adarkershadeofalice:
Alice nodded her agreement to James’s supposition; whether the Death Eaters had an elf here or whether were forcing one of their own (given the sort of people they were, no doubt someone lower-level or of inferior social standing) to do elf-work, either fact indicated that they spent enough time here that they needed someone to do said work, which meant the place was worth the effort. Which meant, of course, that this mission was every bit as dangerous as they had thought it might be…and every bit as necessary, too. They were in the right place. Death might be waiting around the corner for one or both of them.
James Potter had never let dire necessity quench his sense of humor, however—one of the things Alice liked most about working with him—and she tossed a rude two-fingered salute over her shoulder at his impertinent Alohamora question even as she grinned at him behind the gesture. “Twat,” she mouthed, and moved to follow him through the window.
It wasn’t the first time Alice had entered a suspect building in such a fashion, although being with the Ministry meant that she was more familiar with bursting through the front or back door or out of the Floo with her wand out and a shout of surrender or else on her lips—but sometimes even Aurors got better results through stealth than force. So she wasn’t unused to such entrances. That didn’t make them her favorite; she always felt undignified in a way that she couldn’t quite explain, given that she so rarely found lack-of-dignity to be something she minded.
Whatever; they were inside, that was what mattered. She’d known James would cover for her entrance, too, so the tensest part of their ingress had been the few seconds of worry during his climb inside, when he’d been on his own entering potential unknown danger. That was always the hardest moment for Alice: trusting her partners to risk their lives when she wasn’t in a position to guard them. But James moved fast, and he knew what he was doing, and she could trust him not to get himself killed without her. That still didn’t mean she liked it. Alice had become an Auror to protect other people, not to stand back and watch while they risked their lives without her.
The momentary fretting faded as soon as her feet touched the threadbare carpet inside, replaced by the thrum of live-and-death excitement that always filled her on missions like this. She met James’s question with a deep sniff of her own and a corresponding grimace, although the stink was a good sign and she was soon smiling again—this time a thin, sharp, predatory grin. “Guess we follow our noses, then,” she whispered back. “Come on.”
Alice stepped forward to take point this time, gliding down the hallway on soft, stealthy steps. She didn’t waste the time checking the closed doors they passed; just leaned close and listened, holding her own breath so that she wouldn’t overshadow any sounds within. There were none, so instead of fussing with locks or spells or traps she sealed each one with a Colloportus—a spell that any Death Eater worth their mask could break their way out through, of course, but their doing so would be noisy enough to alert her and James that they had an enemy approaching from behind. They would check each room later if they had time, of course, but they didn’t know how much time they did have so it was more important to start with the obvious point of interest.
Follow their noses indeed, Alice thought wryly as she paused before the door at the end of the hall, her free hand rising to cover her nose instinctively at the musky, damp stink that oozed out from the other side of the paint-peeling wood. She glanced back to make sure that James was ready, then tapped the doorknob carefully with her wand. She detected no sign of spellwork. “No seals, no traps,” she whispered to James. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Rather than dithering over trying to decide, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Steps descending into the darkness of a cellar were revealed on the other side, along with a tripling of the stink and a soft bubbling of some unknown liquid.
Alice raised an eyebrow at James. This was definitely a good—or at least productive—sign. “Homenum revelio,” she whispered. The lack of reaction didn’t prove that there was no one down there—there were certain wards that could deter that spell, especially the low-strength and limited range version that Alice was using in hopes of not tripping any traps that would be triggered by said spell—but it decreased the likelihood that they were going to be walking down into a group of Death Eaters hiding behind the stairs to ambush them.
The fact that there were no lights down there whatsoever, at least none strong enough that Alice could see them from the top of the stairs (the bubbling noise implied that there was probably some kind of simmering fire, but it might have been around a corner or behind a cabinet or under a lid; wherever it was, it didn’t show), added to the likelihood of the cellar being empty. She and James hadn’t triggered any alarm-spells yet, so for someone to be lurking in the dark on the off-chance of intruders…well, some of the Death Eaters were pretty sick in the head, yes. (You had to be, to follow a man who’s stated goal for the cause was terror, murder, and oppression, Alice thought.) But that would be a weird thing to do even for their most sadistic members.
“Gonna give us some light so we don’t break our necks on the stairs,” Alice murmured to James, and suited words to action by doing just that. A thin, very faint glow emerged from her wand in response to her muttered “Lumos,” just enough light to illuminate the three or four stairs in front of her as she started a slow creep down them. Alice’s eyes roamed across the darkness, alert to any trace of spells or wards or warnings. She wasn’t watching for simple everyday risks like woodrot and damp, however, so when the aging wood slat beneath her foot snapped under her weight and pitched her forward, she was caught so off-guard that she didn’t even have time to utter a full “Fuck!“ before she was falling.
James’ words caused a sly smile to move over Alice’s face and he grinned back. “Good call,” he whispered. He didn’t work with Alice a tone on missions - usually he was with Sirius, his partner in crime who knew James’ movements without even needing to be told - but he’d worked with her enough that they were generally on the same page when it came to things. She was a good Auror - smart. He let her lead, following her and her nose towards the smell.
He let her listen at each door on one side of the hall, casting the spell that would lock anyone in, and did the same on the other side. There were several doors on the longish corridor, but it was no Hogwarts by any means. In fact, the cottage was just that - a cottage. Bigger than his family’s at Godric’s Hollow that was so rarely used, but much smaller than his estate or the Order headquarters.
He nodded as she found the door they were looking for, confirming there wouldn’t be any problems opening it, and glanced over her shoulder as swung it open to revel a staircase down to a cellar. The spell told them it was unlikely anyone was down there - though not completely confirmed, given there was plenty that could be done to change the course of a Homenum - and Alice lit her wand so they would be able to make their way down into the darkness where the potion was brewing.
She went down first and James was caught off guard when the rickety wood snapped, propelling Alice forward down the steps, her wand light the only indication of where she might be. “Shit, shit, shit,” James said, pointing his own wand towards the light to halt her falling face first onto the concrete of the cellar. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he whispered quickly and the only proof he had that he’d actually hit Alice was the tug of his wand.
He kept his wand up because he couldn’t see very well and jumped over the stair she’d fallen through, getting close enough that he could see her. “You okay?” he said quietly, righting her with his wand before letting up the spell. Turning, he pointed back up towards the door and gently closed it with another charm, twisting the knob with his wand carefully so they wouldn’t alert attention.
Down here, closer to the end of the steps, the smell was worse, more rancid. James narrowed his eyes and moved past Alice on the stairs, their bodies touching because of the proximity, and made his way all the way down. In the center was a large pot, a wooden spoon turning and turning over and over again on it’s own. “I think it’s poison,” he said.
Alice was flung forward into the darkness, the light of her wand going out as her concentration toppled along with the rest of her, the momentum of both her descent and the sudden, even sharper descent precipitated by the snap of the rotten wood underfoot combining to throw her downwards at what would literally be a breakneck pace depending on the angle at which she landed—but then with a stomach-churning swoop, she was yanked back and up even more abruptly than she had fallen, leaving her dangling almost upside down in the darkness. Arse-over-teakettle was the appropriate expression for her current positioning, and had Alastor been here to witness the event (not that there was much to witness in the lightless cellar) he would surely have never let her hear the end of it.
James clattered down the stairs behind her, adept enough to jump the step that had broken beneath her but, Alice noted with an anticipatory wince, without taking the time to test said steps for further danger. Fortunately his luck held (or the stairs did, at least) and in seconds the invisible grip was righting her and depositing her neatly back on her feet. Alice took a deep breath and nodded “Nothing hurt but my pride,” she muttered, smoothing her robes back down and brushing strands of hair out of her face. “Thanks.”
She raised and rekindled her wand, then moved to follow James down to the bottom. Alice was already regretting that deep breath, and she wrinkled her nose in a vain attempt to block-out the increasing thickness of the stench as she walked up behind him. “I think you’re right,” she agreed unhappily. “Certainly nothing wholesome is going to come out of a cauldron that smells like that.”
She leaned in past him and sniffed gingerly, wincing without surprise, then drew back and lifted her wand higher, letting the light spread a little more for a better look at their surroundings. At least her near-disastrous tumble down the stairs had accomplished one thing: they could be sure that there was no one lurking down here in the cellar, because no Death Eater worth half their mask would have missed the opportunity to murder them both while they were vulnerable like that. Cold comfort, perhaps, but in a war one took what small mercies one could get.
“The real question is what they’re brewing it for,” Alice murmured. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a clear crystal vial. “If it were something ordinary, I’d think it’d be easier for them to do it at home. That they’ve gone to the effort of stocking a potions lab out here instead, well...could mean nothing more than that whoever they have working on it doesn’t have a secure space in which to work without the unwitting interference of unaffiliated family. Could mean something a good deal worse.” She uncorked the bottle one-handed with a practiced flick of her thumb and stepped around James up to the pot and the enchanted spoon gently scraping the sides. “I think we need a sample. A recipe would be better, if you spot one,” she added, her eyes tracking the spoon as she counted the seconds between its revolutions. Spoiling this brew was tempting—but should they? Or would it be better to steal away with a sample they could unravel, hiding any sign they had been here? That depended on exactly what the Death Eaters were brewing and right now, all Alice could tell was that it was something bad.
She dipped her hand down between turns of the spoon, tilting the rim of the vial just below the surface of the noxious substance, and then quickly drew it up again before either hand or crystal could bump against the ceaseless spoon. In a move that doubtless would have had Alastor swearing at her despairingly (not that he’d have been able to offer a better suggestion for how to handle the fact that she only had two hands), Alice tucked her wand between her teeth and quickly corked the vial—being very, very careful not to touch the sides or any stray drops that might have collected there—and tucked it into a small spell-sealed pouch that automatically stitched itself closed when she pressed its edges together. She retrieved her wand and looked up at James as she slipped the pouch into a pocket of her belt. “Any luck?”
