Al Gumboil is a bad big brother. (countervail) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-08-09 02:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/08 august, alastor gumboil |
Who: Alastor Gumboil
When: Evening; 08 August, 1980
Where: Al's flat, Ottery St Catchpole
What: Making decisions.
Rating: PG.
Status: Completed narrative.
Al wasn't unused to high security cases. He'd had a couple of them in his time at the Ministry. He was good at his job after all and he'd been here for nearly a decade now. Ten years, Merlin, had it been that long? In any case, another one wasn't quite as interesting as the first had been. A meeting, taken early in the morning in the breakroom consisted of himself, Geoffrey Nott, Myron, Adam Williamson, John Dawlish and Rufus Scrimgeour wasn't really all that out of place. Instructions were the usual sort of thing you got with high security cases. Filing paperwork before leaving, going about things as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Not talking to anyone about it. That was really the most important. You couldn't talk. And then the list was passed out, warded for their eyes only. It was short and written on plain parchment. Al memorised it quickly. Sirius Black, Mundungus Fletcher, Marlene McKinnon, Lily Potter, Caradoc Dearborn. The calm on his face was exactly the opposite of what was running through his head. His heart had jumped into his throat and his mouth felt dry. He wanted to fidget, his own compulsive behaviour. He hadn't. He'd said he understood the seriousness of the secrecy of the case. And he'd gone about his day as though the meeting had never taken place, which was exactly what you were supposed to do. But he was home now, the names swirling around in his head as he glanced over old case files. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he'd rebelled against authority. In school, he'd been nothing but trouble. And yet always, even then, with some sense of justice. Mostly. As much as any fifteen year old could have anyway. That feeling of being a part of something, that had started on the Quidditch pitch and had carried on into the Ministry. Some part of him needed that. But now something was wrong. The Ministry was going after people who hadn't done anything, not really. Except for Dung, but Al had always turned a blind eye to his less-than-savoury activities. But Sirius, he was close to Dorcas. And Lily, fucking hell, he'd found her in the damn kitchen with a baby barely a week old. These weren't just random citizens. These were people that were standing up for what they believed in. Against people that killed and maimed and tortured on basis of blood and lineage. And with that, well. His decision was made for him, really. There wasn't anything else to think about it. You couldn't run a country with hate and fear for very long. And if that was the way the Ministry was going, then Al wanted nothing to do with it. He was well aware of the consequences. He knew very well what would happen if he was caught. This went far beyond the loss of his job. But wasn't that an acceptable risk, when all over the country people were dying? He pulled his journal towards him and dipped his quill carefully into the ink. Dorcas, we have a problem. |