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@moodyvigilance
“This is really not the best night for a party.” Regulus had finished the drink in his hand and figured the only way to get through the night was with at least a buzz. “Great.”
“Why d’ y’ sae it ain’t a good night fer a partae, lad?” Alastor eyes the boy before him. Not that he wouldn’t deny it’s a poor day to have a party but if the Head Auror had his way, every day would be a bad night for partying of any kind.
: : { Thieving Retrieval } : : Felix + Alastor [war pair]
Felix stares at his cup for a long moment before he downs the swill of potion inside, graced with the hair of men he considers monsters. It burns on the way down, a sickly, consuming way that is nothing like alcohol and can’t be wished away by the need to look strong. Felix gasps and shakes his head abruptly, wishing he’d never swallowed the stuff. “It’s –”
He’s cut off as his voice changes mid-speech. His body burns and he can feel other parts of him shifting uncomfortably, stretching where he wasn’t and filling places that have hollowed with stress and little sleep. He’s a different man when the burning stops, wearing the face of a croney for a man who kills the innocent. Felix hates the face he’s wearing as much as he does the Death Eaters. It’s why he agreed to do this, to join the Order and be part of missions like these.
Barely a year ago, he thinks, he would never have done this. A cocky little shit who thought he would excel, who joined the Auror program on a dare because that’s just who he used to be. He’s not that kid anymore. He’s not much of anything anymore. Felix rubs his face, feeling new lines and bones he’s not sure he wants to. “It’s a horror indeed. How ugly am I now?”
Organs tear themselves into new arrangements, blood boiling as it shifts to accommodate the perfectly imperfect dynamics of a foreign human being. Alastor lets it take its toll as if it’s a cheap liquor gone down wrong. This isn’t the first time he’s had to use Polyjuice for the purpose of a mission and highly doubts it’s the last time he’ll have to down the vile brew. Once his own transformation settles, he takes stock that everything feels it’s in the proper place and his mind is his own.
“Aye,” Alastor responds with a heavy gaze at the man Felix has become, “A right ugly bastard y’are.” The voice doesn’t come out right. A mouth not suited to the rough and tumble of a Scottish Highlander and it’s with conscious effort that he speaks in a way he assumes the man he’s possessed would. “I mean--mighty ugly.”
Giving his new body a full slow spin, he offers it up for scrutiny in return. “All the bits seem to be in place on this man’s horrid person? Make it a quick judgment and then we’ll get a move on.”
Already Alastor heads out of the small safe house--shed is more accurate a description--and holds his wand up to cast a silent lumos in order to light their way over the damp night grass toward the apparation point.
:: { A Firm Constitution } :: James + Alastor
James knew that he was going on about it again, but he didn’t talk about it often. He screamed about it only to himself, because he was always the strong one. He had always been the one who had been the mother hen, the pillar. So, being weak and still dealing with all of this was not something that James Potter should be doing. He shouldn’t still be fucking upset over this. He had a beautiful wife, and great friends.
“Yeah I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.” James didn’t know how to make it easier, how to get it out of his mind. He just didn’t. “Well you dn’t have to worry about that, because there is nothing in me that says that what I did was right or makes me feel like it feels good. It’s going to take me a long time to get over and worse part is, it could happen again, one day. I’m glad I’ve been given all this chance, but I hate this fucking war.”
He listened to what he said and took a deep breath. “I’m ready for it all to lessen now. I just don’t know how to deal with any of it, because I’m not good at being weak and because I’m not good at being weak, I have no clue how to make any of this better in my head, at all.”
Each individual feels differently, thinks differently about the things they have done. Death impacts every mind in unique ways, never quite the same in each person. Alastor feels his words coming up short to provide any source of relief for James but it’s his responsibility to look after these kids willing to wage war so soon in their lives.
“Y’ll joost ‘ave t’ learn ‘ow best ta cope wit it in yer own time, lad.” Alastor drains the rest of his tea cup as he wishes he had something stronger running down his throat to warm his belly. “The thing aboot war is takin’ a life offen means yer savin’ sumeane else’s. Even if ye dunnae knae ‘oo that ane is at the time.”
There’s a quiet sigh on the Auror’s breath as he pushes to his feet, carrying his tea cup over to the sink as he speaks. “Ye ain’t weak fer it. Quite the opposite, James. Those that dunnae feel remorse or feel poorly at what they bring aboot--they’re weak. They ain’t got the emotions t’ feel wit an’ it’ll be their own undoin’.” When he returns to the table, Alastor reaches out and clasps James at the shoulder. “Dunnae give up on yerself. War ain’t e’er easy an’ we’ll be seein’ an’ doin’ worse before it’s all o’er. All we can do is stick our wands between our teeth, grin, and bear it. But we will see it ta it’s end, that I swear t’ ye.”
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{ Undisclosed Desires } ; Iain + Alastor
Iain nearly pulled away entirely when it occurred to him that this was not what he should be doing. Alastor’s signals might be drunk Scottish familiarity and not flirting, not attraction, and he botched the entire friendship by being one of those devils that liked men and women both, wanted and loved more than he was supposed to. Iain nearly threw himelf onto the floor to get away from the mistake he was certain he had made, until -
Until Alastor was tugging him closer, grasping at a jawline that burned underneath the touch. Iain went up in flames, both embarrassed and too attracted for his own good, and a little drunk to boot. But Alastor guided Iain when he was consumed, dragging him closer and a top him, and Iain knew he hadn’t messed up.
He braced himself and bent down to kiss Alastor again, a slow movement as he shifted his arms to not press on the older Scot too much. After a long time of pushing away this half of himself, his identity, and denying that Alastor made him incredibly safe and challenged and different, Iain could get used to this. Uncomplicated attraction and respect, the knowledge that both of them were quiet but communicative, and the bastard’s all together devilish way of kissing.
Iain broke it after a moment, resting his head on the Scot’s chest to breathe and enjoying the close proximity too much. “You’re a right bastard, Alastor,” he murmured, faint laughter escaping him.
There’s a great satisfaction in feeling the solid weight of a man atop him. Alastor feels a sense of deep appreciation, acknowledging that the man is as sturdy and made of hard angles, yet pliable to pleasures just as a woman may be. Beneath the anatomy; the flesh and bones, muscles and sex traits, they are all humans with pounding hearts and desires for the warm intensity of another. Each person has triggers, those special places where their bodies are most receptive to hands and mouths.
Alastor’s fingers splay themselves across Iain’s sides, running along his ribs as their lips dance against one another. The taste of liquor and the essence of the man burn hot rods of need right through the Auror’s body. And it has been so very long.
A deep chuckle rumbles in Alastor’s chest at Iain’s words the moment their lips break from one another to welcome much-needed air. “I ain’t denyin’ that,” he offers.
To accentuate the bastard in him is true, the older Scot arches his hips upward with a slow roll that brings him in contact with Iain’s pelvis. The clothed promise of a building erection makes itself known in the temptuous moment and Alastor reaches his hands up to draw Iain’s face away from where it hides against his chest.
“Mae be a bastard, but I give as good as I get.” Alastor’s gaze reveals a swirling yearning as he adds in a gruff undertone. “Iain.”
Ghosts That We Knew; Ludovic + Alastor
The bolt on the door locks, echoing in the room, before Ludo can reach out to turn the knob. His hand hovers in the air, a few inches away from the door before his body bursts into action. A loud yell rips from Ludovic’s throat as he abandons his position to open the door and trades it for two closed fists banging on the door loudly.
Alastor’s voice from across the room, still calm, still seated, sends Ludo twirling around, eyes pinched in an angered expression, body heaving with heavy breaths. He barely hears the monologue that the Auror speaks at him, but he hears it; and none of it seems to break him free of the mounting pressure in his chest, his inability to garner a single productive breath of air.
And the moment that it seems that the man is finished speaking, finished accusing him and giving ultimatums, Ludo rushes forward and grabs the man by the shirt, grasping him at each shoulder and lifting him up in the chair. “Let me out of this room now,” he demands, yelling, spit flying from his lips, all logical thought gone. Eye level to eye level, Ludo is not sure what he will do if he is denied his release, but at the moment, he is sure he would do anything it took.
Alastor waits out the response he gets from Ludovic. His gaze steady and expression clear of the mounting frustration that rolls in his chest. The boy is being excessively difficult. Not a first but he would have thought some part of the Ravenclaw would want to share what happened to his family, who he might think responsible, in order to give his family some of the honour their deaths deserve. Alastor can only the fear in Ludo right now, that quickly melds behind the anger leeching to the forefront.
“An’ what makes y’ think there’s anaetin ye can do t’ make me let ye free, boy?” Alastor questions without raising his voice. “Assaultin’ an Auror comes wit a hefty fine an’ detainment. I wood ‘ope ye’d be smart enough ta knae we’d both be bettae off if the sick fucks responsible fer killin’ yer parents were the anes behind bars, Ludovic.”
The man makes no moves to force the Hogwarts student to release him. To rise to the young man’s level of fury would accomplish nothing. Alastor keeps his seat as best as possible with the hold the boy has on him, brown eyes meeting the boy’s own without a hint of malice or harshness in him. Only concern and patience.
Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts; Minerva + Alastor
For hours, Minerva had simply had the scritching sound of a quill on parchment as her companion. A steady rhythm had been set, working through the final stack of quizzes that sat on the professor’s desk. The sudden and unexpected rise in noise level sent the woman’s hand skidding for a quick moment before she caught herself.
Narrowed eyes raised to the target of her ire. One eyebrow arched as she studied her longtime friend. “Alastor Moody, what in Godric’s name do you think you are doing coming in here like that?” Her voice was as level as ever as the smell surrounding the man drifts to her. “And why do you reek of a night spent locked in a den burying your troubles?”
A part of the woman softened, though she couldn’t bring herself to show it. Standing firm and no-nonsense was what was expected, and occasionally needed, of Minerva.
“I think I’m lookin’ fer companae, Minnie,” Alastor answers with as much pomp he can muster in his current state. He shrugs his coat off and drapes it over one of the chairs without questioning if he’s actually welcome in her office. He then throws himself into the very chair and leans back with a heavy sigh. “An’ per’aps I smell o’ it because tha’s joost what I been doin’ fer the last two e’enin’s.”
Offering a shrug, Alastor’s gaze seeks Minerva out. All of her. From the sensible shoes she wears and the long gown and robe combination he’s so accustomed to seeing her in. When they were younger, the Auror may have claimed he knew the curves of her frame from countless moments spent memorising her lines while she studied. Yet now, her attire conceals so much of her figure and he wishes he could know it better than he even once had in his boyhood. When he finally reaches her sharp green eyes, he gives a lopsided smirk. “Ye can go back ta yer work. I joost figure I needed t’ get out o’ me ‘ouse before I lost me damn mind.”
{ The Masks That They Wear }; Eris + Alastor
Eris expelled a breath, one seemingly out of relief. The pressure, however, was still present behind her eyes, as images conjured by Bellatrix’s longings press themselves into her psyche, discoloring the interrogation. “I know Lily married James Potter,” Eris uses first names, as if she had any type of friendship with the once-classmates. Classmates was the important thing to focus on at the moment. “I was just unsure if you knew; they were my classmates, after all. It would be rude to not know considering I was present for the proposal. What I was unaware of, was the fact that her parents had passed.” Not murdered, but passed, as if it had a peaceful event. It was anything and everything but.
The pensieve was produced and Eris had to fight to keep her expression neutral. It was as if Alastor Moody was revealing exactly how incompetent he truly was, that, or how desperate he was. It did not matter which it was. He just tilted the game in her direction, and Eris waited until he leaned forward and finished his spiel to reply, leaning forward as much as her restraints would allow. She felt the bindings press into her flesh, the magical spark coming to life as they felt her slight struggle. “I will gladly offer my memories of that night, Mr. Moody, as soon as you provide me my wand.” In order for a pensieve to be used, the spell had to be cast by the owner of the memory; there was no way around this. And if Alastor Moody wanted to hand her wand over, then Eris was not going to object.
“And as for illegal memory extraction, I will not provide permission for you to use legilimency on me. I am sure that my permission is no deterrent considering the situation we both find ourselves in, so, allow me to be blunt. You will not find anything to incriminate myself in any of these crimes that you speak of. And if you did, I do not see how you will use it in Wizengamot to sentence me to a permanent time out, as you so kindly put it. Lest you forget, my father works for the Ministry’s Law Department. And while he is not particularly fond of me, I assure you he will not allow an illegal interrogation to pass as permissible evidence. But, please, carry on, do not allow me to discourage you.”
Eris held out her hand, with the quirk of an eyebrow, awaiting the next move.
Blast the insufferable pureblood manipulations to hell. Alastor’s gaze narrows as he feels a spark of true anger and frustration flaring to life in his breast at Eris’ calm explanation of how her father would keep her from spending any time in Azkaban. The fact that she dares to request her wand irks him a smidgen further and without waiting to reason with his own ire, Alastor springs to his feet and sends a backhand strike across the young woman’s face.
“Ye’ll be damned t’ Azkaban if I see fit fer it. D’nae mistake me on it, lass. Because yer father will nae ‘ave much t’ sae on the mattae if I do as I please.” Chest heaving, Alastor steps away from the table and pulls his own chair away as he does so. “Yer wand will nae meet yer ‘and while yer wit me ‘ere an’ I’ll see joost what yer mind will offer up t’ me when I force me wae inside.”
The man then takes the table by one end and drags it away from Eris, exposing her in her chair, bound against escape. The tension burns in Alastor’s muscles as he refrains from doing anything further. Violence never suits him when it can be carried out by another with more fortitude and expertise.
With this in mind, the Auror steps over to the one and only door that provides entrance or departure. “Sebastian,” the Scot barks without breaking his dark gaze from the captive in the middle of the room and when he speaks again, he addresses her. “I’ll nae enter yer mind till ye take some time wit me friend. Then we’ll see ‘ow strong yer capable o’ withstandin’ me an’ usin’ that slick tongue o’ yers t’ spit petty werds.”
The dark haired man called for enters the room then with a bag clasped in one veined hand. Alastor shares no other parting words as he steps out of the room and leaves the Hit Wizard to his own brand of interrogation techniques.
Devil in the Details; Lulu + Alastor
She received the letter from the head Auror just days after her ‘personal day’. Or, personal day and a half as she had spent most of the second day sleeping off her hangover in her Hogwarts quarters. But she’s better now. November’s just rough for the young Almost-Auror.
He’s a little scary, but Tallulah has always looked up to Alastor Moody. He did his job well, she thought. And it was always good if you were just slightly afraid of your boss. Especially for someone like Lulu who erred on the reckless side of caution. It kept her in check, kept her focused, kept her doing her job well to know she didn’t want to face the wrath of Auror Moody.
She shows up at Hogsmeade in time to meet him just barely, though she’s never been the early one for an appointment in her life. She nods with a grin as he says her name. “Alright, sir?” she grins, nodding her head, “Couldn’t tun down a visit from the boss man, now, could I? Note was vague though, I’m guessing it’s something specific.”
Alastor offers a nod as he lifts the coffee mug to his lips and takes a sip. Perfectly harsh on the palate. “Aye, fairle specific. I knae yer takin’ on a big responsibilite wit lookin’ after the castle befer y’ve finished trainin’ so I need t’ give ye a few details on what yer t’ be most alert and observin’ of.”
The man leans forward. The Auror’s presence filling the entirety of the booth as his gaze remains on unwavering on the young woman across from him. “Nae onlae should ye be on yer guard against anae attacks or threats, but a few students an’ staff should be monitor’d closelae.
“First is Ludovic Bagman. ‘is parents were murdered o’er the summer hols an’ nae onlae is ‘e a flight risk but ‘e mae show more aggression toward ‘is peers an’ professors. Nae ta mention, those ‘oo ended ‘is parents mae come lookin’ fer ‘im if they knae he’s alive, as ‘e was present when ‘is parents were murdered. Liability an’ a loose end them dark wizards mae look t’ tie up.”
With a furtive glance about the cafe, Alastor withdraws the file on the boy and passes it over to Tallulah with a nod. “Ye should knae the specifics o’ what all ‘appened t’ the lad’s parents, t’ knae joost what ‘e witnessed an’ will be fightin’ with. I ‘ave spoken wit Royden Greengrass an’ the professor ‘as taken Ludovic ta detentions wit the aim o’ managen the boy’s aggressive outbursts but ‘e cannae be solely responsible fer lookin’ aftae Mr Bagman with in the castle.”
:: { A Firm Constitution } :: James + Alastor
He then nodded. He wasn’t trying to be rude. He knew that he should take his tea. Picking up the sugar, he poured half of it into his tea, with some honey and cream and took a drink, before nodding. “Sorry about that.”
He nodded. “Good because I’m far too pretty for Azkaban.” He nodded. “Basically, when I was on my honeymoon, I heard about a possible hideout when I was at the shop with my cloak on. Well, we got back, so what I did then is I told Sirius and we went. Well, I wanted us to capture some, and I Wasn’t thinking. Well what happened next is we got separated, but once I found him, he was about to get hit, so I hit a stupefy at him, but he was too close to the edge and he grabbed his wife when he went over.” He then watched his hand shake. “I never meant to kill them, Moody. You have to believe me. I don’t want to be evil.”
He then took a deep breath. “It never goes away. I’m back to focusing, being the levelheaded, fun guy I was. But sometimes it still gets to me. Sometimes I find myself in the shower, just pulling my knees up to my chest and still fucking sobbing because I still feel like an awful person. My hand shakes when I think about it, like it is now and I just feel like a fucking failure. Professor McGonagall says sometimes things happen and that there will be times I still have more bad days than good, but I feel like I failed Lily, that I am not the man I could be, to her. She doesn’t think that, but I don’t want to be like Bellatrix. The nightmares won’t go away, and I don’t tell anyone I still feel like this because everyone expects me to be this levelheaded guy who’s a leader at 18. But sometimes, I don’t know if I can get over this.”
Alastor listens without interrupting, hearing James out entirely from start to finish. The only motions he makes are brief as he occasionally reaches to take his tea and sip some into his mouth. This type of occurrence that James relays is not unfamiliar to Alastor and he mulls over the words he should use as the boy’s story draws to a close. It’s never easy, that’s certain. No matter how many deaths he has personally been responsible for and the deaths he witnesses as a bystander, they haunt him to this day.
“Potter, I ain’t gun’ harp on ye fer actin’ wit out thinkin’. What’s done is done an’ none o’ us can take it back or do it over a bett’r wae.”
Folding his thick fingers together atop the table, Alastor leans forward ever so slightly as he adds, “What yer feelin’, the trauma squeezin’ at yer heart,” he points at James’ chest, “is a sure sign that ye ain’t nuthin’ like Miss Black or the rest o’ them mad wizards an’ witches. Yer humanitae, yer strength--it ‘asn’t left ye. If anaet’in’ it’s makin’ y’ stronger, lad. Y’ understand the value o’ a life an’ ye ain’t takin’ it lightle that ye took someone’s. The moment y’ lose that an’ killin’ sumane makes y’ feel nuthin’ at all is when ye should fear yerself the most.”
Leaning back again, Alastor hastens to explain further. “I ain’t never gun’ be the ane t’ tell ye it’ll all go awae, that it’ll get easier t’ deal wit. The nightmares, they’ll lessen o’er time but I cannae promise y’ this is the one an’ onle time y’ll take a life in this war. An’ y’ll ‘ave t’ face it time an’ time again. As I ‘ave an’ continue t’ do. What’s most important is tha’ ye keep yer head up, even on the worst daes an’ fight frum sinkin’ inta believin’ yer a wicked heartless person o’ some sort. That is furthest from the truth, James Potter an’ I ain’t aboot to let y’ ferget it.”
: : { Thieving Retrieval } : : Felix + Alastor [war pair]
The polyjuice potion was always hard to come by. Even in the Auror department, it wasn’t utilised as often in case work as it should be. What’s more, this is Order business. Alastor can’t pilfer from the scarce supply without drawing attention to himself. So they’d had to rely on the skills of the Order members with knowledge enough to create it themselves. It was getting the hairs of known Death Eaters that presented the greatest challenge. They had to be obscure enough that apprehending them wouldn’t risk alert but undeniably part of the group.
Holding up his bottle of the finished product, Alastor looks over at Felix Kaiser, his partner in this mission and a good man from the Auror Department. Ever since his mate had lost his life to death eaters during a mission, Felix has become a reserved echo of his former bright self. Alastor hopes that his work with the Order will draw him back to his brash and cocky self. Even if he’d been somewhat of a pain during his days as a trainee, the Head Auror would prefer that to the silent man before him now.
“Bottems up, lad.” The potion falls into Alastor’s mouth, acrid and grimy against his tongue and the viscous liquid seems to coat his throat as it worms down into his belly. “Bloodae ‘ell that’s a right ‘orror.”
@felix-kaiser
:: { A Firm Constitution } :: James + Alastor
Following Alastor down to his own kitchen, he looked ahead of him. He wasn’t sure if he was going to get yelled at, or what was going to happen. There was a part of him that wondered if he was going to get thrown into Azkaban. He just hoped if he was, that he’d get to say goodbye to his wife at least. He’d also make sure it was damn evident that Sirius didn’t do anything wrong, because he didn’t.
He then moved to sit down, with a nod. “Sirius didn’t do it. It was me. He was going to die. I was the one who sent him over the ledge, so if you’re going to throw me in Azkaban, don’t even think about sending Sirius, because he doesn’t deserve it.” The shake in his own hands was back
He then sighed as he looked at him and Alastor didn’t seem upset at him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, and didn’t mean for him to go over. But Sirius is my brother. I would rather die than anything happen to him and I cannot apologize for saving my best friend’s life. I won’t.”
Lifting the teacup, Alastor shakes his head before taking a sip and then setting it back down. He points at the cup, tendrils of steam swirling off the top. “Drink yer tea, James. It’s rude t’ ignore ‘ospitalitae.” He waves his hand toward the serving tray that holds sugar, honey, and a small carafe of cream.
“I ain’t draggin’ y’ off t’ Azkaban. Considerin’ no ane ‘as reported the death o’ the bastard.” The teacup settles back on the wood grain of the table as Alastor continues, “I’m interested t’ knaen ‘ow it came aboot. An’ tell me the total truth o’ ‘ow it hit y’ after it ‘appened.”
The Auror rubs at his short beard growing in as he adds with a concerned gleam in his gaze. “I knae what it feels like, lad. Tings ‘appen an’ y’ got t’ face ‘em. I ain’t gunnae let y’ keep on with out talkin’ it out ‘cause y’ need t’ knae that others fight wit the ‘orror o’ causin’ another’s death. So talk. I’ll listen an’ I ain’t gunnae yell at ye or nut’in’.”
:: { A Firm Constitution } :: James + Alastor
James was starting to get over this whole murder thing. He was functional at least, despite the fact that he still had nightmares, more often than not. He never really talked about them with Lily, but he curled up with her and she just tended to know. He was far too happy to have her in his life and that they were out on their own, just the two of them. They needed that.
When he told Alastor, he had downplayed the whole thing, not wanting to look weak in front of the Auror and tell him the true effect it had on him and how he had been sick for days, unable to use magic for a week and still found himself shaken over it. He’d been trusted with some leadership and that meant being a man and not being fucking weak.
But James had headed off to meet him and when he got there, he knocked and let himself in, when he heard the voice. “You wanted to see me.”
“Aye.” Alastor waves his hand for James to follow him before turning and stepping down the stairs that lead to his kitchen. They could easily have a conversation in the den but the kitchen’s bright lights and easy access to the tea kettle makes it preferred. Lately, given his own lack of sleep, Alastor prefers the open space of the kitchen where he can see the corners of the room and grab a bottle of liquor at a moment’s notice.
The man grabs his own seat, a wide-mouthed tea cup already set before it and another cup--broad lipped but an entirely different design and shaping--on the chair across, steeping with tea. “Sit, James. ‘Ave some tea, lad. I want t’ ‘ave an ‘onest conversation wit ye aboot what ‘appened th’ night y’ an’ Sirius killed those Death Eaters.”
Alastor’s gaze is steady but there’s no hint of anger in his voice or frowning disappointment in his expression. Punishment or admonishment isn’t the aim here and he hopes it’s apparent to James. Potter’s not a child anymore. Deaths will be unavoidable, that much he must already be readily aware of.
:: { A Firm Constitution } :: James + Alastor
Alastor reads James’ reply as he sits at his kitchen table with shadows beneath his eyes. He had not slept for any significant length of time in weeks now. And it was in part that very reason why he felt compelled to speak with James. The Auror has witnessed and been responsible for the death of numerous people during his time in the Law Department and, despite his ire at knowing that Potter and Sirius Black had acted on their own, it mattered more that they would both be forever scarred by the deaths they brought about.
Alastor feels responsible for placing bloody children in a war and he must be willing to check on them and their mental states. Especially when occasions such as this arise.
The moment James is sensed on the perimeter, Alastor drops the wards and climbs the stairs to the ground hallway. The knock at the door that sounds a moment later is answered with a gruff call, “Come in lad!”
@prongedstagpotter
{ The Masks That They Wear }; Eris + Alastor
“The water is much appreciated,” Eris confirms, a small smile of gratitude forming in the lines of her face. Food and water; it was truly the only two things that Eris needed to survive and one of them was offered plainly, as a bartering tool. A bartering tool that would unknowingly serve to benefit her, and her only. If there was a war of wills going on, Alastor Moody had no idea that he was running face first into a brick wall. There was nothing that he had that Eris wanted; and in her eyes, she could only gain during this incarceration.
Already, Eris had learned that she and Bellatrix were not only suspected of attacking Isa Alcott, but also the Evans and Juliette McKinnon. The latter one that Eris had no knowledge of – apart from the fact that Bellatrix wish she were the responsible party in that death as well.
“Certainly not,” Eris begins, clasping her hands together in her lap; so poised that her restraints could be easily overlooked. “Juliette McKinnon…” It was best to begin with the name that could not be linked to the both of them. “That is Professor Marcus McKinnon’s late wife? And the Evans…” Eris’ voice was low, thoughtful, perplexity personified, “I just saw Lily at the Halloween function… she was killed? Did I kill her when I thought I was my costume?” Eris clenches her eyes shut, in attempts in conjuring a memory not there, “Oh Merlin…” Voice strained, the color flushed from Eris’ face, as if she may vomit on the table between prisoner and jailer.
A seasoned Auror should never allow the suspect to get under their skin. It affords nothing and blinds the man to asking the right questions. Alastor recites the reminder to himself as he hears Eris’ reply. The trouble with this logic is how close he is to the deaths he mentions. Namely, Juliette’s. But they had not suspected either Rowle or Miss Black in that murder. They were both still within the castle at the time of the woman’s death and that was irrefutable. The Evans’ deaths on the other hand.
“Lily Potter still lives. The lass’s parents were found dead fi’e months ago so I’m gunnae ask y’ where y’ were the nigh’ they died. The evenin’ o’ 25th June an’ I’ll gladlae subject y’ ta memore extraction if I feel like it.” With those words, Alastor pulls forth a pensieve bowl from beneath his chair and sets it upon the table between them. “Y’ cooperate an’ I will nae take y’ in fer the attack on Miss Alcott. The right infermation could make yer life a hell o’ a lot bett’r Eris Rowle.”
Memory extraction was strictly prohibited by Aurors due to the invasive nature of the process. Even with contractual permission granted by the person--victim or suspect--it infringed upon the rights of human decency in criminal investigations. It was also a complex process if the subject were unwilling to provide the memory of their own accord. The extraction spell could only be cast by the person with said memory. In order to take it, the Auror would have to use legilimency and invade their mind to find the memory they sought, then extract the new memory from their own mind once it was seen. The greater risk in doing so was that a person of skill in memory tampering could fashion an altered memory seamless enough to go undetected as a forgery. Right now, Alastor accepts that risk and the danger to his career should anyone learn that he pulled memories from an unwilling subject in an interrogation outside the jurisdiction of the Ministry’s Law Department.
Leaning forward, the man lets his deep brown eyes penetrate, veins pulsing as his words growl from his chest. “Y’ stand t’ lose a mightae bit ‘ere. Yer friend Bellatrix ‘as ‘armed mane an’ those persons will step forward t’ do ‘er in. An’ I’m certain y’ dunnae wish that. Or wish t’ go daen with ‘er fer aidin’ the efforts. The torture an’ damage. Azkaban ‘as plentae o’ room fer two lassies needin’ a permanent time out.”
Devil in the Details; Lulu + Alastor
Please come and see me in the cafe at Hogsmeade this afternoon. - Head Auror Moody
Alastor sends off the missive with his barn owl. There are only a few more slats of paperwork to be gone through and a session with the trainees before he can depart from the office and meet with Auror Marsden to talk a bit about the security specifics at Hogwarts. Though he so often feels that his days drag on, the hours devour themselves until he departs from the training arena and grabs up his outer robes and makes himself scarce from the Ministry.
He arrived at the Hogsmeade cafe just at half past and settles himself into a booth with a bitter mug of black coffee. And not a moment too soon.
“Marsd’n.” His accent chops off the end of her name as he greets her. “Glad y’ could meet me.”
@lulu-marsden
Ghosts That We Knew; Ludovic + Alastor
There was a shift in the Auror’s tactics, and Ludovic was not prepared for it. He was prepared for sympathy, for pity - for a tactful, concerned tone that offered him all the help he would need. It was the first time that anyone bothered to speak to him about his parents, even in passing, and he expected gentility and a soft step. Not the bluntness of Alastor’s character, not offered, but thrust at him like a dull blade. It still cut, but in no way quick or painlessly.
It was as if the older man knew that he was present, and that he was going to push for answers. Answers that Ludo had no idea how to give. Answers that he could not give. Not when there was only one reasonable answer to why this man would even mention his presence as a possibility. One possible answer to why an Auror would be so brash and shrew, why he would throw the torture and death of his parents in his face, only to claim he was not honoring them.
“Honor them?” Ludo called, putting his hands behind his neck and rising quickly; the action sent the chair beneath him backwards with a crash. A loud one. Every muscle jumped beneath his skin at the sound, noticeably shaken, primed. “Fuck off!” he decides to settle on, without much thought at all, moving to the door quickly.
Gaze sharp and calculating, Alastor watches the micro-twitches of muscles prepare for flight seconds before the boy jumps from his seat and sends the chair he’d offered fall to the floor. The cacophony of sound clatters around in the Auror’s skull but doesn’t slow his reaction time. Before Ludovic had made three steps toward the door, Alastor’s wand snapped into his hand and spelled the door locked. From the outside. The sound of the charm sending a bolt snapping into place resounds in the wake of the chair’s crash and Alastor resolutely remains seated.
“Boy, I ain’t wishin’ t’ make this ‘arder on y’ but we ‘ave been accommodatin’ yer mournin’ an’ education fer long enough. It is nae lost on those o’ us on yer parents’ case that y’ were present fer the ‘ole thing. Y’ did nae just ‘appen upon ‘em after they’d alreade ben kilt. Leavin’ a piss stain inside the cupboard y’ were hidin’ in an’ a blood stain from where y’ nicked yerself, likelae when y’ scrambled t’ get inside--it all points t’ ye knaen more than yer share o’ what ‘appened t’ yer parents.” Alastor’s gaze remains locked on Ludovic, waiting to see what he’ll do next as he continues speaking.
“Look ‘ere. Lockin’ it all up is gunna do y’ more ‘arm than good. Y’ talk t’ me nae an’ I’ll make sure none of me Aurors comin’ askin’ y’ questions ‘boot it ever again. After this, y’ can make yer own choice whether t’ tell or keep it quiet. But by tellin’ me nae, y’ can rest knaen that I’m gunna put full force inta puttin’ those murderers awae fer good.”
