Leaning back in his chair, Robards propped his head against his right hand. He swished his wand over his glass of tea to warm it up. He took a sip as he pulled the two files out and opened both of them. The first yellowed envelop read, in faded, silver lettering, ‘Crouch, Bartimus, Jr.’ and the second read ‘Venturini, Adam F.’
The later folder held considerably less paper than the former, but both held Robards’s attention. ‘In the end, they’re both important . . . two pieces in the same puzzle.’ Robards had read the Crouch file before. He knew most of the file contained information about the trial and sentencing to Azkaban. Those numerous pieces of parchment were followed by an erroneous death certificate. Oddly, the last piece of paper was not the death certificate but a brief note from the former Minister, Cornelius Fudge.
The death of one convicted Death Eater, Bartimus Crouch, Jr., was recently verified to be false. Dementor’s Kiss was performed on June 24 10:21 pm.
‘Another oddity in an increasingly strange case.’
Robards stared at Venturini’s folder. This one seemed much simpler. A Healer, using questionable methods of treatment, killed a patient and fled the country before he could be put on trial.
“I’ll let Auror Robards make the final decision on what to do with the man.”
‘Venturini placed another duty on my shoulders,’ the Auror thought as he closed his eyes to massage his eyelids. ‘Not surprisingly, I feel vastly under-qualified to make this decision. While saying ‘go to Azkaban’ would be easy, Venturini is right. This doesn’t happen. Ever.’
Robards sipped his tea. ‘Of course, I should be accustomed to difficult decisions. I’ve been dealing with the ridiculous and impossible since Scrimgeour appointed me to the position of Head Auror.’
That appointment shocked Robards. One of the other dozen or so elder Aurors seemed the most probable pick for the job, but Rufus Scrimgeour made the choice. He chose his former apprentice. ‘It was a nice political move. A way to cover his back,’ Robards acknowledged the wisdom in Scrimgeour’s scheming. ‘He wanted to have one of his men backing him up.’
Surprisingly, most of the department seemed accepting of Scrimgeour’s appointment. ‘Was I that good? Not really. Maybe they perceived how Scrimgeour would act before I would. The end result was still the same. I inherited an impossible situation.’
For a year, they dealt with the terror, the attacks, and the public panic. Robards had been an apprentice during the first panic, and he thought he saw the limits of disaster and terror. He had been mistaken. They all had been mistaken.
‘Well, not all of us.’
After Dumbledore’s funeral, where the Aurors sat together, forming a clump of crimson in the midst of the mourners, Shacklebolt confronted him. ‘We need to prepare a safe house,’ Shacklebolt told him very matter-of-factly when he pulled him aside later. ‘The Aurors are going to be targets. We’re going to need to find somewhere to weather the storm.’
He hadn’t believed him. Not completely, anyway, but after giving it several days of thought, Robards went out to the little town where he grew up. He found the brick house his father left him, which had ivy climbing up to the roof and a high, iron fence. He never came back to the country because he rather liked living in the city. The house sat empty, but one look at the place convinced him it would work. He brought Shacklebolt out there that very day to make him the secret keeper.
‘Barely a month later . . . it happened. It just came so quickly.’
He remembered the fiery sunset as he sat reading and drinking tea in his favourite chair. Then, he heard a bang and looked up. He instinctively drew his wand, and as he stood, the mirror over the mantel shimmered to reveal Shacklebolt’s face in the glass. “The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour’s dead. Go. I’m alerting the others.”
The curses and jinxes hitting his protective charms continued to sound outside his house, but Robards walked into his study. He reached for the ornate peacock feather quill on his desk. The portkey sucked him away just as his door exploded open. He stood outside of the iron gate, the calm of the country evening starkly contrasting with the chaos at his flat. The gate creaked on its hinges as Robards opened it and strode up the cobblestone pathway to the wooden door with a little stained glass window set into it.
He walked inside the house unmolested as the grandfather clock chimed the hour from upstairs. The worn oak floor echoed his footfalls off the walls and ceilings as he came into the sitting room. Taking a seat in the grey chair with little silver tassels hanging off the back, Robards assumed the same position he had now, with his forehead resting against his right hand.
‘It was easily the worst day of my life.’
The knock at his door caused Robards to jerk his frame straight in his chair. He closed his files and turned them over so the names could not be read. “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal Robards’s apprentice. The Auror gave a nod, and the man approached his desk. “I sat in on the meeting with the Prussian ambassadors. They’re not getting on so well, apparently, and there are still fairly strong pockets of resistance.”
“I’ve heard as much. How much assistance do you think they’re going to require? We could spare . . . maybe six people? I could give them two Aurors and four hit wizards,” Robards speculated out loud.
His apprentice shrugged. “They didn’t ask for anything in particular yet, but we already have people over in France and Russia. Do you think we can spare six more people?”
“It will be a stretch, but if we could make a short term commitment “ say about a couple of weeks “ I could not see why it shouldn’t be done. In addition, if we post-pone the next batch of trials, it should make several more people available,” Robards explained his logic, which the apprentice did not dispute.
“Sir, would you mind, uh, telling me what case you’ve been working?” the apprentice ventured a question.
Robards appraised his apprentice in silence before he said anything. “I haven’t told you for a very legitimate reason. I suppose your peers, Weasley and Patil, were discussing an odd experience in the holding cells?”
“Yes, sir, but I never heard who the prisoner was, although Ron seemed really spooked.”
Robards nodded his head slowly. “I am going to be very frank with you about this case. I do not want you to investigate it. If it goes to trial, you will certainly know. At this moment, there seems to be contradicting evidence “ of a sort “ that is keeping me from making a . . . a final judgement on this particular person.”
“Yes sir, but I “ ”
“Please take my advice on this,” Robards cut the man off. “I have been frank and honest with you about everything I have done during the past year. When I say, this once, to leave this one case alone, I am completely serious.”
The apprentice pursed his lips together tightly. “Yes, sir.”
Robards examined the man before nodding in return. “Very well, then. Please give me the report, and we’ll meet with the Prussian ambassadors again tomorrow.”
The apprentice handed Robards the report before leaving the room. Robards let the parchment sit in his lap and stared out the door after the young man. With a flick of his wand, Robards closed the door, but he didn’t swivel his chair around to continue reading his files.
‘I assume I will have to tell him eventually. I’m slightly shocked the other two have kept silent. Dawlish must have put his unique brand of fear into them.’
The new class of Aurors, the group from the fall of 1998, nearly doubled the size of the department. ‘Of course, we lost nearly half of the department in the War.’
Robards remembered the first time he had seen his current apprentice. Ten months after the Ministry fell and his own mentor died, Robards led an assault on the Ministry at the same hour blood was being spilt at Hogwarts.
Again, Shacklebolt alerted him. Potter surfaced. The Death Eaters gathered. Ever since the Ministry fell, Robards and Shacklebolt planned for the moment when they could retake the Ministry. Shacklebolt would not go, though. He took some of the Aurors to Hogwarts, and it fell to Robards to lead the coupe of the Ministry.
Initially, the attack had not been difficult. The shock and awe at the return of all the missing Aurors allowed them to make his announcement. ‘We are here to restore order. If you have committed crimes against wizarding kind “ surrender “ or we will make you do so.’
The curses came hurtling at them, but the battle ended quickly. When the initial skirmish finished, the Atrium burst into cheers. Together, with the Ministry employees who were on his side, Robards led a sweep through the entire Ministry. After taking down several stubborn pockets of resistance, the remaining Auror force prepared to seize the First Floor where several of Minister Thicknese’s most ardent supporters were heavily protected.
As the Aurors grouped together on the second floor, planning the attack, shouts and cheers could be heard from down the hall. Then, led by Shacklebolt, a procession of people, many of them wearing school robes, marched into the Auror’s office.
Shacklebolt clapped him on the back before embracing him. ‘It’s done,’ he said as a huge grin spread over his face. Robards only raised his eyebrows, uncomprehending what he heard.
‘Thicknese still has at least a half dozen supporters barricaded up in his office,’ Robards informed Shacklebolt in a matter-of-fact voice. However, Shacklebolt only laughed.
‘Tell them it’s over. Their Lord is dead.’
Whoops and cheers went up from the crowd. Then, Robards saw the young man behind Shacklebolt. He looked exhausted, but Robards figured he himself didn’t appear any more rested. At that moment, the two of them simply nodded to each other.
He had not wanted an apprentice. As Head Auror, he had the first pick of apprentices, but he chose to remove himself from contention when the new group entered in the fall. There was still too much work. Their Ministry was secure, but the Dark Lord’s poison spread through many parts of the world, and the world now looked to them to make things right.
Once again, it had been Shacklebolt, now the new Minister of Magic, who stopped Robards in the hallway to speak with him. ‘I want you to take an apprentice.’
Robards explained how he removed himself from contention. He poured all his logic onto Shacklebolt, but the man shook his head. ‘I’m over-riding your opinions here. I promise I won’t make this a habit, but this is personal favour to me.’
‘I have no choice, do I?’ Robards asked dryly. Shacklebolt shook his head and chuckled.
‘Take Potter as your apprentice.’
Robards stared unblinkingly at Shacklebolt. ‘Dawlish and Proudfoot have seniority. They both want him very badly.’
‘Well, I want you to have him. He’s agreed to apprentice for four years as an Auror, instead of three, because he missed his NEWTs. I think you’re the only one who deserves him, frankly.’
Robards simply nodded. What did one do when the Minster of Magic said you were worthy to train the most famous wizard in the world?
Robards spun back around and laid the files on his desk. Had it worked out? He still could tell Potter had not really warmed to him. He personally felt Potter held a prejudice against his old mentor, Scrimgeour. In addition, he heard rumours Potter wanted to apprentice under Dawlish, and even more outlandish rumours about how Potter felt he didn’t need to complete the apprenticeship and should just become a full-fledged Auror.
‘In the end, it’s all rumours,’ Robards thought as he pulled out the two hidden case files again. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see how far my authority actually can go with this case. It’s just been one mess after another to fix.’