"Good work, Rawlins," Graves told the most Junior Auror on his team. "More Ilvermorny than MACUSA, but it got the job done." He was going to be embarrassed to have it on paper that a member of his team had downed a suspect by hexing the man's shoelaces together. The telling, however, would be sure to amuse the listener.
"Thank you, sir." He distantly acknowledged Rawlin's beaming gratitude with a nod of him head, as an image of twinkling green eyes and the suggestion of bright tenor laughter hovered in his consciousness. "Sir?"
With a purely mental shake of his head, he told his subordinate, "Take that man to holding and stay for the processing." The young wizard beamed at him again before Apparating away, bound suspect in hand. "As for the rest of you..." Graves turned to the other Aurors, who were all staring at him with varying degrees of perplexity. "Time to clean up."
Though many of them shared glances that asked "what's gotten into him?", the customary stern look and brusque voice of their Director sped them to action. Their boss kept his mind off the answer to their question by supervising their work with a critical eye.
"Powell! Do not open that," he snapped at a witch fiddling the cork of a green potion. "That's Noxious Potion. Label it and secure it." It had been decades since the Department had dealt with an illegal potions operation of this scale. "Wells. Check that cauldron for residue before bagging it." Protocols had clearly been forgotten. "Higgins, wait!" And some protocol changes had apparently not been communicated well enough.
"What's the matter, sir?" The wizard addressed asked, wand pointed at a snarling, spiky, dun-colored creature in a tank. "I was just going to dispose of this..."
"Murtlap," Graves informed him, recognizing it from Newt's book. "New procedure, Higgins. All beasts are to be Stupefied and taken promptly to Mr. Scamander." The Auror nodded and raised his wand again. "Gently." The creature had been hurt enough.
"Director, sir!" Another member of the team called Graves away from the bemused but obedient wizard. "I think I've found the ringleader's office."
He strode deeper into the brick warehouse that had served the cartel as their New York base. The witch who'd called him over was casting Alohomora on a padlocked iron-bound door. The lock repeatedly resisted the spell and the caster frowned before saying, "Portaberto!"
"Primitive but effective, O'Keefe," he commented, as the padlock seemed to tear itself and the latch out of the woodwork. "I'm glad you didn't go medieval on it and cast 'Open Sesame'."
"I wanted to," O'Keefe muttered before silently casting Lumos and scanning the now open office. "Clear, sir."
"Don't sound disappointed, yet," he responded, halting her forward motion with a raised hand. "There might still be a booby trap. Revelio!" His spell illuminated an invisible tripwire just inside the doorway. "Am I surrounded by schoolboys?" The wire was attached to a cauldron overhead, likely filled with something nasty. "Seal off that cauldron," he ordered his subordinate while he magically cut the wire, "And label it hazardous before Powell gets in here."
"It won't happen again, sir!" sounded half-heartedly from outside the office as he moved past the chuckling, yet compliant O'Keefe.
"Jackpot," he said, surveying the tidy desk and marked, orderly filing cabinet. "If there's anything I like about organized crime, it's that it's organized." That paperwork would bring the rest of the case to a rapid close. "Have Wells take the whole cabinet when he gets... here..."
"Sir?"
"Search the drawers, O'Keefe. Carefully." He waved vaguely at the desk as he moved to what had caught his eye. The mostly bare tree seemed grossly out of place in the spartan room. 'It can't be...' But there was the barest hint of shiny copper in the single desiccated leaf laying over the tree's roots. The incipient new growth also showed the merest metallic glimmer.
'Niffler's Fancy.' Newt was instantly back in his thoughts. Graves had never met the creature, but he knew that the magizoologist's Niffler was an inveterate kleptomaniac. Perhaps...
"What's that, sir?" Wells asked from where he and Powell stood in the doorway.
"It's a tree, Wells. Did you sleep through Herbology like you sleep through briefings?" The Director deflected.
"One time, sir! It was just--" The protesting wizard noticed the hint of a smirk that his boss couldn't hold back. "I'll get the cabinet, sir."
"Yes. And Powell, take care of that cauldron." He put a touch of ironic emphasis on the fifth word.
"Yes, sir." The witch complied with something between a grimace and a smile.
"I'll take care of the tree," Graves informed them, tone deliberately professional.
"Are you sure that this isn't what you want to take, sir?" O'Keefe asked him, grinning wickedly and holding up something she'd found in the desk. It looked like a pair of some sort of clamps, but he couldn't imagine what practical...
'Harding!' Firing -- unless it was out of a cannon and into the Hudson -- would not be enough of a punishment for that damned librarian. "Good news, folks," he said aloud as apprehension tinged the witch's smile. "O'Keefe just volunteered to write the entire report on this bust." He gave her back her earlier smirk as he picked up the potted tree. "Wrap things up and get back to MACUSA, ASAP," he ordered over his underlings' mutual laughter.
A groan, the clatter of the clamps hitting the desk, and more chuckles followed him out the office door. He shifted his grip on the heavy wooden planter as his smug expression shifted into something softer as he thought of his eventual destination.
Just before he Apparated out, he overheard, "You know, getting a pet's worked wonders on him!"
Fill: It the Little Things, Episode 4a: Simple and Few
---
"Good work, Rawlins," Graves told the most Junior Auror on his team. "More Ilvermorny than MACUSA, but it got the job done." He was going to be embarrassed to have it on paper that a member of his team had downed a suspect by hexing the man's shoelaces together. The telling, however, would be sure to amuse the listener.
"Thank you, sir." He distantly acknowledged Rawlin's beaming gratitude with a nod of him head, as an image of twinkling green eyes and the suggestion of bright tenor laughter hovered in his consciousness. "Sir?"
With a purely mental shake of his head, he told his subordinate, "Take that man to holding and stay for the processing." The young wizard beamed at him again before Apparating away, bound suspect in hand. "As for the rest of you..." Graves turned to the other Aurors, who were all staring at him with varying degrees of perplexity. "Time to clean up."
Though many of them shared glances that asked "what's gotten into him?", the customary stern look and brusque voice of their Director sped them to action. Their boss kept his mind off the answer to their question by supervising their work with a critical eye.
"Powell! Do not open that," he snapped at a witch fiddling the cork of a green potion. "That's Noxious Potion. Label it and secure it." It had been decades since the Department had dealt with an illegal potions operation of this scale. "Wells. Check that cauldron for residue before bagging it." Protocols had clearly been forgotten. "Higgins, wait!" And some protocol changes had apparently not been communicated well enough.
"What's the matter, sir?" The wizard addressed asked, wand pointed at a snarling, spiky, dun-colored creature in a tank. "I was just going to dispose of this..."
"Murtlap," Graves informed him, recognizing it from Newt's book. "New procedure, Higgins. All beasts are to be Stupefied and taken promptly to Mr. Scamander." The Auror nodded and raised his wand again. "Gently." The creature had been hurt enough.
"Director, sir!" Another member of the team called Graves away from the bemused but obedient wizard. "I think I've found the ringleader's office."
He strode deeper into the brick warehouse that had served the cartel as their New York base. The witch who'd called him over was casting Alohomora on a padlocked iron-bound door. The lock repeatedly resisted the spell and the caster frowned before saying, "Portaberto!"
"Primitive but effective, O'Keefe," he commented, as the padlock seemed to tear itself and the latch out of the woodwork. "I'm glad you didn't go medieval on it and cast 'Open Sesame'."
"I wanted to," O'Keefe muttered before silently casting Lumos and scanning the now open office. "Clear, sir."
"Don't sound disappointed, yet," he responded, halting her forward motion with a raised hand. "There might still be a booby trap. Revelio!" His spell illuminated an invisible tripwire just inside the doorway. "Am I surrounded by schoolboys?" The wire was attached to a cauldron overhead, likely filled with something nasty. "Seal off that cauldron," he ordered his subordinate while he magically cut the wire, "And label it hazardous before Powell gets in here."
"It won't happen again, sir!" sounded half-heartedly from outside the office as he moved past the chuckling, yet compliant O'Keefe.
"Jackpot," he said, surveying the tidy desk and marked, orderly filing cabinet. "If there's anything I like about organized crime, it's that it's organized." That paperwork would bring the rest of the case to a rapid close. "Have Wells take the whole cabinet when he gets... here..."
"Sir?"
"Search the drawers, O'Keefe. Carefully." He waved vaguely at the desk as he moved to what had caught his eye. The mostly bare tree seemed grossly out of place in the spartan room. 'It can't be...' But there was the barest hint of shiny copper in the single desiccated leaf laying over the tree's roots. The incipient new growth also showed the merest metallic glimmer.
'Niffler's Fancy.' Newt was instantly back in his thoughts. Graves had never met the creature, but he knew that the magizoologist's Niffler was an inveterate kleptomaniac. Perhaps...
"What's that, sir?" Wells asked from where he and Powell stood in the doorway.
"It's a tree, Wells. Did you sleep through Herbology like you sleep through briefings?" The Director deflected.
"One time, sir! It was just--" The protesting wizard noticed the hint of a smirk that his boss couldn't hold back. "I'll get the cabinet, sir."
"Yes. And Powell, take care of that cauldron." He put a touch of ironic emphasis on the fifth word.
"Yes, sir." The witch complied with something between a grimace and a smile.
"I'll take care of the tree," Graves informed them, tone deliberately professional.
"Are you sure that this isn't what you want to take, sir?" O'Keefe asked him, grinning wickedly and holding up something she'd found in the desk. It looked like a pair of some sort of clamps, but he couldn't imagine what practical...
'Harding!' Firing -- unless it was out of a cannon and into the Hudson -- would not be enough of a punishment for that damned librarian. "Good news, folks," he said aloud as apprehension tinged the witch's smile. "O'Keefe just volunteered to write the entire report on this bust." He gave her back her earlier smirk as he picked up the potted tree. "Wrap things up and get back to MACUSA, ASAP," he ordered over his underlings' mutual laughter.
A groan, the clatter of the clamps hitting the desk, and more chuckles followed him out the office door. He shifted his grip on the heavy wooden planter as his smug expression shifted into something softer as he thought of his eventual destination.
Just before he Apparated out, he overheard, "You know, getting a pet's worked wonders on him!"
---