<i>"No witches or wizards should confront the man, as he is considered armed and highly dangerous. "</i><br/><br/>Mouth crinkled into an expression of distaste,<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Fi68.tinypic.com%2Fohjlt3.jpg&amp;hash=6ee46202a9095ad39275a2936c1653bc" href="http://i68.tinypic.com/ohjlt3.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank"> Hyperion Hawke</a>let the<i>Daily Prophet</i>fall onto the polished surface of his pristine desk. He'd been diligently tracking and hunting the stragglers of Voldemort's servants for three years now. And yet some of them still seemed to remain hidden despite his, and the rest of the ministry's, efforts. Every Death Eater who still existed outside the walls of Azkaban was more than an unfulfilled dossier charmed away within his files, they were both a thorn in his side and a threat to those he'd sworn to protect. Eventually, however, this Albiorix, if that was even the man's real name, would slip up somewhere. He'd leave a witness alive, tamper with a bugged artifact or maybe even stumble on one of the ministry's well-placed portkeys. Hawke's career was an elaborate waiting game, in truth.<br/><br/>The majority of older Aurors had taken to retirement after the end of the Second Wizarding War, taking their experience with them of course. In all fairness, though, Hawke had to admit their retirement was well-earned. As for himself, he'd been as green as a blade of grass near the climax of Voldemort's fall. Just enough to get his feet wet, but not enough to make a real difference. He remembered his first night on the job all too well, the night Death Eaters had knowingly set foot within the Ministry itself for the first time in over ten years. Voldemort had fled before Hawke had gotten a good look at him, but his magic alone had left a foul, heavy ripple throughout the atrium. His boots grinding the delicate golden shards of The Fountain of Magical Brethren into dust as he'd followed his mentor towards the Hall of Prophecies, Hawke had shivered at the mad cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange as she'd narrowly escaped them. He'd been relieved not to tangle with her. It was that night, though, as he'd assisted in the arrest of those not smart enough to flee the scene, that he knew he'd made the right choice in enrolling in the Auror Academy.<br/><br/>Hawke was certainly more seasoned these days, having captured his fair share of dark wizards and hand-delivered them to the ministry for trial. They almost certainly ended up within the walls of Azkaban, but the blond held no pity for those who could kill or injure innocent witches and wizards in the name of power or superiority. No matter what their motives, even fearing for their lives, it was Hawke's belief that all Death Eaters deserved their fate. Although . . . his mentor hand warned him many times in the past that his unshakable moral compass was unlikely to remain intact in this line of work. That sooner or later he would be forced to admit that not everything was black and white when it came to good and evil.<br/><br/>With a huff, Hawke conceded that he had better things to think about this evening than Death Eaters. Standing, he straightened his crimson auror's robes and nodded to his colleagues as he stepped out of his cubicle and made his way towards the Ceremony Hall. The others wouldn't be far behind, he knew, as the induction would begin within the hour. However, Hawke needed to have a talk with his little brother before Kingsley Shacklebolt affixed a shiny new badge onto his brand new set of robes. Perhaps this time Theo would listen. Perhaps this time Hawke could get it through his thick skull that an auror's line of work was far too dangerous.<br/><br/>In the back of his mind, Hawke knew that his brother was his own man now, that he should be free to choose his own path, but at the same time Theo becoming an auror would only make it ten times more difficult for Hawke to keep an eye on him. Was he being overprotective? Maybe. Did he care? Nope.