, Dawlish would know.  But the fact was the same.  There was magic that took away your ability to perceive truthfully and behave of your own mind. 

But clearly Dawlish was a wizard ravished with guilt, ruined by his past.  It would probably never matter to him that he'd been largely forgiven by the rest of the world.  Zora frowned as old Dawlish summoned over a bottle of Firewhiskey and looked ready to get down to business.

She shook her head, resigned to it.  She was going to have a Firewhiskey with John Dawlish...  She raised her glass slightly before taking the same size sip as he. 

"Whatever it was, sir, you've done your duty.  No one can fault you that."

He met her gaze with an intensity that was overwhelming. If someone ever was to witness an interrogation that Dawlish had the been responsible for, one would perhaps have seen that in the pale light of the lamp above the table where the prisoner are sitting, it almost looks as if the bright blue colours oof his eyes are not there, so the only thing you can see there when you look at him is the whiteness. It is truly terrifying sight, even for those who are not the person who is questioned. The clear, glittering eyes looked at her without blinking, and it almost seemed as if he consulted with himself in mind. His words were carefully chosen: "My ultimate loyalty lies with the British Ministry of Magic." He began slowly, without removing his eyes from her. "But I lost so much. I sacrificed my marriage in the service of the Ministry, I sacrificed my life in the service of the Ministry, and I lost my only child to members of an organization I had sworn an oath to oppose which I worked for in ignorance, in the service of the Ministry." He lifted the glass to his lips and took a larger swallow of the Firewhisky than he had done previously, "I'll give you one chance to convince me." he continued, while he spoke in such a low voice that it hardly enough could be called a whisper. "Why do you want me back?" He said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "What is it with me that is so valuable that the question of whether I should go out of your retirement or not is being taken up in the first place? And finally, is this something the new Head of the Auror Office wants from me?"

Zora could only listen and agree with the tolls being an Auror took on one's life.  Her own family life had struggled with the danger, the odd hours, the intensity of an Auror coming home at all hours wanting to relax but not being able to.  Not that Zora could relate to the particular horrors of those days.  She'd been spared.  She'd been young.

The old man appeared to be shattering and reforming in front of her.  Zora hadn't expected this at all.  And suddenly she was faced with an ultimatum and she drew back from the table.  She swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head.

"Sir, I..."  he'd misapprehended her.

"Mr. Dawlish, I could never presume to ask that of you.  I'm sorry if I've offended, I only meant it as as..."  She'd asked him back as a lark.  A merry, nostalgic suggestion.  A pleasantry to show he was missed and respected.  But could she ever actually ask him to return to life in the red robes?  To take up a badge again?  It was far from her prerogative.

"I wouldn't dare.  Your life is your own.  I only meant to be kind," she said in halting, short sentences trying to say the right thing to the ancient figure.  "I'm not here in any official capacity, other than to ask about Terrence Dawlish," she said carefully with a sad look in her eye.

"I was not sent to bring you back.  I shouldn't have said anything.  I'm very sorry to have disturbed you."

John Dawlish's pale face, for just a moment ago had been full of sorrow and bitterness, has become almost impossible to recognize, and he sent her a slight smile, and his eyes sparkled a kind of strange, suppressed satisfaction. "It should be said that every word I have said to you about my past was true." he said clamly, his voice sounding almost completely emotionless. "But I must say that you impress me, Auror Roh. Not many would have taken the chance to joke about such a thing. However, there must be a person of great confidence and strength of character to be so sure of one's own intentions to dare to do so, and I am pleased to point out that you have both those qualities." He sipped the Firewhiskey and did not take his eyes off her for a second. "I think even that good old Mad-Eye himself would have been impressed."

Thursby? Zora didn't recognize the name and frowned to herself as the old Auror used it for her in passing, but she didn't say anything.  At least he'd finally called her Auror...  Poor old dog - he'd already lived a life.

She smiled as he paid her sincere complements, but she still wasn't sure what she'd done, now quite worried that she'd drug up unpleasant memories for the old war hero.  She was an Auror and had never been any kind of nurturing figure with a gift for words.  She'd had hoped speaking with a former Auror would have been easier, but it had turned out to be more complicated than that.  Turned out that under that rock had been a great cavern and her without a light.

Gently, slightly, she pushed away her half-ful little glass of Odgen's old, and instead drank up the last of her coffee.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dawlish," she said again, and then rose to standing.  "If you think of anything - about Terrence - please stop by.  We'd like to get to the bottom of that business."

She nodded to him respectfully.