Four mundane walls contained Mortimer Gamp. It was a square room, one door, no windows. No decoration save for a list of his rights fading and dogeared at head height. The table before him was but a metre wide, pock-marked with scrapes, ink stains and little indents of frustration. Gamp sat quite still and straight on the simple chair, and closed his eyes, allowing himself some quiet to reflect on what he felt rather than saw.

HIs heart still beat clearly in his ears, excited. His breathing steadied as he chose to focus on it. He became aware of how restless he felt in his own skin, like a young man not the eighty year old he was. He wanted to run a mile, two, fight, leap. He wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously, but did neither, focusing inward. He had to contain the magic he had absorbed if he had any chance of retaining it. So he focused, brightly, clearly, on an orb of light within his mind’s eye. It was an unsteady glow, and broke and reformed as he imagined it. He felt it so within him.

Concentrating, forehead deeply lined, breathing unsteady, Mortimer tried to pull it together, to form it like clay. It moved and melted, a constant flux, growing brighter, then flickering away. It was so fickle, so unsteady. He felt his frustration flare it, break it all apart and he lifted his hands suddenly from the table. Eyes still tightly shut, Mortimer’s hands moved in the air as if forming the ball before him, moving it round, shaping it, smoothing it, drawing it in.

Click

Mortimer’s heavily bandaged hands came together with dull percussion. They had bound his hands at the hospital after attempting to heal them from the magical burns he’d caused to them and his back when he had attempting to fend off the aurors in the Godric’s Hollow cellar[1]. They were dressed with cooling salves beneath the linen, and he was dressed in their simple robes. His own damaged, and taken as evidence.

The old wizard gave a pained sound at pressing fresh burns. He was frustrated for the interruption of the door coming open, and slowly opened his eyes to observe the opposite side of the table.

1.

Nine Down

Solomon Carstairs, shirtsleeves rolled up and looking wearier than he would like, came through into the interrogation room. Long days were not unusual for the Department Head but today... today had been two shifts rolled into one without enough sleep in between. Merlin knew how his Aurors felt.

Eleor and Bassir were behind him, and he shut the door once they had entered. These three men against the one lunatic. Solomon was convinced that Mortimer was not of sane disposition.

Primarily because a rational wizard would not have such damning evidence against them. A rational wizard would have given himself up instead of fighting back when they stormed his house in the early hours of the morning. Most importantly, a rational wizard would throw a sinister shadow across the Ministry of Magic.

And they couldn't have that. They needed public support right now.

He would have to get a Healer in to verify of course - something for Sol to talk to Sandy about depending on how this turned out - but he didn't want to let his agenda slip too soon. Smiling grimly at their prisoner, he took a seat across the table and leaned back into the chair. God. Gamp looked the part.

Solomon crossed his arms, trying to be nonchalant in spite of himself. "How are you feeling, Mortimer?" he glanced at the bandaged hands. "Comfortable?"

"Quite comfortable." Mortimer replied cordially to Solomon. His hands were apart again and he gently placed his forearms, covered by the St Mungo's patient robes, on the table, his hands upturned, relaxed. Unlike his fellow Department Head, he remained sat quite upright, rather than reclined.

"Some water would not go amiss, please." He added quietly. His voice was tired, both from the fire and for three and a half days of little sleep and euphoric concentration on research. The old wizard's appearance was a keen reflection of the over-exertion, even if he felt inwardly energetic.

As his captors obliged, Mortimer nodded respectfully in thanks and pressed both hands to the sides of the cup, attempting to lift. With a pop it turned from a simple paper cup to twig, a rubber duck, an anvil (which had everyone sitting back a bit due to the increase in size) and finally a ball of wool[1].

"Extraordinary!" Gamp expressed, gleefully smiling at the ball of wool.

"Though, one still is quite thirsty..."

1.

Ahem

Adon'd rolled quickly to his feet at the first burst of magic.  Wand was out by the time a duck--always a fucking duck[1]--appeared.  He was luckily a safe distance at the thud of metal. The solid wooden table groaned under the sudden pressure of an anvil which, suddenly, was transformed into a ball of wool.

There was silence in the room a moment, as it registered just what had happened.  Since Adon was a child--and until far too recently--Adon had been chided for the outbursts of wandless magic that most mages had had the good sense to grow out of.  But nothing rivaled this.  This was--

"Extraordinary!"

Unlike the wizard with feathered, unkempt hair, Adon was none-too-pleased.  With JJ, Adon had been the first to see what this man had done to that young girl, Siana Prewett. The others had had the opportunity to return to their families.  Adon and his partner had taken it upon themselves to visit the Prewetts to tell them that their daughter would not.  They'd had to break similar news to the Pinns.

Bending forward slightly, wand still in hand, Adon took the yarn in his fist, fingers gripping it tightly before throwing it with force against the far wall.

---

At least, that is what Adon imagined himself doing.  The situation, however, called for more restraint.  Carstair's presence, sure.  But he was the senior Auror now--and Bassir had not exactly proven himself the most composed of Aurors.  Adon'd need to moderate himself and Bagel-bite[2] more than he was accustomed to.  Even if it meant bucking against his own sensibilities.

So, instead, Adon continued to grip the yarn, fingers relaxing. 

"Though, one is still quite thirsty..."

"Looks like One requires a straw, then," he stated drily, arms crossed.  For a moment, Adon was tempted to hand the yarn over to Jonah-Jones and have him fetch a new cup, like he'd done before, but Bassir was newer in his career, and he'd not do anything that could potentially undercut him in front of the Department Head. Wordlessly, Adon stepped from the room, cutting across to their staff room.  Water poured, Adon made a job of straightening up the room a moment to collect himself--mopping up spills and tossing rubbish in the bin, though he left behind a slightly-singed ball of yarn, sizzling in a pool of water in the basin.

"Here," he returned with a sniff as he pushed the paper cup across the table, straw angled towards him.  "Don't get handsy," he ordered.  Instead of resuming a seat at the table, Adon folded his arms across his chest, wand still out.  Like Gamp himself, he leaned back, his shoulder blades pressing against the wall. 

Speaking of making Jimmy-John look good...  "Auror Bassir, why don't you start us out."

1.	Like in this thread...though Adon didn't suppose he could rightly attribute this to Maiko's bad influence, this time.
2.	A nickname inherited and misappropriated from Deputy Head Riordan

JJ had followed Eleor and Carstairs into the interrogation room before taking a seat with his arms crossed.Tthough he tried to give the appearance of neutrality, his jaw felt tight. He felt a strange energy thrumming through him-- if necessary, JJ was prepared to pounce. He was far too aware of the weight of his wand in the pocket of his red robes.

In truth, it was hard to even pretend to be neutral in this situation. Kids had been abducted. Kids had died. He and Adon had seen the bloodied room they had been trapped in, and Judah had not been able to get that image out of his head.  What if it had been his sister? Siana had been somebody's sister. Two of her siblings were still at Hogwarts.

"Auror Bassir, why don't you start us out."

In that moment, his mind went blank.

He thought back to his training.

"Mortimer Gamp," He began, "Where were you in the afternoon of February 12th?" The disappearances occurred around 2:00 PM, via portkey by the sounds of things. He didn't necessarily have to be there, he just had to have time to set it up. It didn't seem like a strong question to ask, but it was a start. 

“Don't get handsy,” Eleor remarked when he provided a replacement drink of water, complete with drinking straw. Mortimer lowered his head graciously to acknowledge the request with manners, drinking carefully, hands placed a few inches either side.

“Auror Bassir, why don't you start us out.” The old wizard sat straight again, wrinkled lips leaving the straw and gave Auror Bassir his rapt and undivided attention, like one might a child about to perform a new talent to a grandparent. The young auror seemed to hesitate, not expecting to be called upon given he sat with his mentor and the Head of Department.

“Mortimer Gamp, where were you in the afternoon of February 12th?"

“On the afternoon of Saturday, 12th of February, 2011, Auror Bassir, I was at work in the Department of Mysteries.” Mortimer replied calmly. He blinked slowly. “You mean to pose an open question[1] to allow me to give an account of my whereabouts and activities on the Saturday.” He nodded gently, “I had arrived at work at about half past ten that morning. I did not go to my office, but made my way to one of the laboratories.” Mortimer continued, his gaze never leaving Auror Bassir, his movements all very restrained, calculated. “I was expecting a delivery of several research specimens by portkey that afternoon. I spent several hours preparing the laboratory for their arrival.”

1.	handy link

This unstable shifting of magic taking place in Mortimer Gamp was worrisome but, as far as he could tell, restrained in some manner. Solomon had been particularly surprised by the anvil and stopped himself from letting out a bark of laughter when it turned into a ball of wool. Eleor, on the other hand, seemed to be the most affected by their detainee - there was something simmering underneath his forced professionalism.

The same thing, Sol supposed, that made Adon good at his job.

Questioning followed more smoothly once Mortimer's thirst had been addressed. "I was expecting a delivery of several research specimens by portkey that afternoon." The man was answering far too calmly, as if though they had simply served him a cup of tea over casual discussion. "I spent several hours preparing the laboratory for their arrival."

Solomon unbuttoned the top of his shirt as he spoke, feeling stifled and wishing this were someone else they were questioning instead of a familiar face. Disturbing to hear someone like Gamp speak as such of innocent lives.

"Can you describe the nature of your research specimens for us?" he asked, mirroring the civility to compensate for what he assumed would be Adon and JJ's more trigger-happy mannerisms. "In detail, if you would, and perhaps how you came by arranging their delivery."

Mortimer gave a slow blink as his fellow Department head posed the question.

“The specimens were adolescent witches and wizards. Developing magic, a cross-section of ages, genders, abilities,” he replied, very much as if they were sat talking in a Heads of Department meeting. “Their magic tempered enough with guidance, able to release and control it at will, as opposed to juveniles who have untempered magic.” Mortimer attempted to flex his hands which hummed with pain, but there wasn’t much possibility under the bandages. The straw did a circuit of the cup by itself, but received only a momentary glance from the old wizard.

“All my life I have studied the manner in which magic manifests within us, and is released. The majority of my life’s work has been the study of juvenile magical potential, examining how it appears in the very young, and progresses until it is displayed - as is often celebrated in wizarding families and feared in Muggle borns.” He looked from Adon to JJ, remembering their presence. “With Lyra, we have documented countless young lives, seeking correlations between nature, nurture, bloodlines, intelligence…” Mortimer smiled a little fondly at the mention of his wife.

“Our research has extended, what with the plague of dementors on Britain. The Department are researching many angles of the dementors and the impact on magical potential, the soul, dementors as a plague or a mould, methods of capture, containment, destruction… practical, worthy work.” Mortimer had seemingly forgotten the second question from his monologue, "Do you remember when dementors guarded Azkaban?” He asked, gaze sliding to JJ, “I don’t suppose you were old enough. But the long term prisoners, as well as losing their minds, lost their magic. Not out of lack of use, but because of exposure.” Mortimer was still looking at JJ, “As good as squibs.” He added softly.

“So if dementors can reduce, wane, or capture magic, then why not us? Many a wizard in history has tried. I only had to succeed.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but very pleased with himself. He fixed his gaze back on Sol, “Their delivery was arranged by a third party. I’m afraid I do not know who was on the ground in Hogsmeade, but the methods were effective, yet regretfully not as selective as stipulated. There were some very poor specimens indeed. Those were the ones who perished.” He lowered his head to sip water from the straw.

Wonderful, Adon thought snidely, watching the suspect--all too pleased with himself--dissect JJ's questions.

"You mean to pose an open question[1] to allow me to give an account of my whereabouts and activities on the Saturday.”

They had a clairvoyant on their hands!  Adon glanced over to Carstairs, eyes wide and disbelieving.  And Gamp clearly was trying to undercut JJ's authority through observing the obvious. Brother.  Well, let's try again with something that they didn't already know. There was too much.  For example:

"I made my way to [which?] of the laboratories.  I was expecting a delivery of [how many?] research specimens [of what kind?] by portkey [from?] that afternoon. I spent several hours preparing [how?] for their arrival."

Which laboratory?
Where were the specimens from?
How did he prepare?

Adon was puzzling over how  best to get an imperious, self-aggrandizing insane wizard to answer at least one of these questions when, inexplicably, Carstairs asked the most direct question--with no significant premeditation, no overt manipulation.  He simply asked, and Gamp, bafflingly, told all.

Well, nearly all.  The narrative was, as he might have anticipated, clinical and detached.  Gamp might just be crazy enough to not think this a crime. Just a part of his jobs and his duties. 

But no, Gamp had kept dark materials secreted away on his family estate. Guarded and hidden. He was aware of the violations.  And he was being closed-lipped about his collaborators.

As the man stooped forward, lips feeling for the straw, Adon's fingers flexed, ready to knock the water out from beneath him.  Instead, he asked, "And," since he was feeling particularly candid all of a sudden, "how did you come by this third party?"

Mortimer took a moment, wetting his lips gently with the water he had supped. He couldn’t speak of Ira Almasy. He had made a promise and it meant sharing his glory with her, and even with Glass. No, that would not do. Auror Eleor seemed a little restless. He showed facial expressions, involuntary movements. His conduct with the water suggested agitation, though Mortimer could not read him exactly. Aurors were also versed in deception.

“Through an anonymous admirer of my work.” He replied eventually, a smug smile curling up the corners of his wrinkled mouth. “Entrancingly well resourced, to know of the research. Then, we pay a whole floor to lie and keep secrets, it is no surprise a higher bidder can acquire the information they need.” He had long accepted his Department was not infallible. The Tetrawizard Tournament had engaged in similar tactics to identify leaks, with carefully segmented misinformation and an unhealthy dose of obliviation.

“Then if one went back far enough, under Thicknesse.” Mortimer referred to the Voldermort occupation of the Ministry. “Such opportunity for progress then.” He smiled wistfully. “Ethics,” he told JJ, as if he were explaining it for the benefit of his youth, “not the done thing to use human specimens unless in wartime.” He gestured in general to their present situation with his bandaged hands. He leaned on the chair’s backrest at long last, but remained sat very abruptly upright, blinking slowly.

“Entrancingly well resourced, to know of the research. Then, we pay a whole floor to lie and keep secrets, it is no surprise a higher bidder can acquire the information they need.”

"Hn," Adon acknowledged the words, mind spinning fast.  Adon could not have asked for a better profile of the supplier, if he'd wanted to. It practically read like his own profile for who he now believed to be Ira Almasy:[1]

Responsible party is an exceedingly wealthy criminal network of small- to mid-range in its scope and size.  ... not ruling out foreign money sources...The leaders of the organization are likely extremely well-educated, possibly with a technical, health background, or more likely to advisors with this background.   Access to reputable advisors in what is likely a wide area of interests (potentially outside of the criminal world) indicates a probable prominence not only in criminal circles, but in non-criminal ones as well. 

The medical accuracy, the focus to detail and research, the inexhaustible connection to resources...

Gamp was still waxing philosophical.  It was obvious the man got off on intellectual superiority, undercutting JJ, explaining their own methods to them.  It was something Adon was more than happy to give the man. People with high opinions of themselves never seemed to think much of the people they looked down upon. That was why Neville Longbottom--the Unchosen One--had been able to deal Voldemort such a fatal blow.  So sure. He'd play along and be a simple Auror; it'd suit his purposes just fine.

“Such opportunity for progress then.” He smiled wistfully. “Ethics,” he told JJ, as if he were explaining it for the benefit of his youth, “not the done thing to use human specimens unless in wartime.”

And yet he did, anyway. Which was irregular; there was thought there, and Adon'd draw it out. Gamp loved talking about himself, anyhow.

"It must have brought a grating halt to your research, the past decade.  With an administration that professes to be progressive--but unwilling to take the risks you needed for your work to progress. But you've been in the Department for over 50 years now;  run it successfully.  I can hardly think this was mere carelessness on your part, to gamble poorly.  Tell me, why would you take the risk now?"

He paused a moment. "Did this admirer of your work offer you protection--the confidence, information, cover to proceed?" There was a bit of a harshness in his voice: condescension. "Or are my sources right? Have your wits and ability to keep secrets merely started... slipping?"

1.	Progress Report

“It must have brought a grating halt to your research, the past decade.” Auror Eleor remarked. Mortimer gave the slightest of shrugs of acceptance in response from the other side of the table. Although his research had been easier to proceed with, there had been an awful lot of things that had needed to end with the war. Mortimer did not mourn the war years for anything but the flexible ethics. In peacetime, he had just had to work harder to justify the cost benefits of research with the outcomes and pick his strategies and connections.

“.. you've been in the Department for over 50 years now;  run it successfully.” There was a minuscule dip of Mortimer’s chin in acknowledgement of his successful leadership since last March. He wouldn’t make it a full year with this interruption, shame.

“I can hardly think this was mere carelessness on your part, to gamble poorly.  Tell me, why would you take the risk now?” Calmly, Mortimer gazed at the auror, considering his response, but the younger man continued. “… Have your wits and ability to keep secrets merely started... slipping?"

“I am in my eighth decade, and I have achieved much in that time.” Gamp replied, doing his best to ignore the quiet tingle of his hands which he dearly wished to itch. "I took a calculated risk.” Mortimer replied, “the probabilities were, as you surmise, stacked against me. But if you were given the chance to reach the pinnacle of your life’s work, wouldn’t you take that chance, Auror?” He blinked slowly. “I only needed specimens. To bargain more than that would have required me to share my results and methods.” He explained, “and what I have discovered should never fall into the wrong hands.” He gestured with his heavily bandaged hands, the cup of water danced a gentle pirouette on the table between them, but thankfully did not spill before it settled again. “With more time and absorption, I doubt I would be transfiguring and charming objects without control. Fascinating!”

Solomon had watched Mortimer very carefully as he made each of his responses, allowing Eleor to bear the brunt of what was being said while he kept an eye on other aspects. Mannerisms. Expressions. Indicators of an unstable temperament than one might discern and then describe for a more thorough report on Gamp's mental state. The auror in question did not hesitate in driving that same point home, a dagger in the dark of Mortimer's impenetrable mind.

          "Or are my sources right? Have your wits and ability to keep secrets merely started... slipping?"
"...and what I have discovered should never fall into the wrong hands." Their prisoner babbled nonsensically. "With more time and absorption, I doubt I would be transfiguring and charming objects without control. Fascinating!"

Glances were exchanged with the other two, Solomon raising his eyebrows incredulously. Fascinating indeed! The man clearly had some manner of wits about him but they were directed by a sense of morality unhinged from anything one would consider regular. An abnormal psychology. Consultation with an experienced Healer would be necessary to confirm of course but...

"Can we expect you to comply with more of these sessions, Mortimer?" Sol asked, gesturing subtly for Adon and JJ to stand down for the time being. "Can we expect you to comply peacefully?"

The cup finished its graceful dance on the tabletop between Mortimer’s hands. The old wizard was smiling gently at it, as fascinated as he had just expressed. He felt elated, light-headed as if he had imbibed an experimental potion or Christmas alcohol in the warm company of family. He did not feel at all perturbed by the line of questioning, the lack of his wife and the fact he’d left teenagers to die.

“Of course, Solomon.” Mortimer replied, dipping his head as the three wizards took their leave. “Aurors, I look forward to our next discussion.”

He smiled calmly as the cup crushed itself between his heavily bandaged hands.

“Though still terribly thirsty…”

End