Trivial Matters

Gunfire echoed in the dark, and where there wasn't gunfire, there was wandfire. Dodging it was like running between the falling snowflakes in winter. His footsteps echoed on the alley pavement, and he could hear his own breath getting louder and louder as he worked harder and harder to stay alive. His heartbeat raced and pounded in his ears, and his chest felt like it was going to explode. He'd been running again. Why was he always running? And where the hell had his wand gone? There were no alleyways for him to duck into, no empty cars for him to dive into to hide. This was supposed to have been such a damned easy thing, a favor for a foolish friend.

He had known the deck was stacked against him before he'd agreed to help. His friend would have died for certain. Rick had a marginal chance of survival, but that was running out swiftly. If the gunfire didn't get him or the dark wizards, then surely he'd just have a bloody heart attack from exhaustion and die anyway. If he did survive, he was going to slap the silly right out of his friend. That was a given.

Shit.

He'd just gotten his life back. A year ago, six months ago, it wouldn't have mattered. He was technically a dead man anyway. Now, it mattered very much. He was gasping now, drenched with sweat. He drew out the blueprints of the palace out of his pocket and disintegrated it into ashes with his wand. They'd made him at least an hour ago, maybe two. He'd ditched the gems where it was highly unlikely any humanoid would find them for awhile. That was something he'd become rather handy at--ditching evidence on the fly. He'd lost track of time now, but it felt like days. He couldn't remember when he'd slept last or eaten for that matter. He'd taken it on when he'd just gotten over the deepest part of a rather merciless case of some sort of bug. He was still running a fever, although it wasn't quite as wicked as it had been. Still, it was a stupid time for espionage. His body wasn't keeping up like he needed it to, and that made a marathon through the streets of Istanbul even more brutal.

He fell once, pulled himself up and stumbled blindly down yet another twisting pitch black street, with just about everyone with a weapon hot on his heels, it seemed. He fell a second time. They were surely gaining on him now. He was going to be caught. That was inevitable. One step or one block. It was going to happen, and he knew what they did in Istanbul for crimes like this.

Damnit.

He didn't scare easily but he was scared now--he was out of time.He reached in his pocket and grasped blindly for the picture he had of Hallie. He just wanted to see her one more time and then he would torch the picture like he'd torched the blueprint. He hadn't wanted to be separated from her again, but now he had to torch her image to keep her alive. He'd be damned if he led them to her.

And in London, Robert was working late--again. He was short staffed, and he had more matters for his Unspeakables and for his aurors than he had agents for.  He surely didn't need any more coffee, that was for sure. He was tired of seeing the moonlight out his office window in the middle of the night instead of seeing moonlight from his bedroom at this hour.

He stepped out of his office and saw the little night girl at his secretary's desk. "I'm expecting someone. Let her in when she gets here, would you? I'll be back in five. Give her my apologies for being late. If I don't get some bloody cigarettes, I'm going to have a fit, I think." He smoked maybe five cigarettes a year, but tonight, he'd smoked that many since dinnertime. He needed a pack of smokes, and a short walk.

Augustus Rookwood was up to no good, as was typical. Only this time, he had something interesting to report. He had done his job. So to speak. It was a self-assigned mission, of course – one that he felt was going to get him back in the Minster’s good books. He needed the ear of government once more, although the reason for why that was is currently neither privy to me, dear reader, or anyone else. This one is a law unto himself, after all. Nevertheless, with his Machiavellian-cum-Cromwellian aspirations, the Roowood patriarch was interested in weaselling his way back into the fold. And how did he plan on doing that, you ask? Well, he had information. Whatever information the Minister wanted, really, but something he thought would be particularly helpful and pertinent to him currently.

Now, Augustus was no fool. As he wandered through the Ministry, retracing his formally well-trodden steps, he couldn’t help but wonder to himself it this was a good plan or if he was making a mistake. He was a known Death Eater, albeit they now could no longer pin anything on him. He was careful – much more careful than he had ever been when the Dark Lord had been alive. They couldn’t put him prison again over that sordid little detail. Regardless, he felt a little bit marked. He couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable as he walked down the halls. Purpose was in his stride for more than one reason – he didn’t want to linger out in the open for very long.

It didn’t take long, blessedly, for him to reach the Minister’s offices. Security was lax enough at this time of night that he didn’t really have to worry too much about it. He entered in the usual manner, with the usual aplomb, and the secretary looked up, hesitance flashing over her features. So she recognised him. He appraised her with a quick flick of his eyes over her form. He conceded that, probably, she was the right age. She must have been old enough to remember his wanted posters, even if she had been a little girl when they had been pasted all over the United Kingdom. Where was this wizard? A few weeks away from being back in prison, that was where. Not now though, he was entirely different now – but of course it was a hard reputation to shirk.

“I want to see—”

At that moment, an office door opened and Augustus stood his ground, observing the creature who repaired towards the secretary. She nodded dutifully and the Rookwood rose a dark eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

“Long night?” He queried.

He honestly hadn't noticed Rookwood standing in the outer office until he spoke.

"Indeed," Robert replied. "Good evening, Rookwood."  Anyone coming here at this hour surely wasn't coming to see his secretary.  He would have to change plans.

"Might I go down to the all night shop and get your cigarettes for you, Minister?" the secretary asked quietly. She wasn't sure whether he wanted her here or out of the way.  She wasn't sure about leaving Robert with any Rookwood. She knew her history. Unlike his daytime secretary, Daisy was quick, bright, and brilliantly efficient--always managed to keep up with Robert. In point of fact, unlike his daytime secretary, he happened to like Daisy and wanted to keep her on board.  

She hadn't worked for him long, but she was certainly quick enough to learn that if he worked all night several nights in a row, it became increasingly important to keep him stocked in what few vices he had--chiefly firewhiskey, coffee, and (when food was required) fish and chips from the Leaky. A pack of cigarettes was a red flag for Daisy. Something was up. Something had him excessively stressed and on an fine edge if he were smoking at all.

"Sure," he relented, reaching into his pocket for a few galleons and tossing them to her. She snatched them easily, as if she were just picking them out of the air.  He liked that about her, really. It was a little quirky thing, and she seemed to enjoy the challenge of seeing how many coins she could grasp in mid air. So far, she hadn't disappointed. Besides that, he did, in fact, want her otherwise occupied if Augustus Rookwood was here. An errand, even momentary, was a good thing.

"I'll be straight back," she said, getting up quickly.

"Do not let him talk you into those god-awful weedy tasting, stale Pall Malls he's trying to get liquidated," Robert took a moment to instruct her. "Muggle cigarettes aren't worth the paper they're rolled in. No decent wizard buys them. He knows what I like, and he's always got them in stock. Don't let him tell you he's out. If he tries that, here's what you do. Snatch his newspaper--its laying alongside the cash register. Open it up and fold it backwards. He hates that just because he's a cranky buggar and he knows it. Moreover, he knows I know it. Then simply turn your back to him, lean on his glass display case because he hates that even more. Then just read the newspaper until it annoys the hell out of him. Ought to take you about ten seconds flat, and you won't need to say another word. You'll have your cigarettes and be back here sooner than you intended."

She gave him a mischievous grin. She did have a bit of Irish in her, and she delighted much too much in using it. She pocketed the galleons and left the office, leaving him alone with Rookwood.

"What brings you here at this hour, Rookwood?" he asked, motioning him to follow him back into Robert's office.

Augustus Rookwood was an uncomfortably unwelcome sight on ministerial property. Setting eyes on him of all people after emerging from his office, and from a nap in turn, was the last thing Elijah Krum wanted to do that evening. However, the appearance of Elijah was, for Augustus, seemingly the best part of his evening because it meant he had two ministers at his beck and call – so to speak. Elijah knew he would need a few cups of coffee yet before he could summon the will to care for what the Rookwood had to say. There were too many Rookwoods about for his tastes. Theodore was enough even on a good day. Dealing with Hogwarts had been impossible since he was reinstated, not least because Elijah was sure that Theo was still sore about the marriage law and how it had affected his students. For the Ministry since then, Hogwarts had been like Fort Knox – there was no getting in for anything that even smelt vaguely ministerial.

As it was, Elijah had been amusing himself with a different problem altogether. Stella Cormier. Oh, sorry, no. Caroline Blake. Caroline Cabot. Whatever twice-damned moniker the blonde was going for this week. She had presented more evidence to him, marking the two years since she’d resumed her investigation with a proverbial bang. He had felt that the bouncy, curly-haired four-year-old on her hip was a bit of a misnomer given that it was the child’s father that she was betraying. He had almost felt it wrong for the small girl to be there but business trumped private concerns every time. This was business. Owen Cabot’s business was Ministry business. Which made it Elijah’s business. Only, he really rather wished it wasn’t – especially now with the added bonus of Augustus turning up to ruin his day, another man who personified dodgy dealing.

“He has something to tell us,” Elijah deduced, carving his fingers through his hair that had been mussed by the awkward position he’d slept in, curled up on the leather sofa in his office. It was too long now, overdue a cut by weeks.

“Ten points to Slytherin,” the Rookwood man drawled sardonically, rolling his eyes, clearly unimpressed with the state of the Deputy Minister. It was a position he had long coveted for himself, after all said and done. Seeing a boy, no less a Krum, in the position did rile him somewhat.

“I’m not going to be civil about this, Rookwood,” Elijah sniped at him. “State your business then be gone or I’ll have you reacquainted with the Dementors.”

Even though white hot panic shot through him, you wouldn’t have noticed by the calm look on Augustus Rookwood’s face. Dementors. His lip curled with distaste and his fingers furled tightly into his palms to stop them wavering over his pocketed wand.

“You have a potions problem,” he addressed the minister quickly. “I have a few answers for you … for a price.”

He trusted Eli's assessment. After all, Robert knew precious little about Rookwoods other than by reputation.  Eli had more on this particular subject.  As Robert watched him address Eli though, Rookwood did appear to view himself as being in the catbird seat tonight for some reason.  This, he figured, should be interesting indeed.

And then came the first curveball.  The potions problem. Robert hadn't even mentioned that little issues yet to Eli. He was hoping that the Unspeakables could deal with it. He had recruited some of them and a couple of special agents and assigned them to look into it. How the heck did Rookwood have an inside track to it? And what did he want for whatever information he had?

"I don't buy mystery bags, Rookwood," Robert said with his typical stone faced demeanor, not wanting to appear overly interested. "But I have a few moments. Let's chat, shall we?" He motioned Eli and Rookwood to both follow him into his office.

On his way into the office, a figure suddenly ported into his office a few inches from the floor and fell very ungracefully face down onto the rug with an unglamorous "whump" and then was motionless. The man had almost ported right in where Robert was about to take his next step.  Clumsy porting, perhaps? Rooky mistake? Robert frowned. Who the heck was this?

He knelt down to see who it was. Rick Cooper--one of the aces Robert was keeping up his sleeve. Few even knew Cooper was still alive after all these years. Robert wasn't hiding the fact that Cooper hadn't died after all, but Cooper's new preferences for introversion had kept his re-emergence into the wizarding world a virtual secret. So far as Robert knew, though, Cooper had no current assignment other than to try to rebuild some sort of personal life. If this was how he was doing it, Cooper was seriously deficient in personal skills.

And of all things, Cooper just had to choose this particular moment, with Augustus Rookwood in the room, to buggar up a porting spell and end up sprawled on Robert's rug. Fabulous. Might as well splash it all over the papers.  The Minister was the only one who was, truthfully, supposed to know who was an Unspeakable and who was not. Eli wasn't entirely filled in on that, but Robert suspected Eli often knew more than he said.  However--he didn't need Rookwood to know much about Rick Cooper whatsoever.  That struck him vaguely as potentially a match made in purgatory.

Robert touched Cooper's forehead to check him.  He was alive but utterly exhausted, and he was carrying a bit of a virus of some sort.  

"Just step over him," Robert said casually to Eli and Rookwood. He motioned for them to sit. "He'll come to in a moment or two. Something to drink for either of you? There's Earl Gray in the kettle on the hearth, or firewhiskey if you prefer something a bit more spirited."

It was no small decision to put himself behind Rookwood. He didn’t trust any wizard as far as he could throw them but Augustus Rookwood was an entirely different beast altogether, not necessarily because he was a dark wizard, either. It was because he was an eternal wild card. He was the box of chocolates that Forrest Gump had spoken of. No one quite knew what they were going to get next with a Rookwood, let alone life.

His manipulations were legend and the Department of Mysteries still seemed to shudder when his name was mentioned. James Potter, in particular, always felt a little bit more unsteady than most, having taken up the gauntlet that Rookwood had put down in disgrace after being rooted out of the Ministry. Conducting another man’s research… it was a difficult pair of shoes to step into no matter the man who had come before, but Rookwood? For a Potter already laden in his own problems, that only added to the acute sense that something in his life was awry. And yet, under his care, the research had done nothing but flourish.

Elijah couldn’t have helped himself but wonder what it would have been like if Rookwood hadn’t turned and as he eyed the back of the man’s, one half of his mind on the spell he’d cast if Augustus got belligerent, he couldn’t stop thinking of what a shame it all was. His absence had done much to disrupt the lives of the Rookwoods. Elijah had half an inkling to ask after Kendall. His brother in arms. His friend. But he didn’t. He kept his tongue. It was useless, after all.

In entering behind Augustus, Elijah set his gaze on the crumpled form on the floor last. He glanced up from the figure, meeting the sienna gaze that Augustus shared with his son. They shone quizzically, as though asking whether or not this was a usual occurrence in the Minister’s offices. Elijah gave a half shrug. It wasn’t unusual, it conveyed. Still, not exactly quite usual. Elijah rolled his lips together and did as bid, stepping over the man. Augustus, in a show of strange reverence, elected to walk around him, the office being, after all, big enough to do so.

The two trailing wizards went separate ways – Elijah to the tea, Augustus to the firewhisky. They eyed each other again, as though judging the other’s choice, but neither showed any indication of having learned anything from such a revelation. Augustus lowered himself down into one of the comfy looking leather-backed chairs opposite the desk and swilled the whisky while Elijah remained by the hearth, turning the teacup around in his hands.

“It’s a boon of a mystery bag,” Augustus told the minister with a smirk.

“Is it?” Elijah responded with incredulity lacing his tone.

“Of course,” the Rookwood replied with a chuckle. “Do you not keep your ear to the floor anymore, Krum? Can you no longer hear when the earth shifts?”

“What shift have you heard, then, that’s so important?” Elijah asked, bringing his cup down from his mouth.

“Are you going to buy the mystery bag, or not?” He tested.

"Perhaps," Robert acknowledged Rookwood's request. "Depends on the price, after all. I'm not interested in buying a pig in a poke. What exactly are you asking for this boon of a bag?" Rookwoods didn't need money, not so far as Robert knew. He figured Augustus to want something more significant than that.  It did make him curious as to how Rookwood would know about the potions problem. Robert had felt that he'd kept it relatively hush hush for now. He knew there would be rumors swirling sooner or later about tainted potions, but how did it gain momentum so quickly? And just what, exactly, was Augustus Rookwood up to? Eli appeared to be equally as suspicious, and Robert hoped between the two of them, they'd figure this out.  Okay, so, yeah, Robert realized he should have read Eli in on the potions issue, but so far, it seemed to have only been Robert's own potion that he produced at St. Mungos that had been tinkered with, and the potions lab had very strict protective charms that should have kept almost everyone else but Khaat and himself out--unless there was an issue with the protective charm that Robert had not been able to find yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cooper start to move.  He wanted Cooper to not spill any more beans in this audience than necessary.  He went over to him. Cooper groaned and tried to right himself. He was obviously confused at finding himself here--as if this were the last place in creation he had expected to end up.  Well, that couldn't be good either. Hopefully the man was good on the fly.

"Let me give you a hand," Robert said, reaching down to help him up.  Cooper could barely hold himself on his feet. He looked like hell. He was dirty and drenched in sweat.  That didn't bode well. Cooper was a good agent, one that always worked alone. If he were in this shape, Robert's best guess was that whatever he was working on had gone sideways somehow. Worst scenario? Been made, perhaps? Robert was betting he'd have to help Cooper clean up whatever he'd been into. Definitely was going to take more tea or coffee--and cigarettes.

"You're welcome to join us long enough to get yourself together, my friend.  Where were you?"  The question was rhetorical. Cooper surely wouldn't resort to truth right here, right now.

"Accident," he muttered, making his way to a chair on the other side of the room from guests.  He sank into the chair heavily, sighing. Probably a good idea, Robert thought. Cooper was going to be aromatic soon without a shower no doubt. "Tried a mountain climbing holiday and buggared it," Cooper recovered. Well, that would explain his appearance well enough.

"Well, no rope is a good way to buggar it," Robert frowned, playing along, but needing to justify no rope or carabiner or harness with Cooper.

"Yeah, decided to try freehanding it."

"Idiot," he rebuffed his agent. Robert went over and poured Cooper a double shot of firewhiskey and handed it to him. Then he turned to Eli and to Rookwood. "My apologies for my lack of introductions. Eli, Rookwood, this is my not-so-wise friend, Rick.  Rick, I don't think you've probably met Elijah Krum or Augustus Rookwood."

Rick took a sip of the firewhiskey and tried to catch his breath a bit. "Charmed," he said tiredly and not interested in trying to focus in on a political discussion until he'd had time to let his brain shift from Istanbul where he'd been so sure he was going to die and then in the next breath being in England in the Minister's office. And he hadn't had a wand. His had gotten snapped in half. How the hell did he get here?

"We can speak freely in front of Rick," Robert said. "When he's not being stupid, he works for me."  That was all anyone needed to know right now.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Augustus greeted the fourth man in the room. There was a hesitance, albeit also a sardonic edge, to his words that made the Krum smirk. Those sienna eyes roved about in the dark-rimmed sockets and found the creature stood by the hearth. Elijah’s heart clenched again and he sighed, dropping his eyes to the pools of his tea as he tried to ward off the desire to ask after his friend. He had his own Kendall-related guilt to nurse, after all. He daren’t bring up any of Augustus’. Merlin knew, the man had plenty.

“The potions, Augustus,” Elijah reminded him softly. “Tell us about the potions.” He could wait to demand the answers to the questions in the Rookwood’s eyes. He wanted to know, too, who this Rick was. Rick obviously wasn’t the whole package deal. Elijah had his suspicions but he was sure that, with a whole name, it would become a lot more evident what he was. But he was one of Robert’s which alone made it clear that he was one of the Ministry’s, also. He was good.

The dark wizard eyed the newcomer suspiciously and swilled his firewhisky idly, as though mulling over whether or not he should bother telling his tale. He suspected that Elijah would make good on the earlier threat about sending him back to the Dementors. As embroiled in matters that would have earned him the same fate as the Krum wizard was, Augustus knew that he shouldn’t cross the man any more than he already had.

“They’re being distributed rather well, for a start,” he commented, a smirk growing across his lips. “The potions trade … illegal,” he corrected himself, “the illegal potions trade, for some unknown reason, is booming. There was a messy business when, during the marriage law debacle, people were taking potions to hide their fertility or some rubbish. Caused a lot of permanent infertility, those, until some clever chap came up with a potion to reverse it. They’re also being used for couples who struggle, you see, but they’ve had some interesting side-effects…”

“What?” Elijah prompted, concern furrowing his brows.

“Squibs,” Augustus replied, turning his head to look at the Deputy Minister. “They’ve all had Squibs. Not a drop of magic in any of the children. Which begs the question why, no?”

“How many families?”

“Not too many,” Augustus shrugged. “Poor half-bloods and muggle lovers, mostly. Wasted magic. Perhaps it’s right they should be born with inadequate children.”

“There’s nothing inadequate about Squibs, Rookwood,” Elijah growled, stepping forward with menace in his eyes.

“And yet, you still call them Squibs, not something politically correct like non-magic folk? Think on that, Deputy Minister. Nevertheless,” he returned his eyes to Robert. “Imagine my interest when I’m at one of the depots and in amongst all of this nonsense I find some of your potions. Poor imitations, of course, but your potions nonetheless. And then … the addictive potions they’re being used to create. Interesting little escapist dittanies. Perhaps the question should be framed more along the lines of – what are you going to do about it, minister, rather than what knowledge I have to offer?”

Elijah sighed again and squeezed the bridge of his nose, sorely wishing he'd booked the holiday time he'd been umm-ing and ahh-ing over after Christmas. It was going to be a long night, wasn't it?

(ok, so i just created a new position but for the right creative mind, this job might actually be fun. I think we could use a wizard version of Q. Oh, and awesome job on that post. Nice!   )

Rookwood's information did sound on the level. It made too much sense in light of what little bits of information Robert did know.  Rookwood's bag had indeed been a boon of a bag.

Illegal potions dealings never surprised him. He honestly had to thank Rob Dent to some extent. The illegal potions lab that Rob had left behind, or more accurately, had been forced out of, had been very telling. It had been very revealing about how the illegals market worked. What Robert knew about it had been only expanded, and both times the lab had been destroyed, Robert had taken great revengeful delight in allowing himself to obliterate it using the anger that only a vengeful father could feel when he needed to get back at the groom who had promised never to hurt his father-in-law's pride and joy.

He had spit second visions of wanting to find the wizard who was creating so much destruction in this new vein of illegals by finding the lab and allowing himself to unhinge there and blow the place to bits. He particularly loved watching the brightly colored glass vials and colorful potions splatter as he exploded them. It was rather like fireworks but with a satisfying bitter edge to them that allowed him to release his venomous wrath at such evil. Violence for a good cause. Dumbledore would have approved, he was sure, because he had enjoyed such things like Robert did.

He remembered the black dementor-like cape and the enchanted death eater mask that replaced any view of his face with an image of a gaping black misty hole--the one that still gave Michael the shivers, even as fearless as Michael often was. Perhaps there would be use for it again. The last Robert had worn it was to help destroy James Blood's lair almost three years ago.  The mission had been serious business, but there was some pleasure in being able to be more himself behind the mask than he'd ever have been able to do without it. It was who Robert had become--the man behind a usually-expressionless mask.  Yes, the costume might be useful again with the obligatory seek-and-destroy mission that lay in front of them now.  Robert didn't have time for the 'seek' portion. That would need to go to an Unspeakable, but Robert wanted to be in on the cathartic Destroy part. Definitely. He glanced towards Rick for a split second, and Rick clearly hadn't missed it.  

"Well, I figured that the beast that Mr. Pierce created would grow tentacles," Robert sighed, annoyed that Pierce had managed to do so much damage and then literally slip away like a wisp of black smoke. "When things like that happen, sometimes we can only wait until they show up.  Now that we know it, we can go wrestle it. That seems to be to obvious response, anyway. Every member of our wizarding society, regardless of magical ability, needs to be free from any residual damage that Mr. Pierce started. And besides that, I really just don't want my potions tinkered with any further. I hate potions identity theft." He wasn't going to get involved in the politically-correct verbage despute.

Frankly, though, he was such a rigid perfectionist with his potions that he truly deeply despised anyone swiping another potion maker's identity. Aside from being against magical law, it was against the unwritten ethical code between potions makers. It just wasn't done because it was ridiculously bad form. Besides that, it was bloody difficult to do and could only be done by someone with above Hogwarts grad level skills.  Someone with perhaps Lorcan D'Eath's level of abilities? D'Eath was surely capable of it, but D'Eath was also a perfectionist, and he had that unfailing potions maker ethics. Robert didn't see D'Eath as being willing to defy that set of ethics. Not only did D'Eath appear to have a colossal ego that would keep his thinking from lowering himself to those standards, there wasn't much purpose in it for him.  He'd wanted the marriage law stopped as much as any of them if not more.  To do this would simply be against what Lorcan had fought for. Lorcan didn't want the number of magic toting wizards reduced. No, this sounded far more like Pierce's motivations to him. Pierce indeed new no bounds. There was no low to which he wasn't willing to stoop if he thought it would accomplish his purpose, but Robert didn't know if Pierce was capable of anything but rudimentary potions. It did beg the question, though. Annoyed further by his own private musings, Robert added another shot to his own firewhiskey glass.

As he watched this play out, Rick was going to do everything within his power to avoid being assigned a mission right now. Not until he'd cleaned up the mess in Istanbul. There was a price on his head now, and some very aggressive wizards who intended to find him.  Not to mention they wanted what the believed he still had, what he'd almost died for.  He didn't know Lupin well, but he did know one thing. Lupin was a spymaster who didn't know how to let things go--a chessmaster who refused to lose. He would strike back with whatever he had at his disposal, and Rick was feeling like the handiest thing currently in Lupin's field of vision.  Uncomfortable, Rick quietly set the empty firewhiskey glass aside and got up.

"Going so soon?" Robert asked, turning to him.

"Yeah, I think I might. A shower seems in order," Rick said tiredly, hoping that Robert would get the hint that Rick was too tired to be immediately sent back out into the field.

"You don't have a wand," Robert cast him a bit of a cheeky grin.  He'd figured that when he'd touched him. There was the absense of wand energy that told him Rick was wandless. Rick's eyes only flickered for a brief second in irritation that Robert had already figured out he couldn't just pop home and get out of this. "Go to the DM and see if they might have a spare go bag that you can use."  

That was code for "Go to the Department of Mysteries to the Quartermaster for Unspeakables, Auror and Law Enforcement, and get the reserve go bag that you're all required to stash there with him. Go to the Auror training center, get your shower, and hang around. I'll get you a new wand when I get darned good and ready to give it to you, but don't go anywhere else. You're about to be assigned to a new mission, like it or not." Since Pierce's intrusion, Robert had done a bit of a redesign on the arsenal of Ministry magical weapons and equipment and had placed it under the supervision of a Quartermaster. He'd then placed the Quartermaster under the magical protections of the Department of Mysteries.

Shit, Rick thought. "Capital idea, Minister," Rick smiled gracefully. "Thank you." He nodded a silent farewell to the others and excused himself. It wasn't his pleasure, and he wasn't thankful. He opened the door and started out.

"And don't pilfer my cigarettes again from Liz on your way out," Robert called after him. Rick didn't answer but shut the door and left--for the moment, intending to make cigarette pilfering the first on his mind as his passive aggressive response. It sounded like a good idea in his head, anyway. Robert turned to Eli. "Rookwood has earned some sort of pay. We should entertain some ideas of what he had in mind, I think."  He wanted Eli to assist in negotiating whatever price Rookwood was going to ask because Eli knew their informant better than he did.  "What did you have in mind?" he asked Rookwood, inviting the man to cast his opening bid.

(OOC: Omg omg omg. James would LOVE that role. Can he get a promotion? Haha. If not, eeek. I’d be so game for making a kooky character for it. Also, thank you ;3 Yours have been faaaaab <3)

Potions. Of course. It all came back to potions. Every time. It was a chapter that, despite their best efforts, the combined efforts of everyone at the Ministry had failed to close. Elijah, remembering that Augustus had mentioned one of the depos, strongly suspected that their informant was also partially responsible for the continuation of the trade. This wasn’t an indication that Augustus was turning over a new leaf, his coming to them. No, it was in skywriting – he wanted something. Elijah had half a mind to thank him for what he’d offered and put him in Azkaban anyway. He wasn’t sure that would have been a particularly charitable thing for him to do, however. He buried that thought – not too deeply though, mind you.

The idea that it was that dreadful beast of a man who had usurped power so elegantly the year or so before did unsettle the deputy minister somewhat. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and dropped his gaze to the fire, his mind filling with images of those times. Too fresh, still. There was too much evidence of all of the damage he had done by virtue of being Pierce’s underling. Nothing could assuage the guilt he felt for that, even though he was throwing money and attention into doing so. He was investing left, right, and centre in their magical world and yet the still felt as though the cracks were there, impossible to smooth over. He swallowed another mouthful of tea, determined not to think on it, to block out what Robert was saying about it. Pierce was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

At the sound of the glass hitting the top, Elijah’s head lifted. He watched Rick carefully, as though trying to pick apart with the man and find his secrets with only his eyes. Augustus seemed hell bent on doing the same thing, though no doubt he was pressing his magic around the other man’s mind, seeing whether he could muscle inside.

The frustration showing in the clenched jaw of the dark-haired man confirmed to Elijah that nothing could be accessed. Whether Rick was trained in occlumency to a high standard or whether it was just enough to keep out Rookwood’s cursory probing, Elijah had no idea.

He knew, though, that the Rookwood’s magic was wondering. He could sense the feelers of interest wrapping around portions of his own mind and he had, since he’d first felt him, been playing reruns of cartoons that Alice had taken a liking to over the last few weeks. That was enough to keep him busy, at least. It kept him out of other things. And who didn't enjoy Tom and Jerry?

“The Department of Mysteries has changed somewhat since I was last there.”

Framed like a question though it was, complete with the quirk upwards of a thick eyebrow, Augustus’ words came out more like a statement, an observation that felt as though he had personally seen as much rather than gathered it from the Minister’s words. Elijah treated Rookwood with the contempt he deserved and stoically ignored him while refilling his teacup. He wanted the story of this man – the whole story – and he’d make sure to ask for it once Rookwood was gone.

“Well I want the earth, Minister. Merlin knows, I want the earth,” came the reply as the Irishman settled his hands in his lap. “But from you I want a position. Here. In the Ministry. And not some dozy back room position, either. I want something worth having – and I’ll make it worth your while to give me it.”

Elijah’s eyes flicked over to Robert’s questioningly, as though to say ‘really? Are we really going to do this?’ Dementors, Robert, he wanted to say. Dementors are still an option here.