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“These are all the magical children in New York City?”
Seraphina scans over the table with piles of files upon it. Birth certificates are organized alphabetically by last name. The senior aurors on duty stand around the conference table, wands out to sort the information. Stacks of brown folders float into place, spreading out so they overlap enough to show each name typed on the tabs.
Oscar Ashenfelter nods, thoughtful. As the oldest auror on the force by a minimum of three decades, his silver hair and wrinkles are out of place but not unwelcome. Ashenfelter’s ability to find hidden patterns in large volumes of data and reports has broken impossible cases. His speciality is bad leads and broad searches through carefully curated files.
“About two thousand under the age of eleven, ma’am.” His charming smile is absent. Instead of enhancing his good humor, his wrinkles are lines of stress radiating out from his mouth and eyes.
Flawless glamor hides the evidence of her own sleepless nights.
Seraphina remains silent. Two thousand is almost manageable. But there is no time. She cannot have the on-duty aurors divide the workload between them so they have to react to any future obscurus attacks from their desks. They cannot stand for any more casualties— wizard or nomaj. Senator Shaw’s death was an unacceptable violation of a multitude of laws.
The sooner the threat is off the streets, the sooner MACUSA can put this mess behind them. She is worn thin by the pressure of the International Confederation. A room full of foreign dignitaries screeching, hysterical, about the largest breach in the Statue is enough to make her get involved at the lower levels. The dance of politics is manageable until it turns into a lunge for her throat.
(Percival is surly from the fruitless investigation. His temper has been shorter than it has ever been— for good reason. She’ll have his head if he doesn’t wrap this up. Tonight, preferably, so they can all settle down and take a moment to breathe.
This is a stain on their reputations. The longer it drags on, the harder it will be to scrub out of recent memory).
“I would, though…” Ashenfelter reaches out for the empty birth certificate. Gardner hands it over, stepping back to watch over his shoulder. “Obscurials are usually no older than eleven, correct?”
Moss looks up from the books she suspended around her. “I think so?”
They have no time for hesitation or false parameters. Seraphina’s glare pushes the young auror to elaborate with a defensive blush. As president, her authority is greater than Percival’s. The auror department becomes a panicked, fumbling group of school children whenever she pokes her nose in an investigation.
“I have very little information. These journals are old and completely anecdotal.”
The chalk board behind her is covered in messy cursive as Moss records any useful information about obscurials and obscurus attacks. The dates are all predictable: the Salem Witch Trials. Ages of the obscurials cluster around six, nine, and eleven.
“Mr. Ashenfelt—”
“Age parameter from five to twelve,” he says as he taps the empty form with his wand. The files reshuffle with the whisper of paper, sending a portion of the files to the side.
“Female or male?” He asks the room, thinking.
“No correlation,” Moss answers. Chalk squeaks on the board as it writes, frantic, to keep up with her reading. Lines describing the damage, the poor health of the child. Fear, anger. So much violence and prejudice.
The files stay put as the senior auror frowns at them.
“If the child was attending school, wouldn’t there be a report of improper magic? If they were unable to use magic, they wouldn’t be allowed in Ilvermorny.” Seraphina looks to Ashenfelter for his opinion. Other schools may have different policies, but Ilvermorny is notorious for upholding the ‘highest European standard’.
A child who had not yet shown signs of being magical would not make it a week. Late bloomers have difficulties getting in— Lord knows her parents had to fight and pull her father’s rank as a decorated auror in order to get her in the door as an unorthodox student.
“Sure, we could take those who attend Ilvermorny out of the equation. Gardner—”
“On it.” Gardner heads towards the door, then pauses. “Do you want a list of domestic crime reports, too?”
“Yes.”
Gardner is the kind of auror Seraphina likes. Percival would prefer more leadership from him, but she is content with unambitious, loyal subordinates. Gardner is happy with his job and sees no reason to do anything more to get himself punished for good work.
He heads the team working with informats. Percival described his ability to change personality like a flip of a switch. Gardner is a gentleman among decent company, almost as polite as Percival without the easy charm.
“Madam President,” Ashenfelter’s tone is wary. His ice-pale eyes are filled with worry.
“It is possible the child moved here recently— or the child isn’t American. MACUSA is not notified all current addresses of citizens and visiting wizards. Sneaking into the country happens all the time. That could explain the sudden nature of the attacks.”
The chalk Moss charmed slows its writing as the auror listens in. She cannot have much more information to gather. There is a woeful lack of text on this situation. The Salem Trials was a time of chaos and survival. No one was interested in studying children as their magic tore them apart.
He is right. This is more impossible than not.
“Work with what we have.” She needs to refocus them. If Percival could finish his interrogation in a timely manner so he can keep his aurors from unravelling from the stress, Seraphina would appreciate it. The aurors don’t have a connection to her like they do with him; she intrudes on their space whether she means well or not.
“The international community has been informed of the obscurial existence, so do not focus on non-American wizards. We need to operate under the assumption foreign governments would have noticed a serious situation like this one.”
Ashenfelter lifts a shoulder in a shrug but doesn’t disagree out loud. Relying on other governments for competence isn't ideal.
“I was thinking...” Gardner’s voice signals his return, a stack of files as tall as him floating behind. His dark eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. “What sort of situations create obscurials? I’ll match these records with the ones here, and we can see if there have been reports of domestic—”
The door bangs off the wall behind him.
Seraphina whips around, ready to chew out Goldstein and her rude interruptions. Percival needs to get ahold of her. She acts like an unruly child! No respect—
“Madam President!” A junior pants, clutching the door as he struggles to breathe. She blanks on his name but stiffens at his tone. Another attack? But the alarms haven't been triggered--
“Graves, he sentenced Goldstein and that Brit to death—”
“On what grounds?” She demands, forcing herself to remain cold. The present aurors freeze, startled like deer.
The junior shrinks in the face of her undisguised anger. “He ordered it immediately—we don’t know!”
Anxiety ripples through the room, potent.
Seraphina closes her eyes in resigned shock. She has been expecting news concerning him. Percival has never been more overworked. Not since his near-death with Grindelwald in July. Stress colors his hair a premature grey at the sides. First Grindelwald, then this. He has been trying to crack this case for weeks, frustrated with helplessness as the attacks grew exponentially in scale and damage.
Percival was going to cross a line. It was inevitable. After all the years he’s spent working in law enforcement, Seraphina knows he has little patience for arbitrary limitations. Congress thinks he is a nightmare— Percival asks for forgiveness, not approval, when lives are at stake.
Seraphina expected an explosion of temper or an unsanctioned manhunt. Declaring a state of emergency to give himself the power he needs to get the job done. Bypassing her office so she can’t harp at him for reckless decisions until he returns with the obscurus under control and wearing that smug not-smile he is horrible at hiding from her.
Not this.
Damn it, Percival! What the hell are you doing?
“Where is he?” Seraphina abandons the list of magical children they were sorting. This is serious.
Mercy Lewis,
Percival. An English citizen, too? The Minister of Magic is going to be unmanageable ontop of being useless. Fawley is already too much of a handful.
The junior is panicked. “We don’t know! He left without a word!”
Percival Graves!
“But Goldstein and the Brit, they escaped—”
“Thank God.” Seraphina’s relief sweeps through her with such power she takes the Lord’s name in vain. Now it is only a major diplomatic scandal instead of a crime. Because that is going to cause less chaos for MACUSA.
Davis, another one of Percival's aurors, pokes his head in the room. His expression is grim but with an appreciated less amount of panic. Seraphina takes a quick breath to force her magic down under her feet. It rumbles like an old mountain.
“Madam President, a few of us did a cursory sweep of the execution room and lower floors. Neither Graves, Goldstein, nor Scamander were anywhere to be seen. There are five aurors injured, not including the executioners. All of them are showing signs of unnatural confusion and memory loss.”
His eyes narrow. “Do you want us to conduct a manhunt?”
“For Goldstein and Scamander? No. I don’t care about them right now.” Seraphina thinks, developing a plan of action. She needs to address the Auror Department now and put an end to this growing hysteria. They’ll be useless soon if she doesn’t get them refocused.
Goldstein is nothing more than a young, headstrong auror. Scamander is… careless and passionate. Neither trait is criminal on its own. But nothing,
nothing
constitutes immediate execution without a trial. Not when the accused are secured in an interrogation room.
Percival has killed— and has no qualms about it— when necessary. A Killing Curse in the field can save lives. Only if it is used as a last resort, as a retaliation to a serious threat. Executions are punishments. To give the death sentence without a trial… he’s hiding something. No way on the Lord’s green earth was Percival threatened by one auror and Theseus’ younger brother.
“I need to speak to the department.” Seraphina heads for the door, hearing the lack of people at her back. “Everyone,
now.”
They jump after her, the staticky silence grim and tense. Her magic wants to billow up in a spray of anger. Release the pressure of her tumerouls emotions fighting through her body. Confusion strangles rational— trying to get her to lash out.
Her mind chants Percival’s name, picking apart the syllables as if that could explain inexcusable behavior. Why did he do this to her? Now, of all times, he had to lose his mind?
Or he’s acting just fine— and it is him that is out of line, not his judgement. Seraphina will figure out which it is when she is face to face with him. Observers be damned— it is going to be a loud, hot conversation. If she doesn’t kill him out of sheer frustration.
“Madam President!”
The Minister of Magic rushes down the perpendicular hall, robes flapping and expression less furious than she would expect for such a transgression.
“Ms. Picquery— what is the meaning of this?”
The aurors slink back to give them space. She refuses to stop walking, instead lifting her chin and lengthening her strides. She has practiced to make most men have to rush after her. Seraphina does not have the patience to deal with the dramatic Minister. He catches up to her as she rounds the corner to the bullpen, already deep into a complaint.
“Graves does
not
have the authority to order one of
my
citizens to death!” His voice raises. What a hysterical man. “This is unacceptable—!”
“The director will face proper disciplinary action when we find him.” Her voice kills the gossipy chatter of the bullpen. The Minister huffs, flustered and worked up. His face is red from exertion.
“With all due respect,” he starts, meaning none of it. “Your director has gone rouge— you think you can bring in your most powerful auror?”
Seraphina's sideways glare withers his confidence. Fawley may dress the part, but no amount of formal wear could stiffen his spine. It is as weak as his leadership.
“I apologize on behalf of MACUSA for the situation. We may talk later—
after
the situation has been dealt with.” She leaves no room for pushback. He is dismissed with all the cold grace she can pack into her voice. Her anger clings to her skin, magic bubbling. Fawley notices it, stepping away.
“I’ll be expecting it, ma’am.” He sniffs, then flees.
When she turns back to face the bullpen, thirty aurors are looking to her for guidance. All of them wear expressions of confusion, fear, or stone-hard anger. An explosive mix. If she can direct them to be productive instead of destructive, this may be salvageable.
“Director Graves has overstepped his power and sentenced Goldstein and a British citizen to death. Without trial, without warning. And certainly without appropriate authority. In addition to finding the obscurus, Graves needs to be located and brought in.”
“Are you going to fire him?” Someone dares to ask. Seraphina clenches her jaw, tightens her clasped hands. Her magic surges from her belly up to fingers. She holds it there with iron control.
“If I don't strangle him first.” No one reacts because she is not joking. She
should
fire him for insubordination. If he isn't hit with criminal charges within the next half hour.
“And Goldstein?”
“She and Scamander are not a priority. I do not know what they might have done to warrant an arrest, but they can be dealt with later. Locating the obscurus and Graves are your primary concerns.”
“What if he doesn't come quietly when we make the arrest?”
Seraphina scans the crowd and sees the same fearful reluctance hidden behind typical auror stubbornness. Of course none of them want to duel Graves— she doesn't want to make them. They are right to fear him.
“You are not making an arrest. I am demanding his presence and an explanation. Under no circumstances are any of you to engage Graves in a duel. Report back his location until the entire department can respond as support if he refuses.”
Seraphina will give him a fight he won’t forget if he makes a fuss. At this point, she’d welcome the chance to hurl hexes at his face. Burn out whatever has gotten into him of late. A public dressing down would take the piss out of him. He’d be furious, but if that’s the way to get him to understand how much he has shamed MACUSA, how much he’s personally damaged her professional reputation already...
“Is he after the obscurus?”
“It is not known to me why Graves is acting this way—” She halts, spotting Valencia rushing towards her, handsome face thunderous with anger. Seraphina’s stomach vanishes elsewhere in apprehension.
He stops just off center from her, at a distance to let everyone hear him without raising his voice. Valencia is a long-time MACUSA employee. Seraphina has never seen him this worked up, this consumed with anger. He silences the wired room. Tension rises.
“Madam President, we found Senior auror James McCaffrey in Graves’ office. Dead.”
The dismay punching through the crowd is distracting, demoralizing. The ground sways under her feet, but she digs her heels in and continues to stand tall.
Merlin and Morgana, if Percival…
Seraphina’s lungs flip inside out, boiling with suppressed magic. “How—?”
“Killing curse from behind the desk.” Valencia’s voice is low, hard as granite.
Damn it!
The rise of anxious magic is strong enough to taste. Like bitter oil coating her throat. Seraphina scrambles for a response, for a way to combat the betrayal eating through her lungs. There is no way to explain this— they don’t have the time to check if Valencia is wrong. If someone else was in Percival’s office.
Guilt points its damning finger.
“I don't know what the hell has gotten into Graves, but no one will engage him.” Never before has Seraphina had to speak past so much emotion filling her hot throat.
“Keep your distance and report his location immediately. Organize yourselves appropriately. I want every inch of this city scoured for the obscurus and Graves.”
Ashenfelter steps forward. “May I return to—”
“Whatever you need to do, do it.
With proper judgement.
You will keep me updated with all developments.” She snaps, unable to keep her emotions private. To not react now would alienate the aurors. They cannot see her falter, but she’ll allow them her anger.
He nods, retaining his polite demeanor. “Of course, ma’am.”
With the aurors dismissed, she turns to Valencia. Leads him a dozen paces away from the mess unfolding in the bullpen as the aurors sort themselves into task teams. His bold magic weaves around him like a serpent, protective in this uncertainty. She can’t get a read of his thoughts when she stares into his dark eyes.
“Are you sure—”
“I don’t know who else it could be,” Valencia interrupts her to be as concise as possible. “The locks were not touched. There was no evidence of a struggle. Graves was seen returning to his office for a moment. McCaffery must have confronted him—”
“And killed him?” Seraphina hisses. “Percival wouldn’t—”
“Ma’am, Graves
could.
He is capable of being a vicious bastard,” Valencia presses. “You know that.”
Seraphina turns her head away, forcing back the fear wanting to ruin her composure. She knows he could. Percival has always been ruthless. He is a successful director because of that— but his character balanced him out. His sense of justice and his morals...
“I don’t understand—” Why Percival would murder an employee. That is one successful attempt, two near misses now. All within a span of fifteen minutes? Ten?
“I don’t know. He is deadly when he needs to be. Now it seems he
wants
to be.”
“There is no reason for him to do this!”
“We’re missing something.” Valencia grabs her hand, steadying her without a word. “It is possible McCaffrey was up to something… Graves is unpredictable right now.”
“What happened in the interrogation room?” She straightens up. Percival had to have discovered something from Goldstein and Scamander. A plot, perhaps? A reason to justify their immediate execution. McCaffrey must have been involved, too.
“Something must have—” She cannot control her desperation. Seraphina realizes it is fear sinking into her bones. Under the anger, fear destroys.
“We’re not going to know unless we find Goldstein and Scamander.” Valencia cuts in, then sighs. “You just told us to leave them alone. They’re on the run. Unless you want us to give up searching for Graves, we can’t look for them.”
He is right. They have to prioritize. Obscurus, then Graves. And after, when she’s sufficiently yelled at Graves then the department can bring Goldstein and her British troublemaker in to set the record straight.
“Alright, I’ll…” Seraphina trails off, unsure of where to start. How can she help?
Valencia’s face thaws at the edges. “It is very possible Graves has a good reason for this. The director has always been a few steps ahead of everyone else. If you can talk to him, it should get sorted out.”
Seraphina nods.
“Graves isn’t violating the Statute of Secrecy, so until then I want more focus on the obscurus. It is a threat to all. We need to get it off the streets at all costs.” She had her moment of confusion. It is time to be president again. Determined, confident.
Lord, give me the strength to get through this day.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Where is that bloody bastard?!”
Seraphina turns, recognizing the familiar British snarl. The elder Scamander marches towards her, wand drawn and expression murderous. He must have taken a portkey over, informed by the helpful Minister of Magic. If he was asleep when the news reached him, she cannot tell. Aurors are easily identified by long coats, grandiose attitudes, and permanent exhaustion.
She motions for the remaining few aurors to stand down, allowing Theseus storm forward. His magic crackles, surging before him in an oppressive wave of fury. Seraphina curbs her response. As distracting as another Scamander is going to be, she understands his reaction. It would have been preferable to not deal with him at all— not until everything cooled down.
Today is not going in her favor.
“Mr. Scamander,” she greets, ignoring the confused glances around her.
The elder Scamander is hard edges and prowling magic, every inch of the dangerous duelist he is famed to be. His emotions burn close to the surface, his eyes ablaze. Seraphina met him years ago, a handful of times, after Percival had invited her to experience the Brit’s presence for herself.
It is easy to see the resemblance between the brothers. The protective anger and righteousness are family traits. So are the freckles, red hair, and blue eyes. Theseus’ auburn hair is tamed in an undercut, but contrasts his black coat and suit like a mane nevertheless. Severe, grim colors enhance his attempts at intimidation.
He marches up to her until he is in her face to glare. Seraphina remains where she stands. Percival has made those tricks old and unimpressive to her.
“Madam President,” Theseus keeps his voice level for her title only. “What kind of shiteshow are you running here?”
The aurors flinch. They know better than to say such things to her, even in anger. Theseus, as furious as he is, keeps his wand pointed down. Smart man. The nervous shake of magic is tangible now he is closer, the acidic emotion sparking off his skin.
“Your brother was seen leaving MACUSA unharmed—”
“I am aware he's still breathing,” Theseus growls. “I am asking your forgiveness for when I murder Graves.”
His magic is wound tight around him, best described as a cloak. Shielding, prepared for attack.
Seraphina smiles. “You'll have to duel me for that privilege.”
“No need to be selfish, ma’am.” Theseus laughs, all teeth. “I'll share.”
It is interesting to meet animagi. She isn’t sure if the resemblance to their animal forms is a natural predisposition or if there is a merge of the two halves into one as the wizard ages. Theseus’ voice is rich and powerful, his incisors a little too large and sharp. He seems well suited for the battlefield.
The younger aurors are pale. Nervous things. As uneasy as Graves has made them these past few weeks, they prefer his presence. He is grounded and real in a way Seraphina was never able to imitate. Politician lies and false composure do not match well to auror grit and messy respect.
She is not inclined to let Theseus thrash Percival at this point in time. When she is calm enough to think straight, Seraphina will come up with something to thoroughly punish Percival for his horrendous behavior. He could have at least given her a vague, cryptic apology beforehand to let her know he was aware of the storm he created.
Percival deserves grief for doing this to her.
It takes Theseus a few moments of scrutinizing silence to determine she is hiding her anger. His tongue runs over teeth as he pauses, considering his options. A deliberately calming breath loosens the tension in his shoulders an inch. She is not yet going to fight his temper with hers, so he settles down.
“Where is Graves?” Theseus asks, taking a step backwards to restore a polite conversational distance. “Is he home?”
“I have not checked.”
Now this confrontation has cooled, Seraphina wordlessly and wandlessly assigns the hovering auror team their assignment. The paper in her hand blooms with the information needed to check up on the suspected children. Alec Tremant
accepts it from her, gathering his search team into a tactical retreat. They cannot leave fast enough.
“Would you mind if I go?” Theseus pockets his wand.
It may or may not insinuate he will punch Percival in the face if he is allowed into Percival’s apartment. The British auror is known for being traditionally violent with physical fights first before he draws his wand. A fight against him gives most of his opponents better odds than a duel.
“If he is home, he is out of the way.” Seraphina snaps.
While he has an excuse for being disrespectful, Theseus Scamander will have to do better if he wants carte blanche from her. As rash as she knows him to be— most of that is from Percival’s own mouth, Theseus should not want to be added to her list of frustrations. Not today of all days.
Keen blue eyes study her again. Deliberating his chances of ignoring her. Of challenging the head of government in an allied country. He knows the Minister of Magic is worthless against her. Any other day, he should have been worried about being so confrontational. As it stands, there are more pressing matters threatening her reputation than a hot-headed war hero.
“Can I be of assistance?” He asks, tone becoming far too mild.
It rubs her the wrong way.
She cocks her head.
“You don't want to find your brother?”
Theseus’ smile grows fond, less dangerous.
Seraphina does not want to encourage him to go after Percival. Distracting Theseus's anger to focus on the younger Scamander is the lesser evil. As much of a lesser evil two Scamanders can be. The Lord help her if she has to deal with both of them at the same time.
“Newton is capable of taking care of himself.” Theseus rolls his shoulders in a false show of relaxation.
“I wouldn’t get in his way when his creatures are involved,” he adds.
The hardening of his magic is invisible steel draped around him. It is curious a wizard like him is so expressive. Seraphina is used to Percival’s silent, unobstructive magic. Dormant until needed, an explosion waiting to happen.
“This happens often?” Seraphina asks, irritated. How has the younger Scamander been allowed to travel with his box of illegal horrors?
His eyes narrow. “You do not know he has experience with obscurials?”
Seraphina bites back her first and second impulse to speak.
“It was not mentioned,” she replies with forced dryness. As if important details slipping past her happens on the regular is not of consequence. The younger Scamander having experience with obscurials would make sense. He identified the cause of the attacks immediately with one glance.
Theseus hums. It almost reads as amusement, but she feels the curl of curiosity stir from his hard exterior. He did not expect that behavior from his younger brother.
The magizoologist seemed to think the nature of the attacks should have been identified long ago. Percival should have asked about it if he did a half-decent job during the interrogation.
Why did he not provide her with an update? This is vitally important when they have almost no information to work off of to put an end to the panic.
“Newton ran into an obscurial in Africa. He couldn’t save her— he took her death badly. Do let him find this one. He can help.”
“If he stops the attacks before we do.”
Theseus snarls, his eyes slits. “What, or you’ll kill her? How patriotically monstrous of you—”
“The orders are to eliminate a threat to our way of life, Mr. Scamander.” Seraphina cuts in, taking a step forward, against his prickly aura. “I do not have a preference for how it is done. It has killed a prominent no-maj and violated the Statute multiple times at a caliber we have not seen in centuries. MACUSA will not tolerate it.”
“Americans don’t tolerate much,” he spits in harsh agreement.
Seraphina glares, allowing her magic to bubble under her feet like magma. A duelist should recognize a warning when it is given to him.
Theseus curls his lip, yet his hand does not move to the pocket holding his wand. As she predicted.
“If your aurors hurt Newton, I’ll kill them.” He promises with gleaming teeth and anger. “You should have trusted him.”
The protective part of him wants to lash out, irrational with the danger his younger brother is in.
She feels his magic compressing, coiling up energy, but there is not a growing threat. For all Scamander’s talk, his desire to spark violence has not changed from the moment he arrived.
“At this moment Newton Scamander is not a wanted man,” she explains. He shouldn’t be targeted by aurors. They have their orders.
“You’re hunting the obscurial; he’s running from you.”
“If he does not interfere—”
“Your Aurors only know how to kill—”
“It is a threat, Mr. Scama—”
“She is a child!”
As if she doesn’t know!
Seraphina holds back the desperate anger. It would not do her well to argue with him. He is not the one trying to protect a country.
The political climate is deadly— no one can afford a breach in the Statute. Not while Grindelwald’s following grows bolder every day. They have started to gather to the obscurus attacks like flies to carrion.
Theseus hisses at her silence.
“Mr. Scamander, your brother is running out of time.”
The streets crawl with aurors. She would not be opposed to the magizoologist solving this nightmare if he does it in a timely manner. Her patience would be greater if Percival hadn’t worn it down. If there wasn’t wasted weeks of investigation, if the International Confederation had waited to condemn MACUSA for crisis control—
“We’d only get in the way.” Theseus tries again. He really believes his brother could help. “Call off—”
“The decision was made.”
Seraphina cannot second guess herself. To waver would be to forfeit her power forever. Weak leadership during calm seas is passable. Now, it would be career suicide— if it isn't already. Newton Scamander has the best chance she could have given him considering the circumstances. With a rogue director, a panicked country, stressed aurors, and brutal foreign oversight… her options are limited and imperfect.
Theseus glares at her, mouth twisted in a half-snarl. He is disgusted, but restrained. The British auror recognizes the futility of appealing to her— and maybe, sees her own conflicted morality hidden under the necessary cold exterior.
“Bloody Merlin, I hope you can fix this.”
Seraphina picks up the lists she has to monitor progress. Seventeen names have been crossed off. It should be easier to find the children with the city on lockdown. A state of emergency enacts immediate curfew. Travel has been suspended for civilians: apparating within the city limits is forbidden, portkeys are temporarily inactive. Children not of school age should be home with their families.
Unfortunately, no-majes are exempt. If the Obscurus attacks again, they are at risk. Aurors are stationed every few blocks in the city proper to watch for dangerous activity. There is nothing else to do but watch and wait.
In this state, the child is likely fading away. Recognizing the child should be instantaneous. The Salem Trials journals describe dying Obscurials as the most dangerous. If someone can lessen a child’s pain in their last moments to prevent disaster…
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Scamander.” Seraphina dismisses him if he won’t leave on his own. The bullpen is eerily empty, yet the building thrums with anxious power. The closest draw pulls her to the room where Ashenfelter puzzles over data. Aurors are bright spots of magic, ill-contained, bristling. Underneath it all, the solid pillars of the Woolworth building remain.
Theseus’ magic grumbles, but he stands down. A scoff and an insincere “ma’am” is his reply.
If he keeps his useless Minister preoccupied, two of the British annoyances would be out of her hair.
The third runs amok in the city— that is out of her hands.
She needs a break.
Now is a good of a time as any. All the aurors are on patrol, searching for the child. Percival is somewhere unknown, causing quiet trouble in all likelihood. If gambling was not a sin, she would bet money on finding Percival with the obscurus. If he has any hope to salvage his position, Percival will appear in her office, obscurus taken care of.
Impossible man.