recap. Juliette meets her neighbor, Penelope Bones; Sirius and the other Marauders discuss his rejection from the Auror Program; Moody is summoned to an emergency Auror meeting.

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❨ chapter three. ❩
❛ the hour of plans ❜

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Ministry of Magic
11:00 pm

NO ONE BREATHED. Despite the number of people crammed into it, the office of the Head Auror had fallen silent, the words of Angus MacDonald still ringing in everyone's ears. Moody could almost taste the apprehension stifling the room.

And excitement.

Dolohov, Mulciber, and Travers were names the Auror department knew all too well, names whose capture was one of their biggest priorities. Talented, quick, and sly, the three men had been under the Auror department's captivity once: six years ago, in a late night ambush of Little Hangleton, the three men had been caught after a rather brutal fight. The strange image of a skull and a snake protruding from its mouth was found burned into their left forearm during the ensuing interrogations. That was the first time anyone aside from Voldemort's followers had seen the dark mark.

     Dolohov and his pals had managed to escape, however, when the group of Aurors escorting them to Azkaban had been attacked by masked Death Eaters. It had been quite a scandal back in the day. And, if Moody wasn't mistaken, still haunted many of the senior Aurors who'd been involved in the case at the time.

"Who's this source?" It was Scrimgeour who'd spoken. He was glaring darkly at MacDonald, and Moody realized belatedly that it was Scrimgeour who was rumored to have been leading the team responsible for escorting Dolohov, Mulciber, and Travers to Azkaban.

"I'm afraid that information is confidential," MacDonald said after an uncomfortably long pause.

"Confidential?" repeated Scrimgeour, brows raised in question.

"Aye, confidential," MacDonald gritted through his teeth, "the source would like to remain anonymous, and I have agreed to it."

"It could be a trap," said a silky voice. All heads turned to the end of the table where a young witch with blonde hair was sat. She frowned as she reasoned, "they may be intentionally misleading us."

A few people muttered in agreement. Much to Moody's surprise, the Head of Auror Office was one of them.

Then MacDonald sighed heavily. "You lot think I haven't considered it already, eh?" A few people shifted in their seats. MacDonald continued, "I've been in contact with the Bulgarian Aurors for a few months now, asking about any strange happenings or sightings. I'd asked them to verify the claims made by our source." MacDonald spoke slowly, as though he was thinking and rethinking every word before saying it out loud. "They sound confident about the legitimacy of our source, and now it seems like we finally have a lead on where those scoundrels have been hiding."

"Besides, with any lead, there's always a chance of it turning out to be a trap," added Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. There were murmurs again as some nodded in agreement, while others whispered in doubt.

"Exactly," said MacDonald, "there's a chance this is going to lead us nowhere, but even so, we can't let the opportunity go."

"Are we allowed to ask any further questions?" asked Scrimgeour, his face blank.

"Regarding the actual mission, aye. Anything else, no."

"We're not allowed to ask who tipped you off? Or why? Or how long you've been tracking these death eaters in Bulgaria without anyone knowing?"

MacDonald considered Scrimgeour carefully. The Head of Auror Office was quickly approaching his 70s, and in addition to the lines which marked his forehead and eyes, his hair had been thinning and graying rapidly over the past few years. Moody watched as MacDonald fix Scrimgeour with a glare, his beady eyes narrowed, and he couldn't help but think that, with his bulging stomach, black and gray striped hair, and a wide but squashed nose, the Head of Auror Office looked very much like a badger. An angry badger, he corrected himself as the old man's nostrils flared.

"I can't tell ye who the source was because certain operations within the Ministry, and even the Auror Office, are highly covert, meaning I cannot go about sharing such sensitive information with every auror who's spent more than a day of his or her life working for the department." MacDonald drew in a long, deep breath. Scrimgeour wore a sour expression as the Head Auror continued, "But I'll tell you that it was someone who is trusted by the British Ministry of Magic. And they've done so because it's their duty, just as it is the duty of everybody in this room to accept and respect the decisions made by their superiors."

"And, what was the last question? Ah, yes. We've been tracking death eaters in Bulgaria for nigh on two months now, and no one apart from those high up were informed because as it stands, our relations with Bulgaria are fragile at best and we felt it was in our best interests to keep minimal officials involved in this lead until we had stronger proof."

When he'd finished, MacDonald was met with a long silence and uncomfortable glances. He looked around the room and caught Moody's eye who quickly turned away, a grin threatening to make its way onto his face.

"Any more questions?" asked MacDonald calmly, but all those assembled shook their heads. Moody noticed Scrimgeour sat stiffly in his seat, his head held high as he fixed his glare on a painting over Moody's shoulder, who was sat opposite him. "Good!" said Macdonald cheerfully as he began discussing the mission.

For the next two hours, the Aurors listened to MacDonald talk about the mission: where they would be going, what they could expect, what they were supposed to do, and so on. They then discussed strategies to raid the suspected Death Eater safehouse, and argued about when it would be suitable to ambush the Death Eaters. By the time midnight rolled around, everyone was buzzing with a nervous excitement only a field mission could bring.

"Right, Mr. MacDonald would like to make a few announcements before we all leave," called Kingsley Shacklebolt, drawing everyone's attention back to the front of the room. He was a tall, handsome wizard with dark skin and a deep voice that Athena McKinnon had once described as 'smoky'; Moody had never understood what she meant by it. Kingsley was MacDonald's secretary, replacing Moody himself when he'd been promoted to Field Operations Leader. Moody loved the old Head Auror, but he didn't envy Kingsley's position.

"Mr. MacDonald, would you..." Kingsley trailed off, looking at Angus MacDonald expectantly.

"Aye," said MacDonald as he got to his feet again. "I've a few tasks for some of ye before we discuss the mission in further detail tomorrow. Now, Athena?"

Athena McKinnon, a clever but shy witch in her thirties looked up.

"You'll choose three aurors to survey the field and make sure it's no trap. It's a relatively simple job so select some newer recruits who show promise. Would give them some experience working on the field." Macdonald waited for Athena to nod. Then he pointed at Tobias MacDonald – his eldest son and one of the fiercest young aurors Moody had seen — who sat up straighter.

"MacDonald, you and young Dawlish here," the blonde-haired witch, who couldn't be older than 25, perked up, "translate the Bulgarian reports and see if it mentions anything about any wards those ruddy Death Eaters might've placed on the house."

Both Dawlish and MacDonald exchanged excited glances. Moody rolled his eyes. It was amusing really how even the most important, and perhaps dangerous, of missions could seem exciting when you were young.

"Moody?" He glanced around to meet MacDonald's beady eyes watching him carefully, almost as though he were silently warning him. His stomach lurched. Somehow — and he couldn't tell how he knew it — Moody realized who he was going to have to work with before the older man had said it. "Ye'll work with Scrimgeour to assign the rest of the aurors into pairs and create a plan for infiltrating the safehouse."

Scrimgeour and Moody looked at one another over the table, neither man appearing the least bit pleased at the prospect of having to work with the other. Then –

"I work better with Dawlish," Scrimgeour said evenly, his gaze flitting from Moody to MacDonald as he spoke. "John Dawlish, that is," he clarified, throwing the blonde witch a look, "no offense, Skye."

The witch, Skye, shrugged but remained quiet. Moody had no idea that John Dawlish, another auror he hated working with, had a sister in the same department.

MacDonald seemed unamused at Scrimgeour's words. "I wassna asking you lot to do the ceilidh. You have to work together, not be dance partners," he scowled, handing out tan folders to everyone assembled. "Besides, yer buddy's away on a mission, lad. And even if he were here, Moody's still the best man for this job, so yer stuck with him."

"Or maybe I'm stuck with him," Moody mumbled under his breath.

"You say something, Moody?" MacDonald asked.

Moody cleared his throat. "Just wondering when we're to leave for Bulgaria?" He ignored the dirty look Scrimgeour threw in his direction.

"Aye, aye," MacDonald nodded, turning back to his notes. "Ye all have two weeks to prepare, then ye leave the following Monday morning. I want this raid done and over with by Tuesday."

"Blimey, that's no time at all," mumbled one of the Prewett brothers, and Moody found himself nodding. They usually had a month to prepare for international raids, mainly since preparations often included learning and adapting to foreign landscapes and surroundings. These were meticulously planned mission, not ones that could be planned and executed with barely two weeks of preparations.

"Come to me if any of ye have questions," MacDonald continued, ignoring the disgruntled murmurs making their way around the room, "I'll be working with Shacklebolt to put together an extraction team in case ye need backup."

With an almighty grunt, MacDonald sat back into his chair, eyes darting from one Auror to another. Then he waved his hand towards the door and said, "Right, that's it for now. It's late, ye all are free to go home. Be sharp, and stay vigilant out there."

The noise of scrapping chairs and joints cracking filled the room as people scrambled to their feet and bid Angus MacDonald farewell. Moody could sense the doubts and questions lingering in the air like thick fog, but the day had taken its toll and everyone was eager to return home by now.

"Alastor," MacDonald called out, quiet but stern, as people filed out of the room, "a minute."

     Kingsley exchanged a look with Moody then shrugged, patting him on his back as he exited the room, and Athena McKinnon too offered him a small smile as she breezed past Moody on her way out. When the door finally shut behind the Prewett twins, leaving just Moody and MacDonald in his office, the younger man sighed audibly.

"What did I do now, sir?"

MacDonald scowled. "We're at war."

"I read the papers, I see the murders. I figured as much."

"Aye? And have ye figured that I've bigger things to worry about than yer little spats with the other aurors. Senior ones, might I add."

Utterly bewildered by his words, Moody considered the man before him warily. "I'm sorry?"

"Then be nicer to them," grunted Angus MacDonald, "I'm not saying to be their mother, but show a little compassion, use some tact, eh? I've known a little kindness to often go a long way." MacDonald walked over to the window and stared at the scene unfolding beyond. London was drenched as sheets of rain swept into the city, dark and gloomy and all too familiar. "And ye'll want them on yer side sooner than later, Alastor."

Moody huffed. "Why would I want that?"

"Because you are good at this job. Very good, in fact. A real talent you have." MacDonald did not look back at the younger man. His voice was soft, as though his thoughts were a million miles from the office. "But talent's fickle, is it not? So fragile when faced with fear and desperation, or pride and power. Those roads that tempt the best of us... Yes. 'Tis a shame how the mind of a man works."

Moody mulled the words over in his head, frowning. "Been reading a lot of poetry lately, sir?"

The corners of MacDonald's mouth twitched. "I'd say it's philosophy."

"Poets are philosophers too."

"Aye, but philosophers dinna always be poets. Agreed?"

"Hmm," Moody shrugged. MacDonald seemed lost in his own thoughts when Moody's voice drew him back to the office, "I have to admit, I have absolutely no idea what you're trying to say."

MacDonald smiled sadly as he continued watching muggle London thrive, people bustling around blissfully unaware of the terrors looming on the horizon. "Just be nicer, that's all I ask of ye. Understood?"

"Understood," Moody nodded slowly, not understanding what the other man was getting at, "is that all?"

"Aye," MacDonald said, "ye may leave."

Moody's footsteps echoed loudly as he walked towards the door. Then, with a hand on the door, Moody turned and asked: "No couplet before I head home?"

Angus MacDonald let himself laugh. "Leave."

"Goodnight, sir."

"'Night, Alastor."

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A/N.
— a shorter than usual chapter this time, but one very long scene. I guess it got a bit boring in places, but overall it set up quite a few future events that I'm very excited to write about! Also: chapters 3&4 are actually just one long chapter, but I ended up separating them into two in order to make it easier for everyone to navigate.
— Now if you're wondering why we're dealing with what the Aurors and Moody are doing ... well, I figured I couldn't fully tell the story I wanted to if I just stuck to Juliette and Sirius' perspectives. My goal with this book was to not just write a Sirius Black fanfic, but to also write about the First Wizarding War. So every now and then, mainly during Act I, we'll switch POVs and see what the other characters are up to. Sorry if it's all a bit confusing!
— Let me know if for the future chapters you'd prefer me to mention who's POV each section is from!
— As always, your votes and comments will be appreciated greatly. And thanks for reading :)

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