the mephisto waltz

do i care if i survive this? bury the dead where they’re found. in a veil of great surprises; hold to my head till i drown. should i tear my eyes out now, before i see too much?  

[magiicaleye-blog]

l. evans

Her stomach twisted into a combination of fear and nerves, her sudden urge to confess dissipating as quickly as the mist she’d managed using the Charm, at the tone Moody was using. Disapproval, disappointment. Lily hated letting people down, it was her sorest point, associating conflict with rejection. For that she could probably thank Petunia. It made her feel guilty relief that he had taken her quick and desperate subject change so much to heart. 

Lily relished giving complete honesty on this matter at least, speaking quickly in her eagerness to relieve some of her bad feelings, “We were checking on the inmates and it swooped down on us. Well, on me mostly. The Senior Healer I was with, she said that it had never happened before. Do you think it’s possible that they’re out of the Ministry’s control?” Lily asked, genuinely fearful about it. It had been terrifying, seeing the creatures that guarded Azkaban and the effects that came from being close to them, even before one had attacked her. “There were so many of them there.” They were already outnumbered by Death Eaters.  

That meant she needed to get this Charm. She never wanted to be under their power again, it had been bad enough once. Being forced to hear Bellatrix’s voice … that had left her weak and doubting, as she’d been ever since the encounter with Lestrange. 

What had she just said?  I suppose it’s like this spell. You need conviction, to believe in something strongly enough that doubts can’t affect you. Lily had been shaken, she didn’t believe anymore, not in herself. That image, the perfect Lily Evans, something she clung to when she was reminded of her sister’s hate, of half the wizarding world’s hate - that it wasn’t her fault. It had taken a beating here, because she hadn’t been faultless. And that was far more dificult a position for her to take than the one in judgement of others. 

She had confessed this before, to James, to Marlene. This wasn’t a confession. “I lied before. Or misled. I think the Dementor came to me because it could sense it. Blood magic. I saved someone’s life with it. A Death Eater. At least I think she is. I made a bad choice. I regret it. But I know I did only what I thought was right, that it wasn’t for bad motives. And so I’m not going to apologise for it anymore. I’m going to make up for it.” 

Lily suddenly remembered who she was talking to, the Auror, the senior Order member, the man she respected nearly as much as Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall and froze, her declaration which had all the solemnity and self-righteousness of a vow quickly brushed aside in panic, “I mean, I don’t mean to yell at you, sir. Alastor. Moody. I know you’re right that it’s a serious issue. And that Dumbledore certainly isn’t the last word of the law. I don’t mean to put you in a difficult position.” 

It didn’t mean all her guilt was gone. But she had to believe. There would be no point to any of this, no way she could fight if she didn’t. And there was a future worth fighting for. Her wand was right there, she itched to try the spell again, certain that she was capable of it right here, right now, with this confidence burning in her heart.  “And so, anything you want to say to me, you can. I promise I’ll listen. But I’d really like to do this first. Expecto Patronum.” Lily wasn’t waiting for the corporal form to take shape this time. She knew it would. For a moment she thought, Prongs, in startled but not surprised confusion before seeing the subtle difference, the doe rather than the stag. 

Whichever guesses Moody had foolishly made inside his head in an attempt to soften the looming blow were quickly proven to be surprisingly and utterly wrong. Impulsively, he had opened his mouth to reply but found himself at a loss for words. It felt as though he had been walking down a staircase, in a pitch-black room, then missed a step. 

    At first, Moody was hesitant, the disbelief still nibbling at him. But he was willing to listen ----- something entirely uncharacteristic of him, but done so out of an overpowering intrigue that he feared could spiral into paranoia if this turned out to be more serious a matter than previously expected. 

  “Out of the Ministry’s control?” he felt like an utter idiot for simply echoing every other of Lily’s word. There was almost a childlike frustration that surfaced at the lack of answers, the lack of explanations. “Such thing has never happened in the past. Not to my knowledge. Now...” now, as terrifying of a possibility as it was, it did not sound incredibly far-fetched. “Now I don’t know. I don’t know,” sure, he knew there was bravery in admitting defeat or ignorance, but not now, not when the need of a definite answer was so strong. “I’ll talk to Cresswell. He’s got connections in the Ministry - the kind that could help with this. But the simple act of asking would make us look insane... not only that, but it could draw a lot of attention to us, Evans. Maybe we’re dealing with something entirely new.” 

   He had almost -- ALMOST -- forgotten the Patronus spell altogether. To be fair, he did not expect this whirlwind to unfold during the lesson either. 

  But just as he drove himself back to the instruction, he felt taken aback by yet another fearful revelation. And at first, Moody could do little but to eye Lily. He wondered if James’ affinity for humor had resonated with her, if this were all but an elaborate joke to test him or drive him to the extreme. He couldn’t ignore how outlandish but unexpectedly odd the scenario told by Lily was. He couldn’t envision her making up such tale either. 

    And, as had become a common occurrence only recently, Moody did not know what to think. 

  He closed his mouth for both of their sakes, feeling compelled by her determination and willingness to stand up for herself. Not that he was a formidable figure, but she had guts revealing such worrying secret and carrying on in such a straightforward fashion. 

  So, if only for a moment, Moody waited. He frowned, looking at Lily and how her wand sprouted the bright strings that soon morphed into the detailed outline of a doe. He stared in secluded awe and suffocated admiration at the sharpness of the figure and cleanliness of the spellwork itself. The words he’d heard from so many became visible amidst his thoughts -- Lily Evans was indeed a remarkable witch, achieving such complicated spell when countless others were driven to fits upon failing to do cast the aforementioned charm. 

   But, Alastor Moody thought, that didn’t take away the shock and annoyance he felt at the display of poor common sense.

  “Now, that’s impressive, Evans. Really impressive,” he began, somewhat carefully as if he were debating whether or not to even bring the matter up. Merlin, his insides boiled, irritated, at how he wanted but to bask in the pride and satisfaction ordinarily derived from this but could and would not. Not yet, at least. 

   “Evans--” Alastor queried, his tone clearly begging to be proven wrong, to be corrected, for all to be clarified or debunked as a prank-- “tell me you didn’t really save one of those bastards’ life using blood magic.” He was beginning to sound like a broken record, and he loathed it, but not as much as he loathed cases of impulsive decision-making that were becoming frequent amid the younger Order members. 

[odairannies]

[magiicaleye-blog]

m. mckinnon‌

@magiicaleye

They’re standing in the middle of a meadow, although where they actually were, Marlene had no clue. 

In the days following the attacks on James and Dorcas, the Order had gone into a slight frenzy; patrols and security details were heightened, and for a bit, there was a general sense of unease as its members waited with bated breath for more bad news. Time passed, and although no other moves were made by the enemy, the need for vengenance crackled deep in Marlene’s bones. It had settled her with a steely resolve to do more, more for the Order, for her friends, for the people she was vowing to protect. When James had come to her, she had shattered to pieces, barely able to do anything more than cry and staunch some bleeding before Remus helped her transport him to St. Mungo’s. The actual horror of that night was nothing, however, compared to the nightmares that persisted afterwards - where she didn’t help him in time, where her closest friend in the world slipped through her fingers, and Marlene would awake screaming at nothing, haunted by her newfound realization at what this war would easily be able to take from her.

She would never feel that powerless again. Approaching Moody for some lessons in tactical dueling had seemed like a simple solution to her problem, in theory, except that Moody happened to be the only figure of authority she had ever come across that she was properly intimidated by. It had taken a few tries, but here they were, a breeze rippling across the valley and causing the high grass to swim along with it, lapping gracefully at their sides. It was peaceful.

Marlene glanced over at Moody, her determination to follow through with this wavering slightly, but only for a moment. In its place rose a swell of courage, filling her chest and easing her fears, exhaling the tension in her body as she palmed her wand.  “I haven’t done something like this since school, y’know,” is all she thinks to say to break the silence, but she immediately feels stupid. Having just finished school months ago, it didn’t say much. “Never dueled someone without there being a grade or a repercussion for it, I mean… sorry,” she quieted before her usual penchant for rambling got the best of her.

While Moody understood that, in light of recent events, the Order would seek retaliation in some form, a large part of him felt conflicted about what to do. It was such a suffocating sensation to let his mind run itself into a frenzy, leaving him confused as to what to do. At the first opportunity, he had of course very characteristically insisted on augmenting the safety measures. He had also been adamant on keeping a closer eye on those affected. But still, as it always did, none of this reinforced the sense of safety to him. 

   Though, it did bring up the same question over and over ---- would anything do? 

   In all honesty, he knew the answer to be negative. He knew this all to be some form of bottomless pit, and the only certainty he possessed was that he had none. 

   Attack after attack, Moody had felt his house of cards come down. Each blow had brought him closer to the edge. He felt himself succumb to the thought of the “what if”. What if either -- or both -- James and Dorcas had not made it? What if this was only the beginning? His dreams had turned to nightmares, dark tunnels where each of the members dropped dead like flies. Kids with stars in their eyes, quiet and cold to the touch. And he knew it wouldn’t do him any good, but he unleashed the guilt unto himself as did the rest of the Order. And the guilt gave way to more troubles of the mind, turning into a cycle that robbed him of sleep. 

  The worst part was knowing there was only so much he could do ----- for them, for him, for their side, and for those they were trying to save and avenge. It was a matter of time before helplessness shook him to the core, and he cursed both it and himself for it. He wanted to believe so desperately that children listened, but it was just turning oh so hard. He told himself that the world was harsh, but so were they. It didn’t help to have to show up at St. Mungo’s every other week or being informed about something going unsurprisingly wrong. 

  So he did the only thing that seemed about right. Yes, there was only so much he could do for them. The rest was up to them. So he’d be there, making sure he could help them make that rest the best possible. 

  “Everyday’s an opportunity to learn,” he replied, firmly. Hands each in one of the pockets of his trenchcoat, the brunet paced slowly. His eyes didn’t meet Marlene’s right away, occasionally looking around and reminding himself that the crunching of leaves and grass were that of his own footsteps. There was a gentle smile kept secluded from her view, one that was born at her embarrassment. It didn’t make him think less of her, but he did appreciate her attempt at lighting up the mood. 

   Finally, he turned to look at the raven-haired witch, producing his wand from the inner pocket of the coat. “Don’t be. We’ll begin with a duel -- that way we can spot the areas that need improvement and work from there,” as he spoke, he very gently and cautiously walked backwards to position himself directly across from her. “Don’t overthink it either, okay?” 

  Alastor then offered Marlene a nod, altering his posture by turning to the side to half himself as a target, grounding himself to the soil and extending his arm.    

   “-------- Ready?”

[magiicaleye-blog]

e. bones

Ever since Edgar had ever returned home, he had made sure to see friends and family. Although, the later not as frequently as he would like. It seemed the imminent war had caused them to not want to leave the grounds of their home - with the exception of war, or when absolutely necessary. Edgar had never been like that, trying to convince his family that their actions were only playing into the fear the other side wanted to spread and take hold of everyone. With a frustrated sigh, his advice unable to sway them, Edgar entered the Ministry to work.

His desk was buried underneath paper upon papers of research. While most of the time his work brought a smile to his face, it was when he was out on the field, getting his hands dirty. Not cooped up in a small room. Unable to concentrate, Edgar decided to walk the dark halls of the Ministry.

Edgar found himself in the elevator, with no heading and followed wherever the others in the elevator were going. Once others emptied it, a familiar face entered as well. It had been some time, but he always appreciated the revered Auror’s company and conversation. Suddenly a bright smile came to his lips, “Moody!” he chuckled softly, “Lookin’ for me, eh? How can I be of service?”

Moody exhaled a relieved sigh at the sight of Edgar. He, for a moment, hated the underlying nature to his urgency to see him. In another life, perhaps Moody would’ve been open to less troubled, more easygoing relations. He thought about it from time to time, eventually spiraling into a myriad of melancholy-fueled desires that were most characteristic of a romantic. But he wasn’t that kind, and this meeting itself reminded him of it. He disliked how it was only business-infused, only making his desire for a ceasefire to take place so meetings could finally be ordinary. 

   But now, Alastor Moody had business and nothing but business (if the Order fell into that category, that was) to discuss. So pressing it was that he’d been forced to communicate it at work. It was dangerous, yes, just as much as it was reckless. Hell, just by admitting familiarity he felt as though he were placing a bullseye to their heads. But again, the matter was urgent. 

   “I wanted to inquire about that recent project of yours, the one taking place in Egypt,” Moody began, the elevator already in motion. “Would it be too intrusive of me to let a couple lads shadow over you as you work? It’d simply be for the sake and safety of the muggle president; with the incoming inauguration of the nearby museum, the last thing we’d want is for there to be trouble,” Moody explained calmly, smiling at Edgar. It was all a LIE, of course, one he was sure Edgar would perceive yet hopefully play along to. He rapidly pressed one of the panel’s button, turning to Edgar and gesturing at the hall at which the lift had stopped. 

   “Could I steal two minutes from you to discuss details about it?” Hopefully, by walking away from the more crowded space, they’d be allowed to talk privately about the actual matter at hand. 

[magiicaleye-blog]

b. fenwick‌

Benjy’s eyes flicked back to Moody at the serious tone of his words, but he cracked a grin. “I’ll make sure the witches at the canteen never hear a word of what was said here. Perhaps that’s the ministry conspiracy, above all else. Those that dare to question their money-saving techniques find themselves sent to the Centaur office,” he chuckled, before taking another swig of the coffee. Perhaps he should take a leaf out of Moody’s book and start bringing his own coffee rather than drink the piss they tried to serve.

His eyes glazed over slightly, drifting away from Moody as he gulped away emotion. He couldn’t start getting emotional, not here at work when Lestrange could walk by at any given moment. Lying would do him no good though, it would only make those that were more senior than him in the Order think he was coping fine and possibly try to put a heavier burden on shoulders that were already sinking under too much weight. He felt like he was treading water with stones in his pockets, desperately trying to gasp for air whenever possible. All it would take was for a few more stones and he’d go under.

Benjy’s foot was tapping on the floor, energy desperate to escape from his body somehow. “It’s really hard, Moody. I thought I’d be okay. Sometimes I am, sometimes things are great. But other times….I can hardly breathe, can hardly think.” Those were times when his only solace could be found at the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey, chasing away the night terrors. 

“Everyone has so much going on….I don’t want to burden anyone else more than I have to.”

At first, Moody was more than willing to let himself enjoy a bit of lightheartedness here and there. Banter like this did no harm, and he appreciated it. It was light amidst the darkness, that simple reminder that humor could still live in times like these. 

   But the problem, now very evident, was that it wasn’t meant to last long.

  Now, another issue lied within Moody himself. He was generally reserved, but now, he was more so than ever. He shielded his emotions ( unsurprisingly ) as if that made him more capable at his job than if he didn’t. It was the only way. Much like Lily had pointed out, the job demanded everything but kindness from him, and being the kind of man he was, he did not stop working once the shift had ended. His jar of feelings was kept tightly shut, locked away with albums replete with photographs of the life he wasn’t allowed. It was done so on purpose, to avoid filling his head with senseless nostalgia along with trinkets that burdened more than they helped. 

   But now, right before Benjy Fenwick, Alastor Moody felt the frame of aloofness he had so carefully constructed and maintain crumble. He felt himself come undone, admittedly unsure as to what to do at such sudden display of sadness-laced frustration. Right before the other, Moody turned young ---- the touched kind of young, clueless kind of young, understanding kind of young. 

   Alastor Moody would’ve like for anyone who sought glory and renown in a battlefield to be present. Right there, standing before the troubled image of such young a soul, Moody would force them to realize the despair it resulted in only by making them look at Benjy in the eyes. The only thing war was good for was for creating widows and orphans. 

   It was neither sweet nor fitting to die for one’s nation. 

  “What are you saying? ‘More than you have to’?” the auror asked in disbelief, almost annoyed at the perception of grief as some sort of nuisance Benjy had wrongfully developed. “Listen to me. None of this is a bother. It’s not a whim, it’s not a tantrum,” there was a shake of the head, followed by a slowing of his words and a soft sigh colored by melancholy. “But I get it. I truly do. There’s nothing more unjust than being righteous and just having the world just spitting in your face. And you’ve got yourself seeing ghosts where there are none, and the moment you’re alone they come back to strangle you. It’s so easy to think that as soon as you do away with whoever placed them, then you’ll get to breathe, innit? Yeah, it’s not immature, o-or annoying to want that, Benjy.” 

  “We’re not expecting you to get face it in a click of the fingers, and we’re surely not forcing you to face it on your own when you’ve got us. And we know you’ve got more guts in a pinkie than so many bastards, Fenwick...” Moody added, offering Benjy a reassuring expression-- “but we don’t want you to become Atlas; you don’t gotta carry the world on your shoulders, lad.”

[magiicaleye-blog]

d. meadowes‌

Dorcas would be lying if she said that everything that Moody was saying didn’t cut her deeply. Every single word digging deeper than the last as she could feel the anger starting to bubble and dissipate as she held her tongue. She knew that she was walking the tightest rope and the thinnest ice but she couldn’t just sit by in silence as the man she called her boss, ripped into her. She knew the risks of what she did and was not fighting those, but she didn’t know the meanings of her own actions and she had no idea how to make that more clear to Moody that while he may see her in him, they are fundamentally different.

Diametrically opposed.

Keeping her own defensive stance against Moody, Dorcas tried to keep her body unmoving. Trying to look directly into the hurricane that was building inside Moody. She winced when he started to yell once more, the booms echoing off the walls and all she could was think of what everyone outside of the room thought at the screaming and why no healers had come in to try and stop the situation. The world beyond the door was completely uncaring of what was happening.

Yet, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her cheeks when she felt the insults burn across her brain. She wasn’t naïve, she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t what Moody wanted to assign to her, but the want to fight back on that notion was gone. She didn’t know how often she would have to tell him, but in his eyes, she was him. She just scoffed and shook her head, using the wall behind her back to keep her upright during the fight.

“Oh yeah! Well, I wish that you didn’t get to come and find me either! Anyone else in our entire department would have been better than you. If I would have known I would have ended up being patronized, I would have just begged for Malfoy to kill me,” she screamed back at him. She knew deep down in her heart that she didn’t mean it. She was grateful that Moody was there. She just couldn’t let him know that.

“Don’t you dare speak out of turn about my family!” Dorcas yelled, sitting further up in the hospital bed, “You have zero right to speak of my family as if you have any clue of who those people are! If you want to keep talking this shit about my family and friends then bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe can fit,” she pushed at her current volume. Her chest rose and fell with each small breathe. Her age showing more and more with each word she spoke. “I’m sure the news hasn’t reached them since I haven’t had a free moment alone since I got here! I’ve gone from being surrounded by healers to this! You.. You lecturing me like you have truly any authority over me when we’re outside of work!”

Letting herself rip her eyes away from Moody, she shook her head at all of the requirements that she would have to abide by from now on. “This is hardly the worst thing that an Auror has done! Just last week, Zuiderweg completely flipped his mission and got his stupid arse exposed! This is asinine and you know it!” she started, “Why are you so paranoid!? Even if I wanted to do anything on those missions, I’m sure the ass kissers would just rat me out anyway. You have far too many brown nosers in this office,” she complained, pulling the sheets over her body as angry tears slipped down her checks but she rubbed them away quickly. Not wanting to spill more tears over Malfoy or Moody.

His own frustration coming back to choke him, Moody felt himself turn hideous. He felt disgusting, he felt heavy and burdensome and suffocated. The white of the walls had begun drilling deep into his skull, only making it easier to feel them closing in on him. Was this what drowning felt like? Was this what crumbling was? 

   It was comical -- pathetic, even -- to see the so-called legend that was Alastor Moody, the formidable wizard, the force of nature he had been turned into by sole piles and piles of empty, ignorant praise he couldn’t hold less regard for. He always rejected these stories, mostly because they occupied his time and this troubled him. He had, like an act of magic in itself, retained his modesty as well ( by choice ). But now, now that the ground under his feet was shaking and sending him quivering along with it, Moody wanted to take each and every single one of them and grasp it... grasp it till they crumbled and turned to dust that would then sear the skin of his palm. He wanted to take all of them and make them a part of him just as much as he did with his grief and his regrets. He wanted to be as strong and resilient as others made him out to be. It was indeed comical that this was his current whim, now, the one time he felt the most defenseless and weak and alone. 

   In a true childish manner, he was quick to reassure himself that Dorcas had no idea what she was saying. How could she? It’d been mere hours ago when she’d been left unable to even move. Yes, this was most probably a side effect to the shock and the healing charms. Of course, it wasn’t and he knew it, but trying to trick himself into buying it seemed one of the only remaining tactics to resort to. 

  “It wasn’t like there would be anyone else looking for you! Too bad, innit?! Wake up, Dorcas. I’m all you’ve got, the only one left who’s actually willing to risk his neck to get you out of whichever gutter you land yourself in. If I’d known I wouldn’t even be said a ‘thank you’ I would’ve headed home to get some rest, but looks like I’m still stuck doing babysitting duty. You don’t always get what you want, right?” he huffed, a cynical smile dangling from his lips. The surname ‘Malfoy’ stood out, luring his objective attention for a second. However, his anger was quick to return, making him overlook even that important detail. 

   A burst of upset laughter left him -- had he misheard her? 

   “Where your shoe can fit?” he asked, as if for clarification. Each word was said sharply yet slowly, like making himself echo her were to make her realize her own impulsiveness. “You’re in no position to threaten me, Meadowes! You risked the integrity of the entire Auror Department, which is already under bloody scrutiny as it is, as well as you know exactly what else! You’re no good to that family of yours dead, or worse, fired for insubordination. And yes I am ‘lecturing you like we’re outside of work’ because your recklessness has now crossed that line. Congratulations.”

    He clapped once, very obviously with sarcastic intent. Hands then placed on his hips, he looked at her, at last falling quiet. The brunet shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes for a moment. This entire interaction had succeeded at giving him the strongest migraine to date. It was to be expected, though. He may have not been attacked in that alleyway, but that didn’t mean he’d get back unscathed. 

   “I don’t give a bloody fuck about Zuiderweg, Dorcas! For all I care he could get himself killed and it wouldn’t keep me up. In fact, I don’t care about those malcontents in the slightest. Do you think I’m stupid, or blind? Do you think I don’t know what they do outside the Ministry?” The man let out a groan, evidently struggling to keep up with Dorcas and maintain control on his behalf. 

                                             Then it all came bursting at the seams. 

   “I couldn’t care less about those divs, Dorcas, I care about you!” 

   His volume was lowering, and now he was now fully aware of the weight to the words that were leaving his mouth. He’d been so afraid of admitting it out loud, he couldn’t give his fear of facing more loss any authority. But now it was all out, like the rumble of thunders during a storm. 

  “Yeah, I care about you, Dorcas! And I was so bloody scared of losing you. I was so afraid of being called to the alley and finding you dead! I was so scared thinking that you were risking your life for a tip that was evidently fake, that you’d be done with for something so stupid when--” 

                                                  When she meant so much to him. 

 At that exact moment, something inside him felt itself turn incredibly vulnerable. He felt as though he’d taken a dagger and cut himself open right before her. His insides had been pulled forward, collected, displayed. And it was enough to strike fear into his heart but also enough to feel the weight of a thousand years’ worth of grief pouring in. 

  His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor Moody breathed out a sob. 

   “If I’m being really honest, that’s what scares me. I don’t want things to change, I don’t... want you to die -- not for something so dumb, not for anything. I worry about the fact that I’m unable to stop you from getting hurt or killed. And it’s so naïve, it’s so... stupid too. Yeah, I know that’s not how it works. I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want, that you’ve shown me, Dorcas. That doesn’t make it any easier to stop worrying.”  

[magiicaleye-blog]

l. evans

She had always known what she could lose. At least, she’d known from a fairly young age, when it had become clear how much people hated her. It had been shocking, it had hurt, but in time, it had come to feel almost ordinary, expected. So signing up for the Order, Lily had been ready to die. She had even told herself she was ready for James to die, for Dorcas, for Marlene. But she hadn’t expected the other parts that had come - the feelings of doubt, of guilt, that she was changing into something darker, something hopeless. “I suppose it’s like this spell. You need conviction, to believe in something strongly enough that doubts can’t affect you.  It sounds easy enough, but … ” Lily had thought she had that conviction, but it was so much easier when it was based purely on righteousness, not when you had the first taste of getting your hands dirty with someone else’s blood. 

She was relieved not to have to share something so personal, but Moody’s firm yet gentle tone was anything but instrusive. Lily felt comforted by that - the Patronus was arguably a very personal spell, it would have felt worse in front of someone who wasn’t so kind about it. Closing her eyes briefly, she thought back on the most distinct parts of her memory, trying to summon up the feelings that had lived there. “Expecto Patronum,” Lily called, focusing every energy she had on the spell, remembering what James’ voice had sounded like (as she’d barely looked at him, afraid of what his expression might say). A burst of silver pranced out of her wand, and Lily felt a flurry of hope as it appeared to have more shape than usual, to be forming into something. But that hope soon dissipated as its form spread out once more into shapeless mist. 

“Do you think …?” Lily began quietly, losing her nerve partway through. She took a breath, then asked again. “Do you think it would matter if a person had used dark magic recently? Or been around it - I visited Azkaban recently for the Healers. There was a rogue Dementor, it attacked me,” she added quickly, looking away as her cheeks paled. Dumbledore might have said it was alright - or at least that he understood what she’d done - but Moody was an Auror. He had every right to despise her as much as Marlene did. 

But to lie, she couldn’t shake how wrong she felt. It had been bad enough doing so at the hospital, but to someone like Moody who she respected, who seemed to respect her, who was putting trust of his life in her hands through the Order,  it felt so much worse. “No, I should just try again. I don’t usually give up so easily, I swear,” she ended, as if cutting off the thought that had led her to ask the question. Joy, she needed to focus on joy. Not her worst regrets.  

A sigh escaped him, almost without him noticing. In the silence between them hung a million truths, each more painful than the last one. He nodded, though slowly and almost against his will. No, he didn’t want to give them any power. He didn’t want to grant them any authority. The future was uncertain, uncharted. They hadn’t lost ( though they hadn’t won either. Not yet ) and knowing the power of suggestion far too well, it had now begun troubling him to even devote himself to this thinking. He carried to this day, for some foolish reason, the childish belief of jinxing things. It was ironic, in a way, how he was instructing Lily to conjure happiness when his nerves and the anguish were eating him alive. He felt it too hypocritical of him to do it. No, he wouldn’t jinx this. There was currently enough against them, and they didn’t need a paranoid old man’s superstition burdening them on top of it all. 

    And then, almost as if Lily had seen into his head, he saw the perfect distraction coming. His eyes, having remained mostly adamant on not meeting hers, sharply moved toward her wand. They widened in an awe Moody didn’t get to feel often, like that of a child opening a mysterious present on Christmas. It sounded ever so naïve, but there had been this hope, this optimism bubbling inside of him, eager to see the redhead’s performance. And along with this naïvety had tagged the expectation that the charm would work right away, that it would all go magically smoothly.

   As the silver strings disappeared, like dandelion fluffs being wafted away, his expression relaxed into that of emotionlessness. He didn’t sigh or groan. His lips were kept ever so pressed against each other, and he eyed the tip of the wand as he frowned, somewhat perplexed. This wasn’t shocking, it was not disappointing, and this rang immensely true. His opinion and perception of the witch didn’t falter. 

  His curiosity, however, was suddenly fanned into a blaze. 

   “Dark Magic?” he asked, trying arduously to mask the fear at the worst. He felt his heart rate increasing and his temples heating up. For someone so insistent on foresight, Alastor Moody was an impulsive man. Theories and possible explanations had already come flooding him, even before Lily started speaking again. “Evans...” the brunet began as if commencing a warning. “Not only is the use of Dark Magic a serious issue but also incredibly imprudent--” the words rush, half in fear and the rest in what seemed to want to transition into disappointment ( it wouldn’t be the first or last time one of the Order members surprised him in a fashion similar to this ). 

  “A rogue Dementor?” now the query was blurted out in disbelief. In all his years visiting Azkaban -- a second home to him at this point -- he had never heard of such an incident. “Patronus charm aside, if that was the case then we might be dealing with something more complicated.” Remus’ words came to him then -- there had been whispers of creatures being recruited by those on his side. If He had somehow managed to get Dementors to join Him... he didn’t even want to think about it. In all his surprise, he had not even come close to catching Lily’s lie. His reaction -- rather, its underlying paranoia -- was comically misguided. 

  “No, I-- yes, you’ll need to try again but the Patronus charm can wait a minute. What happened with the Dementor?” 

[magiicaleye-blog]

b. fenwick‌

Benjy took a long gulp of coffee, desperate for some caffeine as Moody’s eyes darted around his surroundings. He knew the man was pretty paranoid, but it was the muggle liaison office of all places. Aside from their head of department, the place was relatively quiet and painless. Not many strange and nefarious things happened here - the most interesting things were usually the strange ways muggle-borns displayed their magic. 

“Oh absolutely. I used to be alright, I could get by with very little caffeine. Maybe a cup of tea here and there. Now I can hardly focus without a coffee to wake me up, and one at lunch time to reinvigorate me,” Benjy chuckled. “It tastes like they’ve used the coffee beans before, they’re just shoving them through the machine again to save money. Like when you reuse a teabag and it’s the weakest shit you’ve ever tasted,” Benjy stuck his tongue out a little in disgust. 

There it was. The question he’d been expecting. A small sigh escaped his lips and he set his pen down, pushing the paperwork away. “It’s been rough, if I’m honest. Now a certain someone has returned, it’s…well, the work itself is okay, same as usual really, but…. Well, y’know. You were there that day. It’s hard. But I’ll keep going for as long as I need to. I can’t do anything other than carry on.”

The man nodded, laughing ever so softly to Benjy’s remark. I wouldn’t surprise him to discover otherwise. He’d had better brews at unexpected places, like the Leaky Cauldron, for example. The inn’s food and its reputation were equally atrocious, but their coffee was unique, and Alastor had grown to like it over time. Sure, he’d be caught dead before possibly admitting it. 

  “If I were you,” Moody began, feigning seriousness, “I’d watch what I said. Once they hear you’ve found out their secret, they’ll do away with you.” It was obvious, mostly from the smile Moody displayed, that it was a joke. The Ministry had more important affairs to concern itself with, that was an irrefutable truth. Still, it felt simple and appealing enough to laugh about it. What else could they do? It was not like they’d suddenly place its coffee-making procedures at the top of its priorities. 

  Moody shifted, his expression turning serious the more attentively he looked at Benjy. He purposefully chose not to let the discomfort shake him - he knew he needed to ask, on behalf of those with Benjy’s interest at heart. And while he agreed wholeheartedly with Benjy -- hell, hadn’t he drilled it into his own head that the only way to make it through was to just force oneself to? To carry on, even when it demanded everything from you? -- he found himself shaking his head. 

   “Fenwick, listen--” even his loss of words could be noticed, if whoever was listening knew what to look for-- “there’s more to it than that. I-- what I’m trying to say is to be careful: you don’t want to come to a point where it all just... combusts, do you?” Grief could consume a man just as much as the loss itself did.

   “You don’t have to do it all on your own. You know that, don’t you?”

[magiicaleye-blog]

r. lupin

Remus knew it would be risky, but if it was what he had to do then he’d do it. “We can talk to the other’s about it maybe,” The boy looked over Alastor’s features a moment before nodding, “I don’t know, we’ll figure it out.” They always seemed to manage it in the end.

“I just know he’s a genius for these things, pity he’s with Him.” Remus sighed, “I guess we didn’t have a good hand in the matter either, especially after Sirius’ little stunt.” He hadn’t talked about it with the older members of the Order, only Dumbledore, knowing they’d get lectured enough for the mere thought of what happened. “I guess… Slughorn wasn’t the first Slytherin to come to mind, but I suppose he won’t be the last.” Those of Slytherin House tended to be good at the darker side of magic, potions being the perfect place to practice. “I don’t want to worry Dumbledore with all this on top of whatever else he’s dealing with. I’m just a,” He paused, chuckling rather humorlessly, “Sick dog. I’m sure I’m rather low on the list of things to fix right now.” 

The man nodded yet again, taking his time allowing for every word that left Remus to sink into his brain as it had to. He didn’t want to approach this carelessly, not when a man’s wholeness and well-being were at stake. 

“And for that reason, he’s a dolton. I’m sure we can find someone trustworthy who’ll do the job just as well... if not better,” Moody commented, not wanting to encourage Remus to sulk over the fact. He couldn’t take it for them to be suffering over someone like Severus Snape -- no, Alastor was too proud for that, even if it hurt and Remus’ words had a tinge of truth to them. Rotten luck. “What, like he hasn’t dealt with this much in the past or like ye’re not dealing with just as much. Come on, Remus, this is different. Let me at least owl him, see if he can get ahold of Slughorn and see where it leads us.” The words ‘sick dog’ made something inside Moody quiver, as if in gloom. “Ye’re not a sick dog, and you need to stop thinkin’ of yerself as one or as somethin’ needing to be fixed. And I’ll -- we all -- will get it into that bloody head of yers until it sticks, or else... in that case, then you will actually need some fixin’,”  he joked, amicably. “You heard me?”

[magiicaleye-blog]

—. WHERE: the ministry of magic —. WHO: ft. edgar bones ( @goldenboybones-edgar )

right then, the painfully cold light from the bulb that loomed over him, alastor moody let out a sigh. he straightened his back, closing his eye and pinching the bridge of his nose. he could feel his temples throbbing, and he glanced over at his watch only to satisfy the urge that pushed to do so. he could feel pins and needles threatening to annoy his leg, so he propped himself up and stood up. standing up he finally felt the weight of all the tiresome office work just tackled hit him, arousing some restlessness, some desire for a break. 

    so the brunet left his desk, treading nonchalantly through the dark-tiled halls with no destination in mind. knowing that he would have to send himself back in a few moments to finish what was left of the workload made him somewhat angry, while at the same time making him feel even more eager about the rest ---- if he could even call it that ----  that it’d grant him, although temporarily, after it was done. 

     he let his legs carry him over to the elevators, not even realizing who it was that was around him until he looked away from the button panel. an evidently pleased expression overtook his features, sending a small, subtle smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other wizard.

    “ah, bones. look at that ----” he said, genuinely, and surprised yet thankful in a way only being reminded of something vital was ---- “you’re just the man i was hoping to come across.” he thanked the odds that had allowed for the serendipity to ensue. nowadays timing, as tricky as ever, had a magical quality of its own. 

[magiicaleye-blog]

b. fenwick‌

Benjy’s mood had so wildly dropped as soon as Rodolphus Lestrange had returned to claim his place as Head of Department. Most of the time, he could just about keep his head above water but following the torture of Dorcas and James, all the suppressed pain over the death of his parents and siblings had bubbled up once more. It took almost all his strength to simply keep his distance from Lestrange and watch, and his evenings were spent chasing any sort of release from the pain. Only those closest to him knew about the depth with which his pain reached, the grief he’d hidden so well during Hogwarts as he sought to be the best he could be.

These days, the best that Benjy could do was drag himself out of bed and show up to work. The dark circles underneath his eyes had seemingly darkened each day, and every day he pondered quitting his job. He knew that it was too important though - who would’ve thought it? Some thought the muggle liaison office was one of the most useless, and certainly those who stuck to pureblood supremacy thought that, but it was the opportunity to quietly watch Lestrange who barely even knew his name that was so important. And despite the pain it caused him, that alone pulled him out of bed. Even if it turned out that it was not a member of the Lestrange family who had murdered his family so brutally, the man deserved every bit of justice that the ministry could throw his way, and any small titbit of information was helpful. 

Something he had noticed is that whenever Lestrange returned from an extended break, a few of the higher up members of the Order seemed to appear at his desk every now and then. Perhaps it was something that Dumbledore had asked, out of concern for his wellbeing, or perhaps it was simply a coincidence. Benjy didn’t know, and he didn’t want to ask, for the short visits had such a profound effect on his mood. Such as it was, he became aware of a shadow falling across the paperwork he was working on, and as he looked up he met Moody’s eyes. 

The first time he’d looked into those eyes was the worst day of his life, but now Benjy associated them with strength, resilience. A small smile crossed his lips as he returned Moody’s nod of greeting. “Morning Moody. Its like God sent an angel my way in the form of Alastor Moody because I’m absolutely bloody desperate for a coffee, thank you,” he took the flask gratefully, breathing in the delicious smell of caffeine. “What brings you this way?”

The serving of humor to kick off the otherwise-miserable morning made Moody chuckle. A smile lingered as he had handed the flask over, looking away for a moment to scan their surroundings. It had been long established Moody was as paranoid as they came, but his discomfort only intensified whilst at work ( as ironic as that seemed to be ).  It did help, however, to catch sight of a familiar face. 

   Now, Moody wouldn’t say it. He saw concern at its most transparent as some form of burden, especially when it could be mistaken for overbearingness or pity. No, Moody would rather mask his concern -- as fruitless as it was in his case to put up a facade. He knew it well: the last thing Benjy needed was pity. It would become the same chains that would tie him down, something that wasn’t needed given his skill as a wizard. Benjy Fenwick wasn’t a child, he wasn’t a lost cause, he wasn’t what the constant checkups and concern seemed to make him out to be. And Alastor, the one who could see past it all, knew this better than everyone. But still, he felt it proper to drop by -- not from the standpoint of a tutor, or a fellow Order member, but an acquaintance... a friend, if it could be referred to as that. 

   “Timing is everything, innit?” the man smiled. A bloody ugly angel, it’d have to be, he thought playfully to himself. “Nowadays I can rarely get working without a couple servings of fresh brew. I wondered I wouldn’t be the only one. And besides, I don’t trust the coffee they give out here -- tastes like piss water if ye ask me,” he shrugged, eyes meeting Benjy’s again. 

  “How’s work been treatin’ you these past couple of days?” 

[magiicaleye-blog]

o. burke‌

“I’m glad that you understand,” Ophelia nodded, offering him a small smile in return.“ A store such as this does not stand for over a century without the trust of our customers.” She went on. It was part of her job to do things above board, but as she listened to Alastor continue, inquiring about just one name in particular, she had to remind herself that half of the battle was also about keeping the right people on her side. 

“I’m not making any promises, but if you would like to tell me the name, then perhaps I can have a look to see what I can find. I would need some time though, of course, a day or two perhaps.”

Over the course of this interaction, Moody had grown to develop an almost palpable admiration for the redhead. He did not appreciate the maze that this search was turning out to be, but from an objective standpoint, he looked up the protection she and her shop offered to their partners, much to his dismay. Before said thoughts clouded his judgment too much, he grounded himself back to reality. 

   “Sounds reasonable,” he finally expressed. “Anything under the surname Malfoy would do. Any name that might come up would be more than appreciated,” he half-smiled, still trusting politeness to carry him along. 

  “Well, I’d hate to take up more of your time --- though, I appreciate all the help so far immensely,” the brunet nodded, straightening his coat and walking over to the door. “I can drop by sometime next week; I don’t want to make you go through all the trouble of owling the Ministry. As efficient as the mail is made to be, correspondence, unfortunately, does get lost.”

[magiicaleye-blog]

l. evans

Looking in his eyes as he answered her question, Lily could see it. Not pain exactly, but hardness. She could easily remember being a student with a relatively carefree life, in the time before fighting and bloodshed seemed to become her fate. His eyes didn’t look like they remembered the same. “I suppose most Aurors join because they want to protect people. It must be hard to learn the other part of that, who people need to be protected from.” And how to stop those people. Lily looked down, at her wand in her hand. Told herself all she was doing was practising a defense charm. But what else would she need to learn, before all this was over? She had recently learnt, with Bellatrix, what she was truly capable of. What Marlene expected them all to be capable of - taking out the threat permanently. What else would her hands do? Had she been so completely naive to expect she would do no damage? “No one really signs up with their eyes closed, though, do they? Everyone knows, deep down. That the last resort could be required of them.” She wasn’t really talking about Aurors any longer, but it was comforting to pretend it didn’t apply to herself. 

A memory. There were many she associated with happiness. That day Marlene McKinnon had started following her around. Lily had been full of scepticism over Potter’s friend, but Marlene had flashed her smile and starting asking Lily about Muggle music, of all things. But when she thought of that, she remembered Marlene’s smile fading, her eyes turning angry and disappointed instead. 

When she had gotten off the train her fifth year, still bruised from the aftermath of the OWLs, and had seen her mother and father waiting for her. Lily had practically flung herself into their arms. Which was when she’d seen Petunia waiting behind them, a stretched out but not false smile on her lips. She could remember the old faded skirt, daffodil printed, that Petunia had been wearing, it was taken from their mother’s wardrobe. As children they’d played dress up with it. But maybe that wouldn’t be strong enough, not completely happy. Too much pain was there, from looking around for Severus’ hard-faced mother and seeing no one was there to take him home. He’d stood shoulder to shoulder with his Slytherin friends instead and Lily had hurried to her father’s car in half-bitter, half-frightened haste in case her mother recognised him and offered that he come along. The idea of her mother going anywhere near Mulciber. So many of her memories had that bitter taste, had been changed by the darkness of war and her inability to fight the mental war that came with it. And her own mistakes. Most of all, her mistakes.

James was the only one not poisoned. He stood strong in her mind, seeming to resist fiercely any attempts for her happiness to be taken away. But was there a distinct laugh, a distinct smile, that meant more to her than the rest? It was every moment. It was all of them. “I’m not sure,” Lily hedged, though one, vivid for more than just being recent, was coming to her now. Herself at her very worst, most unforgivable - she’d thought. The wetness of tears swept away on her face. James’ hand brushing hers the tiniest, the only, point of contact. His voice. Evans…I’ve had the biggest crush on you since I was 14 and finally realised what girls were, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m a fair bit completely in love with you. It’d take more than this to change how I feel. Out of her misery, she’d felt invincible, at once strengthened and humbled by the exchange of love. 

“I’ve got something in mind. Do you want me to tell you about it?” she asked, as neutrally as possible, though with some discomfort at the thought. 

Moody listened. He took in every word, as if he were scanning a pathway before treading it. Then, he let out a sign. He nodded to Lily’s words, having noticed the shift in subject and matter. For some reason, he felt it wrong to speak, as if saying anything were to pierce through the truth of the statement. Nothing scared Moody more than knowing they could win. He could feel the victory beckoning at them, he could take it and grasp it until turning his fingertips mauve. He could do this -- and he would, he knew it -- because he didn’t know what would become of him, of them all, if they didn’t make it. But he knew it, as many Aurors did, as many of those who’d lost as much as he had, that it came with a cost. He doubted any of them would be the same afterward, and the uncertainty -- as it always had -- robbed him of his tranquility. “They don’t, no,” he said, surprisingly softly and quietly. “How far do you think we’d make it if we didn’t know what was at stake? How far would we get not knowing how much we could lose?” 

   He rested his frame against the wall, hands crossed in front of his chest. From time to time, he eyed Lily, and how her expression seemed to convey a shift in the browsing and perusing of her memories. The most complex part of the charm in question was to accurately select a memory most vivid and heavy with emotion. Such task had proven to be so complicated and demanding that many wizards, no matter how talented, failed to cast a corporeal Patronus or complete the spell at all. Everything seemed to turn more difficult, Moody believed, with the looming presence of the war. On its face, many memories could potentially turn bitter, they could be corrupted. Many cheerful moments were followed by tragedy, to the point where said misery colored the memory distressing and subsequently rendered ineffective. Now, with his back against the wall and his eyes on Lily, he hoped ( and held onto said hope ) that there was at least one memory effective enough to fulfill the task. While he knew it was not up to him, that he was but acting as a conduit, a middle-man between the witch and her true potential, he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she managed to achieve the result she wished for. 

  The man smiled genuinely as if his soul itself had been touched by the question, this brief manifestation of Lily’s considerate nature that sought to give him access to such precious a moment. He understandably shook his head, until then not realizing how quiet he had been ( though, admittedly, he did feel as though a large part of this pursuit befell on Lily, and that thus his words were not immediately required ).

  “No. That memory is like a birthday wish, so treat it as such. The important part here is that you visualize it, that you let it play inside of your head as if you were reliving it. Now, above all else, focus on the joy to the memory, to the happiness it granted you. You don’t need to go into the specifics --” his tone had now turned neutral, clear, and instructive. It was somewhat devoid of emotion, all for clarity reasons-- “don’t question it, don’t rip it apart and try to analyze it entirely. Just focus on the sheer happiness to this moment. It should be enough for you to feel as though you could touch it, Lily...”

     “And, as you do,” he continued, slowly and precisely, “let the muscle memory kick in, and let your hand follow the charm’s motion. Then, whenever you’re ready, just pronounce the incantation ------- ‘expecto patronum ’ .” 

[magiicaleye-blog]

r. lupin

Remus knew just how much damage one wolf could do, let alone an army. His head hung low, something animalistic about his breath for a moment, ears pricking up as Alastor continued. Remus took a moment, furrowing his brow some, “I could try going undercover, going down there and talking to other wolves. I’m young, and not many people know me.” It was a silly idea perhaps, but it could buy them some time.

“It comes from some dark wizard, I doubt trust is relevant here.” Remus tilted his head, “It’s got wolfsbane in it, and I know that has an adverse effect, but it’s risky. Plus I think the turn might still happen, and what if I somehow get stuck half way? It’s hard to say if it’d work, and maybe I should talk to Lily about it. If Snape was to be trusted he’d probably be the one to talk to.”

“Sounds risky as it is. The last thing any of us would want is for any of them to recognize you later on, specifically those who aren’t precisely on our side. But if you’re so insistent, we can arrange a cover ---- at least get you some Polyjuice potion to act as a disguise,” Moody offered, notably serious. Remus’ concern could be easily felt, but as much as he wanted to pursue this option, he did not want to do it recklessly. He would give in, as the situation called for it, but with the due approach; he didn’t mind being the skeptic or wary one out of the two. 

   The man huffed -- Remus was right. “Talk to Lily, and trust her advice. Can’t say the same about Snape, though, you’re right in that sense. What about Dumbledore? Maybe he can get in touch with auld Slughorn. Have you thought of talking to him?”

[magiicaleye-blog]

d. meadowes‌

Dorcas felt every defense she had fly from her lungs. A searing pain filling her chest that squeezed her heart, sending tingling nerves down her arms as the nerves filled every inch of her stomach. The fluttering of butterfly wings made her choke. She could feel the ticks of the clock pulsate through her head, the squeaks of shoes against linoleum throwing her words back into her face when she watched the back of a man that she thought she had all figured out.

Quiet tears rolled down her face and as much as tried to hid them, she could feel their warm trails leave imprints on her skin. Compulsions to scream, sob, yell came as fast as the wind and all she could was watch. She replayed his words back in her head;

                                                               Rowdy…

They plastered themselves on her brain. On her skull. Every inch covered in words of disappointment. Her parents had never prepared her for this feeling of being scolded, if that was what was happening. They only saw her when she was supposed to be on her best behavior so every second of holidays was spent happy. She never felt the shame rise in her throat the way it was now. She felt like a joke, but she’d be damned if anyone saw that feeling.

His words kicked dirt in her face.

She couldn’t stand for it and she wouldn’t.

She’d rather die than be shamed by Moody.

She knew he was right. Ultimately.

The pain in her chest continued to squeeze and hold when Moody turned back to her. She saw similar trails on his face that she held on hers. Irritated skin from shouting and pinching. An uncommon fear running down her spine with slew of words that he spat at her. She pushed her eyes down to her lap as she wiped underneath them, unable to hold the gaze of a man who was barring his soul.

With a heavy sigh, she hid her face into her hands. Pushing every rude thing she wanted to throw back at him down further and further, but she couldn’t stop her lips from moving on their own accord, “A tantrum!? That’s rich coming for you, Moody,” she whispered into her hands before meeting his eyes once more.

“People like me? Who’s people like me, Alastor,” she spat, “You claim I know nothing of you, you know nothing of me either! I am NOT a child. I am NOT your child. If Malfoy would have actually killed me… what would you have lost, huh? An Auror trainee? An Order member?”

Dorcas cut her gaze from Moody and stared straight ahead at the scuffed white walls of St. Mungo’s. “I apologize for speaking ill of your family. I apologize for my insensitivity, but don’t for a second compare me to whoever hurt your wife,” she whispered as more silent tears streamed down her face. Biting down on her lip. “If you have such an issue with my tantrums and my fits, then why are you still here, Moody? You’ve done your good deed. You “rescued” me, didn’t you. If you really think my childish—” she stopped, the venom of her words making her choke on the soft sob that wanted to leave her throat, “If my childish whims are such an issue to you, then fire me. Let this little hiccup in your life pass and be done.”

Moody fell uncharacteristically quiet. He let out a sigh, shut his eyes tight, and let Dorcas’ words fall unto him like merciless hail during a storm. On the back of his eyelids, he saw himself, years and years prior, only a lanky kid. Growing up, he had spent little time with his own parents. They were mostly out on missions, testifying at trials, or guarding an important figure in the magical community. His memory was foggy, especially so given the hard blows he had been dealt in the events where he’d barely walked away unscathed or with a missing body part. But never, not once could he recall a time where he had had a tense discussion with his own father. With him, reprimanding had been far harsher, consisting of a gaze in which disappointment was sharp and able to felt to the core. If stares could kill, his father’s would’ve taken him out easily. And during the cruelly short time he had been allowed to spend with his own daughter, he had not managed to teach himself to effectively lead ---- not as an auror, or a wizard, but as a father.  He was, in all sense and interpretations of the word, clueless. Lost. Helpless. 

   Now, finally opening his eyes, Moody silently pleaded to him. To anyone. To her, the one ghost whose presence loomed over him the most often. His fingers instinctively made their way over to his ring finger, toying with the metal band long worn-out and rusted. 

      Help me, he pleaded inside his head, to her. 

                             Help you with what? he could practically hear her snicker. She’d most likely take Dorcas’ side on this one. You’re the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, weren’t you? The one who just needed to be right all the time.

     His hands were curled into fists, and his arms crossed in front of him as he leaned against the wall. His eye could not meet hers. Not yet, at least. He could feel his nails digging crescent moons into his palms, and he let go just in time before they would begin sprouting crimson. 

   As he listened, he let every word swallow him whole. He let her go on as much as she desired, like a relentless, rebellious youth. He let every word brand onto his skin and burden him with anger and despair. He let it, for, in his eyes, victories were at times only worth it thanks to the suffering that led up to them.  

   “Me, Dorcas! Me! I already saw that getting your petty arse wiped out wasn’t even close to enough to slap some sense into you, so take me as your cautionary tale ---- well, that is, if you choose to actually listen to what I’m saying this time around --” Moody exclaimed, his voice once more loud and upset-- “I used to be like you. I thought I was entitled to doing whatever I bloody fancied, and that nothing would ever get back to me. I was a carbon copy of you, Dorcas, going around running my mouth off like a dolton, burying my nose where I shouldn’t have and pissing off the wrong people all while thinking that I was safe just because I knew a few spells here and there. But I was wrong; I was naïve and stupid, and so are you! You say you’re not a child but you keep acting up like one! So stop making a div out of yourself before you end up standing over a pile of corpses!”

  At this point in time, Moody held absolutely no regard for any passerby or staff that were able to overhear them. His temper could no longer be kept in check, and all frustration he had kept restrained inside of him these past months simply erupted. 

    Something inside of him halted and shook. Alastor Moody, the one who always needed to be right, the one who always had to have the last word, the one with all the answers knew the reply to her question. 

                           A friend. 

   “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should’ve just let Malfoy snatch you, then I wouldn’t be here wasting my time talking to someone who’s got less common sense than a bloody toddler, Meadowes!” The man let out, each and every word uttered without so much as a second of forethought. He felt himself change; he felt himself turn young in the childish way he fought back with Dorcas, yet old at all the loss that came back to him all at once, and all the anger that left his whole self aching yet weakened. 

   “Oh, now you’re apologizing? How polite of you. Listen, Dorcas, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. You’re stuck with me, you heard me? I’m the one who pulled you out of that gutter when you couldn’t even move, and now I’m the only one here. I just got the shitty luck of having to put up with your -- yes, your tantrum. I haven’t seen a single person walk in through that door--” he gestured over at the entrance, which seemed haunting in some sense -- “not a friend, not even a family member. So where are these people you say you’d die for, huh?”

   Finally, he felt himself exhale. He wanted to call this a victory, simply for the sake of satisfying his childish, immature urge to always have the upper hand. His chest rose and fell quickly, and he felt the heat burden his face. A hand rested on his hip now, and the other to the side. He said nothing for a moment as if this were all but a game of chess and he was analyzing his arsenal before making a move. 

   “Nothing would make me happier than to fire you right now,” he groaned, shaking his head. The man smiled as if to show how much he was savoring the option. “But that’d be the most blatantly stupid decision I could make; that’d just enable you to run around unsupervised, and we both know how that turned out. No, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You’ll stay right where you are, and you’ll have to report back to either me or Kingsley twice as often. You’ll be banned from taking on fieldwork for a month ---- see how you like taking care of paperwork only in the meantime.” Then, finally, he walked somewhat closer to her, lowering his voice which still surprisingly contained the rage of the man--  “And until you prove the rest of us otherwise, you won’t be allowed to go on any missions on your own. You’ll have to partner or group up, and you better not get any ideas during any of the operations. Is that all clear?”

[magiicaleye-blog]

—. WHERE: ministry of magic, morning —. WHO: benjy fenwick ( @benjyfvnwick​ ) 

Nowadays, Alastor did not know what to make of his job. Every inch of him seemed to encourage him to hate it, to despise him. Something in him wanted to give in to the exhaustion felt by the tides of discouraged workers, by those who were risking more than they were earning by keeping their position. It was at the Ministry, the organization that had long provided Alastor with stability, where he felt the most uneasy. He found himself looking over his shoulder at all times, shielding himself from prying eyes burdened with ill intentions. 

    And yet, he soldiered on. He got through piles of paperwork the height of the Ben Nevis, coming back with fatigue drilled into his bones from the seemingly never-ending days of fieldwork. It’d been this job, this cursed position at an institution plagued with corruption and lack of efficiency, that had demanded the most from him. 

   But now, with flask freshly-brewed coffee in each hand, Moody was reminded of the reason he continued on with the work. They all had names and faces, they were all members of the same clandestine group of wizards looking to reinstate justice. Benjy Fenwick was one of them.

  With a vague sense of loss disturbing him in face of a department foreign to his own, he made his way over to Benjy’s station. In his mind, he was looking to check up on the younger man before he headed over to his own desk. He couldn’t wrap his head around Benjy’s job ---- or rather, the resilience with which he faced it. 

  He nodded at the other brunet politely as their eyes finally met. Then, he lifted the flask for the other to say, smiling.

             “Morning, Fenwick,” Moody greeted amicably, yet in his usual gruff tone of voice. “Coffee?”

[magiicaleye-blog]

o. burke‌

Ophelia was used to people visiting the old shop with the sole intentions of tracking down specific items, it happened often, and over the years they had gone as far as employing people specifically for tracking down said items. It had just become part of her day to day business, however there was something about Alastor’s interest in this cane that didn’t seem to sit right with her. He was renowned for doing everything by the book, for abiding by every law, so to come looking for something so specific and only giving very vague reasons for doing so, it made her question his true intentions. 

“I can look at them, sure, but you will understand that I cannot just hand them to you to peruse through at your own leisure.” She explained. The books for Borgin & Burke’s were, of course, always purposefully kept very much above board, but she still wasn’t about to hand them over to the head of the Auror department. 

The man nodded, allowing himself a smile ---- as if that brief, calm gesture were to rid the air of tension. There was no reason to send all the progress to waste by getting overly insistent. Even if this led him nowhere, he’d rather leave the store in one piece for the sole purpose of potentially showing up again. The last thing he wanted was to make himself enemies where there could be none. 

    “Of course,” he reassured, “I understand you might be keeping the client confidentiality agreement in place.” But then again, his hands were tied here: he could not anticipate his superiors’ reactions to this. Him coming to them some sort of permission with the power to enable his own somewhat-selfish pursuit was not likely to sit well with them. “In fact, I don’t want to look at all your customers’ records. Just a single name -- if there’s one, that is -- would do.”