"For your crimes, the Wizengamot has sentenced you to fifty years in Azkaban." Kingsley's voice echoed through the chamber over the wails of the man who had just been on the receiving end of justice for three dead muggle families. The security witches restrained him with a series of complicated charms and hauled him away through the open stone door. "Next case."

"Are you sure you want to start this one now, sir?" Percy Weasley looked at the next person on the list and passed it up to Kingsley for his opinion. "It's going to be very long by the looks of it."

Kingsley took the parchment and read the name at the top and cringed before looking at his pocket watch at told him it was three in the afternoon. "No, I'm not. I'm sure more people will want to come see this trial than any of the other ones we have lined up for this week."

He needed these people rested and focused, it had been a long week of putting away people who had openly and gleefully practiced war crimes, like muggle hunting. Dolores Umbridge would be a very long case and she needed to be locked away for a very long time.

He wanted to go home early today, perhaps drink the wine his mother had sent him for Christmas. Enjoy the long walk down the quiet streets and watch the shadows reach for him from the alleys.

"Do you want me to tell that crowd outside to leave and come back tomorrow? That last trial went on a little long anyway." The Courtroom's security guard Lucia asked and she fixed her bright blonde hair in a ponytail. "I have no problem telling them to go away."

Kingsley crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair allowing himself a small smile. "Have at it Selwyn."


He had been working on these court documents for nearly three hours; he had vowed not to quit until he was done. These files were important. The candles were getting low and there were little piles of melted wax on his nice wood desk, and his quill somehow wound up in his half-full glass of milk sitting next to the mystery novel he had been reading the past few days over his lunch break. It was less violent and a smidge less morbid then the trials he had been attending of late and some of his past Auror cases. Beheadings, in Kingsley's mind, would always be less morbid than having ones soul sucked out by a dementor.

Though there may always be an exception to that rule.

Dominicus Selwyn had allegedly blown up someone, his cousin from the Ministry Security department was testifying as a witness. The Umbridge trial was pulling a lot of her victims out of the quiet lives they were trying to settle into. A few of the Ministry staff members had been called to testify. Audrey Causey from Ministry security had been reduced to a stammering mess and had thrown up on the courtroom floor when called to publicly speak about her war trial. Kingsley was going to try and talk to her later in private to get her statement, with a bucket nearby.

He knew most of this influx of employees would leave once they found other opportunities. That was fine, as long as people worked they were less likely to get into trouble and make more work for Minister Shacklebolt and his staff. He would be happier to see some go more then others.

As for himself… Well, he was going to be stuck here longer than he originally thought. International relations was a mess, internal affairs was worse (Harry and Ron were looking into that if the rumor mill was right), and he had no real idea what he was doing. He needed people with experience who he trusted to help him.

Though one of his assets was that his support staff was bright and loyal to the position if nothing else. That was the cynic in him talking, the auror in the back of his head never really shut up. He had never been cut out for politics, never thought himself cutthroat enough. He may be cynical enough though. Percy, his Junior Undersecretary, definitely was if he listened to the rumors and a few facts, a little too cutthroat. For the moment he was on Kingsley's side and seemed to not be planning to overthrow him at the moment. Who would want this job at this time in history anyway? Any smart person would not.

Most people wanted power to some extent. Some craved it more than others.

Kingsley was not that kind of person.

All he had ever wanted to be was an auror. Kingsley had never wanted anything else, that was his calling, and he might have begun to realize that his calling had been left behind to serve a higher position than what he had originally intended. He would grieve about that for the rest of his life.

He missed the people from his old department, they were sharp, cynical and a few might have been walking a thin line of sanity. There was a sense of commodore and unity; they would do everything in their power to protect each other. They understood the world was not nice and people got hurt. Even good innocent people got hurt.

There was a brief rustling from the office where his support staff was housed and Kingsley perked up. They amused him occasionally. Dreyfus liked to hide in his cubicle, Shirley liked to bother him, and Percy kept them from killing each other.

"Okay, so we are all in agreement that I am buying lunch." That was Shirley, she was sort of spacey, but trustworthy. She also was a very nice looking woman. There was a rapid tapping on Kingsley's office door before Shirley poked her curly bottle blonde head in. "Do you want to contribute to today's lunch fund? I promise I'll bring something good this time." Her lips were a deep rouge color.

"Not haggis?"

"That was one time, can't you guys let it go?"

There was a simultaneous response from Dreyfus and Percy in the other office. "No."

"Alright, fine, geez. Are you in this week or not Minister?"

"Sorry, I have no money left. I left my wallet at home and grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria here when I came in."

"Is it the roast beef?" Shirley looked a little concerned when he nodded. "I'll get you something, you can just pay me back later."

Shirley turned on a tall pointed heel and walked quickly out of the office.


AN- Noir is a strange genre. It's translated as genre to bleakness, darkness, and hopelessness. The leads of such stories acknowledge this. It got mixed in with the hard-boiled genre a number of years ago but can stand alone outside of detective fiction I think. I did have another idea for this, but this came out instead. I might write the other one someday.

Promts used: Milk, morbid, and "I have no money left."