Moonkiller microfic

♧♧♧ Hi! ♧♧♧ ♤•°•♤ First of all, sorry for the grammar, English is my second language. Second of all, I created this blog inspired by many others, so if you find any similarities don't be mad at me, I don't have much experience with this type of blogs ♤•°•♤ ☆•°•☆ My other blogs: @moonwater-microfic | @moonchaser-microfic ☆•°•☆

[moonkillermicrofic]

June prompts

Sorry for being a little late, I've cried after Polish election results

Hello! Here are prompts for this month.

They're basically name of Asian countries.

You know the rules. Pick a prompt, find inspiration, write a fic and remember, it's microfic, so limit is 1000 words.

Tag me and I will reblog it :)

Have questions or ideas? Send me an ask!

Still need last month prompts? You can find them here!

Greetings ♡

1. Nepal

2. Kuwait

3. Bhutan

4. South Korea

5. Jordan

6. Philippines

7. Qatar

8. Iraq

9. Malaysia

10. Afghanistan

11. Pakistan

12. Georgia

13. Sri Lanka

14. Japan

15. Mongolia

16. China

17. Iran

18. Laos

19. Russia

20. Brunei

21. Oman

22. Israel

23. Cambodia

24. Maldives

25. Kazakhstan

26. North Korea

27. Thailand

28. Armenia

29. Cyprus

30. Turkey

[alphieshplife]

Forget-Me-Not - @moonkillermicrofic - wc: 252

Forget-me-nots represent remembrance

“He wasn’t always like this, you know,” Remus mutters to a half-asleep Harry from his position at his bedside. It seems like a regular occurrence to see the boy here, lying injured in the Hospital Wing, but it doesn’t help the flash of guilt he feels for not being here for him.  

“Who?” 

“Crouch—he wasn’t always awful.” He knows it isn’t reassuring to Harry, who had been through so much at Barty’s hands this year, but Remus can’t seem to stop himself from saying it. “Or maybe he was, but not—not like this.” 

“You knew him?” 

Know him? Remus wants to answer. I loved him. Instead, he says, “He was a year below me in school. A Ravenclaw—smart as a whip. Funny, too. And—he could be kind. Sometimes. Sometimes he could be the kindest boy I knew.” 

“What happened?” 

He hated his father more than he loved me. I’m not sure he ever loved me, or if I was just another form of rebellion for him—fucking a werewolf so he could throw it back in his father’s face.  

“He was…misguided,” Remus answers, his eyes burning with tears he refuses to shed. “All he ever wanted was to break free of his father’s expectations, to be his own person. And he took it to the extreme. But I—he was my friend. And I tried to save him. I swear I tried.” 

He could repeat it until he’s blue in the face—it doesn’t matter. Harry’s already asleep. There’s no one around to appease him.  

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Anthurium (Lace Leaf) | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 980

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“Oh, Remus! Thank goodness you’re here,” Pamona called as James and Remus approached the mailroom of Remus’ apartment complex.

Remus turned to see the stout old woman clutching a pot of lace leaf in one hand and her mail in the other.

“Good evening, Pamona, now isn’t really—”

“I finally figured out why Fergus has been getting sick,” Pamona interrupted, eager to share the news, “it’s this wretched plant. Apparently it’s toxic—which is a shame as it looked so lovely in my flat.”

His neighbor had recently adopted a black kitten who wreaked havoc, getting into anything and everything, often walking along the banister that connected their apartments from one open window to the next visiting Remus whenever he pleased.

“Oh that’s good ne—”

“I was about to chuck it out, but well, it would be a shame, and your flat doesn’t have any plants and I thought maybe you would like it—it could keep you company until you finally ask that nice young man to move in with you.” Pamona offered sweetly.

“If I kept it I would have to close my window so Fergus doesn’t get in,” Remus gently reminded.

“Oh, yes.” Pamona frowned, “I hadn’t thought of that. Oh well.”

“I could take it,” James offered cheerily.

“You could?” Pamona brightened.

“Sure! I could put it on my desk at work.” James said turning to Remus, “that way we can both enjoy it.”

“Oh bless you!” Pamona said, handing the plant over to James.

Remus slotted his key in his mailbox, turning it and sifting through the stack. Among the bills and the junk, the inspector found a familiar bone card and flipped it over before reading the message.

“James, there’s no post.”

“What do you mean?” James asked inspecting the card.

“There’s no address—no stamp.” Remus said, “He would have had to have put it in the box himself.”

Turning toward his neighbor, Remus asked hopefully, “Pamona, did you see anyone unusual today lurking about the boxes?”

“No,” she replied unhelpfully before adding, “Though Arthur didn’t deliver the mail today.”

“Did you see who did?” James asked.

“Oh yes, charming young man,” Pamona beamed.

“What did he look like?” Remus prodded.

“Oh he was about your height,” Pamona said, pointing toward James, “thin frame, blonde hair—nearly white, and the most gorgeous blue eyes. I swear I’ve never seen their likeness before. Like lapis, they were.”

“Did he have any distinguishing marks?” Remus frowned.

“He had a beauty spot on his right cheek and wolf tattoo wrapped around his left forearm.” Pamona offered.

“Thank you, love.” Remus said thoughtfully as he took back the note.

“Sounds an awful lot like—”

“Does he have a tattoo?” Remus asked, already knowing where James’ mind was headed.

The officer shook his head, “never seen him in short sleeves. You think he was forced?”

“I don’t know,” Remus admitted, reading over the letter.

Dance with me along the edge of the water.

“There’s a bunch of clubs on The Water’s Edge over by Broad Street, isn’t there?” James asked.

“Yeah,” Remus whispered, growing ill as he walked along the edge of the Westside in his mind.

“There’s Snobs, PopWorld, The Reflex, and—”

“Rosie’s.” Remus announced.

“I—fuck,” James said, scratching the back of his head, “It could be coincidence.”

“Who knew about the letters James?” Remus asked rhetorically, “Rosier is the only person unaccounted for.”

“Barty could have lied,” James offered weakly.

“We both know he didn’t.” Remus said, sadly, “He doesn’t lie—not outright. He just withholds infor—“

Something brushed against his gut, like little bats searching in the dark tight space for a way out. Remus searched for his phone only to discover he had left it with Barty and realization dawned on him.

“He knows.” Remus declared.

“Who? Who knows what?” James asked, suddenly anxious.

“Barty knows it’s Evan.” Remus theorized, “James give us your phone.”

James fumbled through the pockets of his coat and quickly handed Remus the phone.

There was hardly even a singular ring before a familiar voice drawled on the other end, “Hello, darling. Did you miss me?”

“Cut the shut, Crouch.” Remus hissed, “you knew.”

“Of course I knew.” Barty preened, “took you long enough to figure it out.”

“Is that Remus?” The inspector heard Sirius ask through the static.

“Shhh.” Barty soothed, then spoke to Remus, “Before your friend starts barking like mad, I suggest you assure him his lover is alright.”

“James is fine,” Remus guaranteed before muttering, “I’m fine too by the way.”

“Oh I know you’re fine,” Barty cooed, “We’re far closer to the edge of this mystery than you are.”

“Where exactly are you?” Remus asked, ignoring the worried gaze of his partner.

“Celebrity,” Barty informed, “for the time being.”

“Stay there.” Remus ordered but the sharp laugh of his boyfriend signaled he had not been heard.

“I don’t think we will—see I have a hound at my heel that is on the hunt and I—well, I have a rose to burn.” Barty said darkly sending shivers down Remus’ spine.

“We have to do this properly, Barty.” Remus instructed, “We need to bring him in—question him, let him go through the process.” Remus tried.

“You have to do things properly. I don’t have to adhere to shit. He stole from me. And I’m not going to let him—”

“Hang the credit, Barty, it’s not wor—”

“It’s not about the fucking credit, Remus.” Barty hissed, “Regulus is my friend. You are my—”

Remus didn’t hear the declaration as an antsy James stole the phone from him.

“Let me talk to Sirius.” James seethed. From that moment on Remus only caught fragments of the conversation and a whirlwind of scenarios plagued him, each one as damning as the last. Until finally James hung up the phone.

“We have to go.” James gritted, “Now, Remus. Before your boyfriend recruits my boyfriend into his little murder club.”

[moonkillermicrofic]

[heaven4lostgirls]

prompt: bullweed @moonkillermicrofic wc: 361

cw: sexual humor, mentioned sexual content

“You can keep glaring at me like that but that’s not going to fix your sore throat” Remus drawls, not looking away as he stirs his coffee.

Barty huffs in annoyance, “it’s your fault” he growls with a grimace as he speaks.

“Yes let’s blame the guy who told you not to choke on my di-”

“Semantics!” Barty waves him off as he groans before coughing immediately after.

“Agh!” he grimaces, wincing as he rubs a hand down his throat.

Remus scoffs a laugh, “there’s loose leaf bullweed in the cupboard if you want some tea you big baby” he snorts before taking the seat across from Barty at the dining table, sipping his coffee contently.

Barty glares at him from across the table.

“You know some people would take pity on their partners when they’re in pain and offer to make the tea for them” Barty snarks.

Remus only smiles mockingly, going back to sipping his coffee as he pages through the morning paper.

“And some people would also learn from their mistakes when they’re warned that they’ll hurt themselves if they try to deepthroat-”

“You’re so crass!” Barty cries out, whimpering in pain before slumping into his chair.

“This is the thanks I get for being a passionate lover” he grumbles into his arms.

Remus huffs a laugh before scooting out of his chair walking back over to the kitchen.

He shakes out some of the dried flowers into his tea strainer before pouring some hot water and honey into the cup.

He brings it out to Barty’s still hunched over form, rubbing his back in soothing motions as he places the hot tea in front of the green haired boy.

“Sip it slowly—lest you hurt yourself again” Remus remarks, willfully ignoring Barty’s shit eating grin as he sips his tea from across Remus.

They sit in silence as they finish their drinks, Remus peacefully doing the crossword at the back of the paper.

“So, what’re the chances that you’ll let me suck your-”

“Not anywhere in the future Crouch, drink your tea”

Barty’s resounding huff has Remus smirking as he writes out of the answers to the crossword.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Orchids | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 1022

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The waitress arrived with Barty’s meal and Sirius observed with skeptical eyes as the man smoothly and shamelessly flirted with the young woman.

Sirius hadn’t wanted to leave the station, but he had orders to keep Barty in his sights and while he couldn’t do much—wasn’t allowed to do much— to save his brother, this was a task he was determined not to fuck up.

Barty had stolen the keys to his bike and threatened to take her for a spin, essentially forcing Sirius to chauffeur the killer to his next target—the lamb pasanda dressed up and covered in thick cream.

For the past hour, Barty had carried on like it was just another Saturday evening—strolling past the flower shop on Brunswick, stopping to smell the hints of vanilla from an orchid’s center, breaking it off from the stem and casually walking on when the shopkeep had turned his back.

Time seemed to drag for Sirius, even now as Barty slowly cut into the tender meat with all the precision of a surgeon. Glancing down at his phone, Sirius frowned at the absence of notifications and groaned in frustration.

A sudden worrisome thought burrowed in his brain. What if it was a trap? What if the killer was waiting at Remus’—hoping to snatch them?

“You gonna tell me what rabbit is running through your mind or are you going to calm down and let me eat in peace?” Barty asked, scoring the lamb.

“How can you sit there and ‘eat in peace’ when your alleged friend is possibly dead and your boyfriend could be walking into a trap?” Sirius snapped.

Calmly—so fucking calmly—Barty lifted the napkin to his lips, before cutting his eyes to Sirius.

“This part of town has a lot of history.”

“This whole town has history, you apathetic little shit.” Sirius hissed.

“Right over there,” Barty said pointing out the window toward the skyscraper in the distance, “used to The Rum Runner. In the 70s it was owned by the Bertie brothers and remodeled into a club that was very popular in the 80s. A whole lot of bands used to play there, but one sticks out in particular. The members of this band were not only offered a place to practice but actually worked at the club doing odd jobs until they eventually became the house band. The brothers loved their sound so much they changed careers, creating a label just for them and managing the band right above the club.”

“I don’t need a history lesson on some demolished club.” Sirius sneered.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Barty smirked, “See, the name of the band was Duran Duran who had a number one chart topper on their album Seven and the Ragged Tiger.”

Barty loved his games, and clearly this was one of them. Reluctant but eager to get to the point, Sirius drawled, “Tell me, Barty, what was the song?”

“The Reflex,” Barty grinned, “Which also happens to be the name of the bar across the street from where the Rum Runner once stood before they tore it down to make way for The Hyatt.”

“Fascinating.” Sirius deadpanned, “What has this got to do with anything?”

“Everything.” Barty grinned, pulling out Remus phone and placing it on the table, replaying Regulus’ message.

Sirius frowned trying to cipher the code, and when he came up empty, Barty swiped up—revealing the song waiting to be played.

Synthetic beats and stuttering vocals rang out from the device and Sirius gritted his teeth as he listened to the classic he had heard nearly a dozen times—never paying any mind to the words.

The reflex is a lonely child, he’s waiting in the park.

The reflex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark.

And watching over a lucky clover, isn’t that bizarre?

Regulus’ slurred version echoed in his mind and his furrowed brow shot up, silver eyes snapping to mirthful greens.

“They’re here?” Sirius begged.

“They’re here.” Barty confirmed, flashing his teeth with a wide nearly feral smile.

“Well what are we waiting for?” Sirius shot up, “Let’s go get them.”

“Sit back down, Black.” Barty commanded, “We know they’re in the vicinity, but we don’t know the precise location.”

“So we kick down doors until we find them.”

Barty shook his head, “That’s a horrible idea, going in guns blazing like some Cowboy.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Sirius snapped, his patience with the man waning.

“Finishing the meal for starters.” Barty said and just as Sirius was about to leave, the fiend reminded, “You did promise your lover you would keep an eye on me.”

With a sharp huff, Sirius flopped back onto the seat, stealing a fork and bit of lamb, certain the faster the plate was empty the quicker they could leave.

“He likes you, you know?” Sirius whispered.

“Regulus?” Barty asked, shocked at the misinformation and Sirius barked with laughter.

“No. Remus,” Sirius clarified, “He likes you. Not—The Butcher you, but the reporter you. Though, it’s hard to tell which of you is the real you.”

“They’re both the real me. I’ve only ever been sincere with Remus.” Barty admitted.

“You lied to him.” Sirius frowned.

“I omitted details.”

“Pretty big fucking detail,” Sirius scoffed, “And a lie by omission is still a lie.”

“Tell me, Black,” Barty purred, “Do you tell James everything you’ve ever done, everything you’ve ever thought about doing?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

“Really?” Barty smirked, “So he knows all about that little box you keep in your left pocket.”

Sirius patted his pocket reflexively, finding it flat and empty and in the corner of his eye he caught the killer snapping the box open.

“It’s quite a big secret to keep.” Barty admonished, “the promise of a lifetime.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Sirius growled, “It’s a surprise.”

“An omission by another name,” Barty said, raising a brow, “Tell me, Black—when we find this kidnapper, how far would you be willing to go to save Regulus? Would you kill for your brother? And if you did, would you tell James immediately or would you let it be a surprise?”

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Red Peonies | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 900

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“So that just leaves Rosier,” James said once McKinnon had gotten out of earshot, “Which is a little more than inconvenient as we can’t ask him.”

Remus had to admit, he hadn’t bothered to get close to the younger man in the last year he had been on the team, and he floundered in the absence of knowledge.

“I didn’t see any signs of Rosier having lover or an intimate partner when I was at his place,” Lily informed, “Maybe there’s something on his phone? Moody has it.”

“Does he have a desk?” Barty asked.

“Yeah, it’s just next to James’” Remus offered, and trailed after Barty as he wordlessly strode through the jail toward the lift.

“—not seriously considering taking his help, are you?” Sirius mumbled to James, the pair of them quickly walking to catch up.

“—need all the help we can get, love. We don’t even know how long they’ve been missing.”

The four men entered the lift, each selecting a corner to stand in.

Barty dutifully ignored the man glowering across from him until he asked, “Why are you helping?”

“You mean apart from the thrill of the chase?” Barty teased lightly.

Sirius’ expression remained and Barty rolled his eyes, leaning casually against the mirrored siding, “Despite what you think of me, Black, I do have friends. Not many, admittedly, but among the few is Regulus.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sirius bit.

“I don’t care.” Barty mocked, dishing out the same tone he had received.

The lift finally opened and one right after the other, the men filed off onto the homicide division floor, toward Rosier’s desk.

Remus nearly tripped over Barty as he stopped dead in his tracks, fists curled at his sides, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Looking up, past the killer’s shoulder, he saw dark red peonies petals scattered across the desk by the window, Remus’ desk.

“Better watch out, Crouch,” James taunted, “Looks like someone is after your man.”

“Fuck off, Potter,” Barty said under his breath as he took a picture of the display with Remus’ phone.

“What are you doing?” Remus asked, snatching the device out of Barty’s hand.

Remus starred at the screen for a long while before rolling his head to the side and slowly blinking at the man before him.

“Are you flirting with him?”

“What?!” Sirius gritted, snatching the phone out of Remus’ hand to read over the messages between the two killers, “you know. You had me going for a minute. I thought—maybe he does care, maybe he will—”

“It’s a game, Sirius.” Barty drawled, “and if you want to win you have to play.”

“It’s not a game. It’s my brothers life.”

“He’s not going to kill your brother.”

“You don’t know that,” study. “You don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

“Give us the phone.” Barty sighed, and caught the offering when Sirius through it at him, lifting it to his mouth as he recorded his voice, sending it off to his copy cat, “The dog wants a sign of life.”

A heartbeat later, Regulus’ voice came tumbling out slurred and scratchy as he sang a drunken tune, “I’m in charge of finding treasure in the dark, and watching over a lucky clover—isn’t that bizzare?”

“What the hell was that?” James asked, concern for the other man written on his face.

“Probably still drugged from the hallucinogen.” Barty frowned.

Remus walked over to his desk, hoping to find a clue and was rewarded with bone parchment that read, open me with your teeth and take a starting chance—on me.

He handed the card to James who read it aloud to the others and sighed, “I was really hoping for a clue.”

“It is a clue.” Barty said, “a riddle—actually.”

“Any ideas how to solve it?” Remus asked, but it was Sirius who spoke up.

“The dash. He’s not saying take a chance on him. He’s offering you a chance.”

“A chance at what? Solving the riddle?” James asked.

“No,” Barty hummed, finding a pen and paper scribbling out words until he finally passed it along to Remus.

Chance

Gamble

Wager

Bet

Starting

Beginning

Alpha

“Alphabet? Take an alphabet?” Remus asked more confused than before.

“A letter,” James said snapping his fingers, “Use your teeth it’s your—”

“Keys,” Remus guessed, “Right—Sirius, Barty, you two stay here. Sirius, don't let him out of your sight.”

“What no—I’m going with you.” Sirius said.

“No, you’re not, love,” James whispered. “You’re not an officer. You have to stay here.”

“Like hell. That’s my brother.”

“Which is why you need to stay, Sirius.” Remus said, calmly.

“I promise we’ll keep you updated the whole way.” James vowed, leaving the pair stranded in the office as he walked off with Remus in pursuit of the next clue.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[heaven4lostgirls]

prompt: hibiscus @moonkillermicrofic wc: 460

cw: mention of stomach flu + throwing up (so what if i’m projecting?)

“i’m going to die” barty proclaims, mournful in tone as he lays slumped under the covers of his and remus’ shared bed.

remus tsks good-naturedly as he sits on the side of the bed unoccupied by barty.

“you’re fine you big baby, just a bout of the stomach flu,” remus chides as he runs his hands through barty’s sweat soaked hair.

the younger boy grumbles as he slides further into the covers, sniffing as he glares at remus.

“if i throw up one more time i fear all that will be left of your truly delectable boyfriend will be skin and bones.” barty weeps into his pillow.

remus huffs, tugging at the duvet covering barty’s form.

the green haired boy puts up a valiant effort of tugging it back before giving up almost immediately and stuffing his face into his pillow.

remus makes a frankly patronising cooing sound that has barty turning to peak an eye out from behind the pillow in curiousity.

“cmon you big baby,” remus mutters, scratching softly at barty’s scalp which has the menace melting into the mattress.

“i made you some hibiscus tea.” remus reminds the crumpled form of said menace who only makes an unintelligible grumbling noise.

remus tsks, lifting the teacup with grace before flicking barty’s forehead softly to which barty whines dramatically before shuffling to sit up against the headboard.

“drink.” remus instructs, shifting the cup from his hands into barty’s hands.

barty pouts through it all, acting as much the whiny brat he claims he is not.

remus scans the younger boy in concern, taking note of the slight shake in his hands and slight wince whenever he opens his eyes too wide.

when barty whimpers after a sip of tea, remus notices he’s being serious and takes the tea out of the pale boys hands before ushering him under the covers.

“you want me to close the curtains cariad?” remus murmurs into the silence.

barty whimpers and nods and as soon as darkness floods through the room, barty aimlessly reaches a hand out sweeping through the air in search for remus.

remus smiles fondly before grasping his hand before he’s tugged in a surprising show of strength onto the bed as barty snuggles up to him.

“i’m sorry.” barty murmurs into remus’ neck, sounding breathless and emotional all at once.

remus frowns, “for being sick?” he asks in confusion.

barty snorts, “no, you’re probably going to get sick from cuddling me.” barty reminds him.

remus just smiles, “then it’ll be your turn to play nurse to me.” he says with a soft look.

barty hums non-committedly.

“i’d look so good in a nurse outfit.” he murmurs dreamily and remus snorts, hushing the younger boy as he drifts off to sleep.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Tarragon | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 1075 (I’m in the cell next to Barty)

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“Mind telling me why you’ve got your boyfriend in the slammer, Lupin?” Lily asked, setting her keys down on the table.

“Ah, Officer Evans,” Barty purred, arms hanging limply from the bars, “we have to stop meeting like this.”

“Shut it, Crouch.” Lily frowned looking down at the clipboard of recent inmates, “You didn’t book him?”

“No.” Remus gritted, staring into tarragon eyes from behind the cold iron separating the pair.

“Remus, you can’t hold him if you’re not going to book him.”

Suddenly, a wild dog appeared through the door, rolling up his sleeves as he barked, “Where is he?”

The inmate stiffened, removing his appendages from easy access and slinking further back into his cage.

“What is going on?” Lily asked, shocked by the crazed man who reached through the bars as if he could rip the answers held captive from the cunning killer.

“What the fuck did you do with him?” Sirius snarled.

“I didn’t do anything to him.” Barty denied.

Remus snorted as James ran up beside him.

“Is it really him?” James whispered, and Remus, unable to look his partner in the eye, could only nod, “How long have you known?”

“Since last night,” Remus gritted.

“At the bar—you got this look,” James recalled, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—”

“Let him out, Remus.” Sirius barked, “I want to get my hands on him.”

“You’ll be wasting your time, Lupin.” Barty drawled, starring at his nails before glancing up—cutting the inspector with sugar sweet lies as he declared, “It wasn’t me, darling.”

“So, you’re claiming you’re not The Butcher,” James asked slowly, “That you didn’t murder—slaughter—all those people.”

“Not all of them, no.” Barty confessed, “But I am The Butcher.”

Perhaps he was blinded by the unfairly gorgeous face, or maybe it was the trust for the game they had played, but something in the way he said his self-given moniker made Remus pause.

“So you were working with someone?” James hedged as Remus flipped through his phone, searching for the evidence that made his brain itch, his heart flip, his stomach tighten at the wrongness of it.

“No, Potter, I work alone.” Barty admitted, “too many chances for someone else to fuck up. If I were to go down, I would want it to be because of myself—not some other half-wit’s fuck up.”

Remus found what he had been looking for. The fourth note that set his teeth on edge.

“Mary Cattermole?” Remus asked.

Barty’s eyes glimmered at the name game proposed.

“Mine.” The villain purred, taking a step forward toward the bars.

“Elphias Doge.” Remus called out the roster, drawing nearer toward the other player.

“Mine.”

“Rabastan LeStrange.”

“Mine.”

“Arabella Fig.”

“Mine.”

“Ludo Bagman.”

“Mine.”

“Fabian Prewitt.”

“Mine.”

“Delores Umbridge.”

“Mine.”

The pair had met at the bars, a breath away as Remus whispered, “Benji Fenwick.”

“Mine.” Barty confirmed, searching his face for disdain and smiling widely when he found none.

“Sybil Trelawney.”

“Not mine..” Barty frowned.

“Horseshit.” Sirius accused.

“No,” Remus breathed, “he’s telling the truth.”

“He’s a—”

“Narcissist, remember?” Remus said, rolling his eyes as Barty sniffed.

“I believe giving credit where credit is due.” Barty claimed, “Besides—Remus knew it wasn’t me when it happened, didn’t you darling?”

“Remus?” James asked.

“The letter felt—off.” Remus admitted.

“He’s lying to you,” Sirius seethed.

“Firstly, I never lie. Not when asked an outright question.” Barty claimed, “Secondly, Regulus is a friend. I wouldn’t harm him.”

“You don’t have friends, you leech.” Sirius spat.

Amidst the argument, Remus’ phone vibrated against his hand and he peered down to find a new message.

Barty was the only one who seemed to be aware of Remus’ shock and smiled smugly when Remus met his eyes.

“Well?” Barty urged, curiosity whetting his gaze.

Tick-tock, darling.

Yours,

The Birmingham Butcher

Remus handed James his phone and felt his partner snap his head between the device and the prisoner.

“Evans, let him out.”

“What?!” “Finally!” Lily and Sirius cried in tandem.

“Sirius, no.” James said.

“But—”

“I don’t believe he took Regulus.” James admitted.

“You—”

“Nor do I think he’s working with anyone else,” James added, earning a blank look from his boyfriend, “But he’s going to help us find him. And Evan. Isn’t that right?”

To Barty’s credit he didn’t smile. Didn’t taunt or tease. Raw eyes narrowed in righteousness and determination, an eerie relaxed calm swept across Barty’s face, shoulders. There was no argument to be had from the man, just an open palm waiting for Remus’ phone to be deposited into it.

Barty’s quick fingers sent out a text as Lily hesitantly unlocked the cell, releasing the cool figure as he glided through the opening past an outraged Sirius.

“At their apartments, what did you find?” Barty asked, ignoring Sirius’ tirade as James held him back.

“Nothing apart from their cell phones and some drugs.” Remus admitted, “Frank and Moody are sweeping them, though.”

“Drugs? What drugs?” Barty asked.

“A hallucination. Red Salvia.” Remus answered.

“Who knew about the notes?” Barty asked.

“Everyone who was on the team—Frank, Moody, James, me, Rosier, Regulus, McKinnon, Evans—and then of course you and Sirius.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Barty asked Sirius.

“No, I don’t spill information about James’ investigations.” Sirius spat, “Did you? Who am I kidding, you probably put it in your stupid little paper. Just another way to show off.”

“No,” Barty denied, “The notes were just for Remus. I never included that detail.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Lily confirmed.

“Neither did I—apart from Sirius,” James said.

“So that leaves Frank and Moody, McKinnon, Evan, and Regulus.” Barty listed.

“Frank and Moody would never sabotage an investigation. Alice doesn’t want to hear about Frank’s work apart from office gossip, and Moody is a vault.” Remus offered.

“Regulus had a strict ‘no work talk outside of work policy’,” James reminded, checking him off the list.

“Oh good—” McKinnon interrupted, calling out for the three officers as she marked them off her roster, “You’re all here.”

Marlene turned on her heel, ready to search for the other members of the force not accounted for but Evans stopped her casually calling, “Hey McKinnon, did you ever tell anyone anything about this case?”

“Rosier and I talked about it.” Marlene offered dismally, “It’s the kids first murder case. He was just starting to get his bearings and—”

Salty frustration prickled against dark lashes, but with a slow shaky breath the officer declared, “We’ll find them.”

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Hibiscus | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 527

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One moment Barty was in a heated discussion with Rita and the next he had been turned around, tossed on the desk—a forgotten hibiscus drink staining his white shirt magenta—and a hand wrapped around his throat.

It took an alarmingly long amount of time for Barty gather his wits enough to register his assailant.

“Oh my!” Rita gasped, far too pleased with the turn of events as her eyes crinkled and her knowing smile widened.

“Get out, Skeeter.” Remus growled, and god help him—Barty hardened at the sound, even as his eyes grew glassy with the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll remind you this is my office, sweetie.”

“Get the fuck out, Skeeter,” Remus said, “I won’t ask again.”

Rita sniffed, but did as she was told, closing the door behind her.

“This is hardly the time or place to jump me, Lupin,” Barty wheezed, cringing as the grip tightened—crescent moons digging into his flesh hard enough to draw blood.

“Where are they, Crouch?”

“Where are who?”

Remus’ hand lifted, still inconveniently attached to Barty’s throat and sharply pushed down slamming Barty’s head against the mahogany.

“Don’t fuck with me.” Remus hissed, pressing a rectangular object so close to Barty’s face he could barely make out the words.

Frowning as he read the message, fury bubbled up into his veins, dosing him with a shot of adrenaline and Barty kicked at Remus’ knee, sending the man bounding back as Barty stole the phone from the inspectors hand to get a better look.

“I know it’s you.”

“This wasn’t me.” Barty denied, carding a hand through his ruffled blond locks.

“Bullshit.” Remus spat—eager for another go as he lunged forward, twirling Barty into the chair and pinning him down.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’re The Butcher.” Remus accused.

Barty’s eyes lit up—this wasn’t exactly how he expected thus conversation to go, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t thrilled by the revelation. He had been caught. And while he should have been worried about the implications that came along with his capture all he felt was a sense of pride for Remus blooming beneath the irritation of having been bested again by a phantom menace.

“Took you long enough.” Barty smirked and felt the sharp sting of Remus’ palm against his face.

“Where. Are. They?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Barty mocked, “I am The Butcher. Not this—this—doppelgänger. I don’t even know who they are.”

Remus wrangled Barty up by the neck, turned him around and shoved his face into the back of the chair as he slapped metal cuffs against his wrists.

“Keep up the charade, Crouch—it’s only going to make things much more painful for you.” Remus snarled as he pulled Barty back up, “I’ve got a dog that can’t wait to sink his teeth into you once and he won’t let go until you tell us what the fuck you did to his brother.”

Reg—

Remus gripped Barty’s jaw so tight, Barty couldn’t finish the thought as the inspector forced the killer to look at him.

“And I hope for your sake, Regulus and Evan are still alive, or come morning—I can guarantee, you won’t be.”

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Red Salvia | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 624

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There were no signs of struggle, no signs of dubious really as Remus searched through Regulus’ apartment.

“I’m telling you, Lupin, Regulus didn’t do drugs. He’s possessive over his mind to a fault. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t even eat red meat for Christ’s sake.” Sirius said, practically vibrating in James’ arms as Remus inspected the crystal disc on the nightstand.

Packed within neatly wrapped burnt paper, was crushed herbs squeezed together so smoothly Remus would have sworn it was a cigarette were it not for the smell.

Remus couldn’t quite place it—the joint didn’t have the familiar aroma of typical marijuana and its shading was off as he used gloved hands to pry open the roll after having taken several pictures.

“Frank—come have a look at this.” Remus called.

The Chief Inspector squeezed a worrisome Sirius’ shoulder before walking over to join Remus.

“You used to work narcotics, right?” Remus asked, pointing to the half burned bud, “what do you make of this?”

Frank leaned over, inspecting the herbs with a frown and declared, “That’s red salvia. Salvia divinorium. Sage of the diviners. It’s hallucinogenic.”

“Regulus wouldn’t have touched that with a ten foot fucking poll.” Sirius declared.

“No one is saying he did, love,” James said softly.

Frank’s phone lit up through the thin black pockets of his trousers and the inspector pulled it out lifting it in the air before placing it on speaker so everyone could hear what the other team had to say.

“Talk to me, Moody.”

“Rosier’s not here. No sign of forced entry. No sign of anything really, but his phone has been left behind.” Moody said.

Remus searched around looking for Regulus’ cell and found it on the floor nestled between the nightstand and the foot and the head of the bed.

He knelt down, retrieving it, then lifted it up for presentation.

“Yeah, Regulus’ phone is here, too.” Frank sighed, “explains why we couldn’t get a hold of them.”

“Did you tell him about the drugs?” Remus heard Lily ask through the phone.

“Oh yeah, seems your boy has been smoking pot in his spare time.” Moody gruffed, “Can’t seem to find any more of it, but there’s a spliff by his bed.”

The four men looked at each other somberly before Frank ordered, “I want his place dusted for prints. Call McKinnon, tell her to do a head count. Not just a text or a call. I want her to physically see every single face on the force. Tell her—”

Frank’s words were drowned out as Remus’ phone vibrated. Blindly, the inspector pulled out the device from his pocket and flicked open the screen to see a message from an unknown number.

Come and get them, darling.

Yours,

The Birmingham Butcher

Warm scarlett pumped through his ears, swimming up toward his eyes until all he could see was red.

This was too far. Too close to home. And Remus truly thought Barty would know better. Clearly he was mistaken.

Without a word, Remus walked out of the apartment, ignoring the indignant cries of the men he left behind as he flipped through his contacts.

“Hello sweetie.” A high feminine voice rang out in his ear.

“Is he there?”

“Is who here?” The woman chirped, faux innocence dripping from her tongue.

“You know who, answer the damn question.” Remus growled.

“He’s currently storming toward my office,” she confessed gleefully, “and let me tell you, your little boyfriend looks positively mad.”

“Hold him there.”

“And why would I do that?” The woman purred.

In the corner of his eye, Remus saw the Saturday post half folded over a bin, Rita Skeeter’s name printed just beneath the large bold black letters.

“Because I’ve got your next headline.”

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Yellow Irises | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 740

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The pub was virtually empty apart from the three men that sat in the corner, speaking in hushed whispers.

Normally Friday nights were bustling with people, but Remus didn’t bother to wonder why it was empty, too fixated on his latest hypothesis.

“So you’re saying he wants his work to be seen, but doesn’t want anyone to know it’s him.” James curiously, “but we already knew that.”

“Yes but we’ve never considered why.” Remus replied.

“Well, we know why. He’s a sadistic narcissist.” Sirius offered.

There were no secrets between James and Sirius, Remus knew that when he had first met his partner that state secrets would always be shared between the lovers. And honestly, Remus had no room to talk—often giving crumbs to his reporter.

“Not a narcissist. A narcissist would want you to know who they are, make it all about them. But this guy, though his motives are likely selfish, has turned the tide in the last month making the murders all about me.” Remus pointed out.

“To gain your attention, put it back on him.” Sirius countered, “It’s still about him.”

The label didn’t sit right with Remus, but he didn’t argue. Sirius had a point.

“Still—he has something to gain from these murders.”

“Yeah, you.” Sirius scoffed as he lifted his frothing beer to his lips, scraping the foam mustache left behind with his hand.

“Not when he started.” Remus reminded.

“So notoriety?” James offered.

“Maybe—but what good is notoriety to a narcissist, as you put it, if their name isn’t attached. There’s no credit.”

“There is credit,” Sirius claimed, “Barty gives him credit. Gave him his name and everything. I would wager if Barty stopped writing about the murders—stopped giving him his fifteen minutes—he wouldn’t be murdering anymore. He’d get bored and move on.”

“Barty’s not going to do that. He has too much to gain from selling his stories.” James rolled his eyes.

A sour thought slipped into Remus’ mind and his mouth ran dry as the puzzle pieces started to slot together.

Barty had the most to gain.

Barty was always at the scene of the crime freshly pressed and showered.

Barty helped him, encouraged him to find the killer.

Barty didn’t care that the murders stopped. He didn’t mourn the victims as he plastered them in black and white to be read by the masses.

And why would he encourage Remus when it meant there would be no more stories, no more notoriety, unless it was part of his game?

Golden yellow irises stared into space as realization dawned on him.

His reporter.

His killer.

His boyfriend.

His mouse.

Barty had gotten the best of him, and rather than the betrayal he should have felt, all he could manage was a bitter somberness previously predicted by the man in question—the devastation of a game ended.

The unethical thought flickered through his mind briefly: if I don’t accuse him, we can keep playing, but it washed away with the subsequent notion that the hunt would be tainted.

“—still can’t get a hold of him?” James' voice pierced through the foggy veil over Remus’ mind.

“No. I’ve been trying him all day.” Sirius said, staring at his phone, “Remus, have you spoken to Regulus today?”

“No,” Remus shook his head, “Longbottom called out sick.”

Both men looked up at him with matching confusion written on their faces.

“Sick?” Sirius asked, “When has Regulus ever called out for being sick?”

“I’ve seen him one shade away from matching his corpses and he still refused to go home early,” James agreed.

“Rosier called out sick too, maybe they’re doing…something?” Remus waved his hand wordlessly implying they were in a not so secret relationship. The pair had grown closer over the past few weeks, and with semi-conflicting work schedules, it stood to reason they would want a day to hang out, or fuck, or whatever.

“Still—” Sirius frowned, “he’d more than likely say as much outright, not bothering to sugar coat it.”

“Not if he wanted to avoid Tom.” Remus cringed, recalling the way the precinct’s psychologist had worked his way into Remus’ head, seeing far more than Remus allowed even himself to see—much less a stranger.

“If we still can’t get a hold of him by tomorrow morning, we’ll pop over and pay him a visit.” James assured his restless boyfriend.

“Yeah, I guess,” Sirius sighed, still waiting for the response that would never come.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Morning glory | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 615

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Barty knocked sharply on the chestnut door. He loathed coming to his Editor’s home, knowing that the famed plagiarist author would be there, but he was far too enraged to care.

That was—until the door opened revealing a man of average height draped in nothing but a silk, baby blue robe with white marabou feathers lining the cuffs and lapels. Gilderoy Lockhart’s smile wasn’t the only thing that flashed Barty as a fully bloomed morning glory peeked through the opening of his robes.

“Woah, down boy,” Gilderoy chuckled as he threw his robe over the offending cock, which to Barty’s dismay did nothing to hide it from view as it poked against the fabric.

“Where is he Roy?” Barty gritted, clutching the freshly printed paper in his hand.

Gilderoy wrinkled his nose in distaste as he purred, “Bartemius, darling, you know I don’t like it when you call me Roy. It’s so dreadfully common.”

“Where is he, Roy?” Barty asked again, patience waning.

Gilderoy huffed, stepping aside to allow Barty passage and the man grunted as the disgruntled reporter shoved his way through the door.

“Pettigrew, you fucking rat, get down here!” Barty called from the large foyer, his voice bouncing off the marble.

“Oooh, someone isn’t in a very good mood,” Gilderoy tutted jovially as he draped an arm around Barty’s shoulder, squeezing it as he advised, “Lighten up, it’s Saturday.”

“Yes,” Barty seethed as he shucked off the hand creeping up his neck, “it’s Saturday. Did you know that Saturday is the top day of the week for newspaper sales?”

“Of course I knew that,” Gilderoy claimed as he straightened himself—a clear sign that he did not, in fact, know.

“Well, then you won’t be surprised to know why I’m here.” Barty growled, “Pettigrew if you don’t get your ass down here I will drag you by your ankles making sure the back of your head hits each and every stair.”

A plump man appeared at the top of the stairs. His hair disheveled, eyes red—likely from Friday night’s escapades, and his face shrouded in blonde stubble.

Thankfully, he was dressed appropriately in silk pajamas as he descended the staircase.

“Don’t be sore, Barty.” Peter chided, drawing closer to the reporter.

“Why was that bitch given the front page.” Barty growled, “You told me it was mine.”

“And I am allowed to change my mind.”

“And which mind were you thinking with when you altered the paper? Your head or your cock?”

“Don’t be crude.” Peter scowled, “Your story has grown tired. No new evidence, just murder after murder. The people are bored.”

“Bored of murder?” Barty asked.

“This guy has been going at it for months and there is no new information. You’re practically writing the same story with a new headline. You would think you’d be able to gather more secrets what with you fucking the head inspector and all,” Peter drawled.

“Now who’s being crude?” Barty bit, “He’s not the head inspector any longer. You would know that if you read my articles properly. And I’m not fucking him, you know that.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem,” Gilderoy hypothesized, standing behind Barty, wrapping his hands around the reporters hips and slinking toward Barty’s cock.

Barty blushed at Gilderoy’s suggestion and the fiend pressed his cock against Barty’s ass, purring in his ear, “Can’t get it up for the big bad wolf?”

Lifting his heel and stomping sharply against Gilderoy’s blue fuzzy slippers sending the come thirsty pirate reeling back with a yelp.

“I can get it up just fine, thank you.”

“I choose the most enticing story, Barty,” Peter said, ignoring the scuffle, “And you lost this week. Do better or you will continue to lose.”

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Pansy | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 816

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“Pansy for your thoughts?” Barty asked, twirling the stem of a vibrant purple and white flower he had plucked from outside the station.

“I thought the phrase was ‘penny for your thoughts’,” Remus challenged.

“Ophelia would beg to differ,” Barty smirked, tucking the flower in the threads of Remus’ brown pullover, bringing life to the dull faded colors, “What’s on your mind?”

“Tom seems to think I’m in a romantic relationship with The Butcher.” Remus scoffed.

“Are you?” Barty asked, tugging his arm as he tried to walk away.

There was no hint of jealousy in the otherwise green eyes, just a spark of curiosity that flickered for a moment before hiding away in the thick grass.

“Can’t be in love with someone I don’t know.”

“Wrong,” Barty said, poking the tip of his nose with an index finger before strutting off toward Remus’ apartment.

With long strides, Remus caught up, begging the question, “What do you mean?”

“Love is an infection. Seeping through your skin, multiplying and growing with every glance, touch, whisper, aroma, and taste of the other person—eating away at your heart and mind. You needn’t know or even understand a person fully to be afflicted, though the more you do know that person, the more it feeds the condition and the stronger it becomes.”

“That—is that really what you think love is?” Remus asked, “you make it sound like you have no control. Like it’s something that happens to you rather than a feeling you harbor.”

“Are you under the impression that you can pick and choose who you love?” Barty asked, climbing the stairs toward Remus’ apartment.

“I think you need to know a person inside and out before you can truly know you love them.” Remus said, placing his keys in the lock, turning them, then shoving his shoulder in the jammed door—forcing it to open.

“Know, know, know.” Barty prattled, “That’s your problem. You’re thinking too much with your head and not enough with your heart. Love is a feeling, Lupin, and yes, you can analyze it—ponder on it—let it simmer in your mind, but regardless of what conclusion you come to, the feeling remains.”

Barty fixed him with an odd stare as he continued, “You trust your gut, yeah?”

“Yes,” Remus answered, watching as Barty quickly walked toward the shrine as he affectionately called it, plucking a note from the collage.

“Your gut tells you this wasn’t The Butcher, yeah?”

“Yes…”

“But you’ve no evidence to the contrary. All signs point to him. And still, you put your faith here.” Barty pointed toward Remus’ flat empty stomach and the organ flipped at the attention, lifting as Barty glided his finger toward Remus’ heart, “So why is it so hard for you to believe that this could work any differently. Correct on all accounts but with no proof or evidence to show for it.”

“Isn’t it a bit self-sabotaging to try and convince me I’m in love with another man when I’m dating you?” Remus smirked.

“Are we dating?” Barty asked mockingly, “Here I was thinking this was all a ruse to capture your man. Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to me, Lupin.”

“Would it be so bad?” Remus asked earnestly.

Barty hummed, snaking his arms around Remus’ shoulders as he asked, “Tell me what you like about me and I’ll tell you if it’s bad.”

Remus reached over, plucking the pansy from his sweater and placing it in Barty’s hair, as he indulged the man.

“You’re clever, cunning, annoying—”

“Which you love.”

“Mhmm, you’re funny,” Remus carried on, placing his hands on Barty’s slender hips, “you’re dedicated, confident.”

“You have a type.” Barty joked and Remus stilled, suddenly aware that every attribute he admired about Barty could also be gifted to The Butcher.

His killer was clever—clever enough not to get caught but still leave behind notes, sneak into the precinct unnoticed, leaving behind an obnoxious amount of flowers.

He was cunning—carefully evading Remus all the while taunting him.

He was annoying—always getting the best of him, burrowing under his skin, infecting him.

He was funny—in his own way, and with Remus’ midnight humor he couldn’t help but smirk at the first two notes he had received, egging him on in a playful manner.

He was dedicated—devoted to his murders and to Remus.

He was confident—so sure he wouldn’t get caught, leaving behind a string of bodies to be found, he didn’t hide them like most murders would. He displayed them. Wanted them to be seen.

It was something that hadn’t occurred to him. The need to be seen without being perceived.

“I have to see James.” Remus declared, mind reeling with the new revelation.

“I was joking.” Barty frowned.

“I know but it made me realize something. I—” Remus removed the arms around his neck and shoulders, “I need to go talk to James.”

[moonkillermicrofic]

[heaven4lostgirls]

prompt: tea rose @moonkillermicrofic wc: 614

“merlin, did the puffs decide to try their hands at pranking?” sirius exclaims in annoyance and shock as he opens the dorm room.

the rest of the marauders shuffle into the room with equal displays or dismay and shock.

tea roses cover most surfaces in the marauders room, in varying colours and bouquets as they fill every crevice of the already messy dorm

remus shuffles towards his bed where it seems where most of the flowers have been restricted.

he’s only slightly aware of sirius loudly voicing his indignation to the sheer amount of flowers as peter and james admire the delicacy of the bouquets and thought out into the arrangements.

remus is aware enough to know that this many arrangements and the fact that it’s not even tea rose season, that this all would have cost someone a pretty galleon.

“merlin and morgana both.” remus blurts out in shock, shoulder bag dropping instantly as he catches sight of a sleek, green envelope on his pillow.

“what? what!” james squawks as he trudges over to peak over remus’ shoulder.

he cheers in delight at the sight of the envelope, unaware of remus’ inner turmoil.

“wormy! pads! the flowers are for moons!” james croons affectionately, pressing a wet kiss to remus’ cheek that he’s too shocked to even feel disgusted or wipe it off.

two different exclamations of “huh?” and “excuse me?!” are heard before they’re both wading their way through roses to meet james and remus next to remus’ bed.

remus turns and drops to his bed in a sitting position before looking up to the obviously impatient expressions of his friends.

“open it then!” sirius impatiently demands before he’s met with a hit to the arm by peter.

remus blows out a breath before opening the envelope with shakily suspicious hands, worrying that this is all indeed an elaborate joke.

the letter starts;

dear remus,

it seems my attempts to garner your affection has gone unnoticed for too long.

these weeks without you have been truly dreadful.

therefore it seems i am forced to result to quite drastic measures.

do take these arrangements as an official request to court you.

i am well aware this may seem outdated to you, but i would appreciate being given the chance to spoil you.

your dearest, and hopefully soon betrothed,

barty crouch jr.

remus is sure his jaw is on the floor.

barty?! as is regulus’ barty?! as in pureblood-slytherin-son-of-the-minister-of-magic barty crouch jr?

oh remus is going to be sick.

this has to be a joke.

the letter falls out of his hands but before it can reach the floor, all three of his idiot friends scramble to grab it before they huddle together to read it in hushed tones.

only for once they’re done to fall into strained silence.

remus throws himself back onto his bed before grabbing a pillow and throwing it over his face.

“well then!” peter says in faux cheer, “how’re we all feeling then?” he asks ambiguously.

remus’ answering scream into his pillow is enough to have them all wince.

“it’s okay! we’ll just tell him you’re not interested!” sirius pipes up helpfully.

remus immediately throws the pillow off of his face, shaking his head hastily.

unbeknownst to remus’ state, james nods emphatically, “yeah! in fact let’s go right now-”james is cut off by remus’ choked off noise.

“don’t.” he says weakly with a strained smile.

his friends’ confused expression is enough for remus to crumble, throwing his head into his hands as he moans desperately.

“i want him.” he groans out.

“oh.” sirius replies stumped.

“my thoughts and prayers.” peter says solemnly.

james just gives him a strained smile.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Tea Rose | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 1039 (Please note: I am writing this from behind the bars of the word count jail.)

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There was little to be found in the precinct's psychologist’s office. The walls were olive green and the furniture was stained with a matte black finish giving the room an elegant appearance. But there were no pictures of family members, no fixtures at all apart from the three impressive diplomas and the mirror on the back wall near the door. A long green velvet couch had been placed in front of the desk and Remus refused to lay on it, despite how comfortable it looked and how heavy his eyes felt.

A slender frame emerged from the corner of the inspector's eye and Remus turned to greet the man with a blank face and a firm hand.

“Inspector Lupin,” the doctor greeted, a slippery smile curling beneath a thin dark mustache.

“Dr. Riddle,” Remus said, feeling the soft frigid hand in his own warm palm, breathing in the faint, delicate, inviting scent of tea rose perfume that should have eased to his nerves—but if anything it only made him more wary.

“In here you can call me Tom, if I may call you Remus?” Dr. Riddle offered, quirking a brow, “I find it helps break the more obvious barriers between myself and the officers to address each other by our first names.”

“Yeah, alright,” Remus conceded, taking back his hand and stuffing it in his pocket.

Tom walked around his desk, pulling out a tumbler of brandy and two glasses, pouring the rich red substance into the clear crystal.

“Do you often drink with your patients?”

“Does it bother you?” Tom asked, handing a glass to Remus who shook his head once sharply.

“In my experience it makes for a looser tongue,” Tom said, taking a sip as he sat on the couch, crossing his legs and holding out an arm—a silent request for Remus to join him.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Remus said, staring down into the dark waters of his glass.

“Captain Longbottom disagrees,” Tom stated, “You lost someone close to you.”

Remus scoffed, indulging in the drink in his hand, “He was a one night stand. I barely knew his name.”

Tom hummed, picking at the invisible fluff of his dark brown suit, “But for that one night, the pair of you were intimate—closer than most get to anyone on this earth.

“And like that,” Tom snapped his fingers, “He was gone. It’s enough to shock any man.”

Remus didn’t feel shocked. Barty had him pegged so accurately it pained him. Remus didn’t care about the victims. He didn’t mourn the life that could have been. He saw them as a clue—a tool—a device to get him one step toward his goal.

“Tell me—would you feel differently if it had been Mr. Crouch lying in Dr. Black’s morgue, rather than Mr. Fenwick?” Tom asked, and Remus’ head snapped up to meet the onyx eyes that aimed to solve their own riddle.

“Barty is a friend.” Remus answered, carefully holding their relationship to his chest.

“And a lover, no?” Tom hedged.

“No.” Remus denied, not offering any hint that he would like to be.

“Hmm. And still you put this friend of yours in a precarious position.”

“Barty can handle it,” Remus assured, “and Moody has a plan.”

“Do you think Moody’s plan would stop The Butcher?” Tom asked sincerely.

“No. He’s too clever for that.”

“You sound almost as if you admire him,” Tom pressed.

“I know him.”

The doctor’s eyes widened with surprise and Remus backtracked, “I’m familiar enough with how he operates to know that he would see through the farce.”

“Ahh. He seems quite taken with you.” Tom ventured, “Are you as equally taken with him?”

“Not—he’s challenging.” Remus offered, “Far more brilliant than the average murderer, he’s playing a game and he’s fancied me someone worth competing against.”

“Do you feel flattered by this?”

Remus blushed, clenching his jaw, certain that any wrong word uttered would strip him from the case.

“Do you get a certain thrill every time you read one of his notes?”

“No.” Remus answered honestly, thinking back toward the wrongness of the fourth letter, but he could tell by the smirk on Tom’s face that the good doctor didn’t believe him.

“You know part of my job is settling office romances.” Tom began, shifting gears so quickly Remus couldn’t see where the conversation was headed, “Coworkers that find themselves spending too much time together both at work and at home.”

“Are you implying I’m in a romantic relationship with the butcher?” Remus laughed.

“How often do you think about your killer?” Tom asked.

“It’s my job to think about him.” Remus defended.

“Is he the last thought in your head before you go to sleep, the first person you think of when you wake? He schedules dates for you—”

“I’d hardly call a murder scene romantic,” Remus drawled.

“—leaving presents—”

“Corpses.”

“—for you to find, and little love notes, I heard he even left you flowers once—”

“Poppies.”

“—a romantic relationship is one built on trust—”

“I don’t even know who he is.”

“—respect—”

“He’s good at what he does. It’s intriguing.”

“—affection—”

“I don’t—”

“—shared experiences—”

“Which he curated.”

“For you,” Tom answered, “and a commitment to one another. Which you have acquiesced to.”

“I’m dating Barty.” Remus countered.

“But you’re not fucking him.” Tom rebutted, “Why? Is it because you don’t want to see him hurt, or is it because you don’t want to be unfaithful—that you want to heed to the boundaries set by The Butcher?”

“I’m not in love with The Butcher.” Remus breathed out, “I don’t even know him.”

“If you did—if he walked through that door professing himself—giving you his face—his name, would you arrest him or run into his arms?”

Remus’ indignant stare was broken by three sharp raps on the door.

“Come in,” Tom called out, and Remus felt the heavy stair as he thanked the heavens for whoever was on the other side.

A familiar blonde head of hair peeked through the crack.

“Remus,” Barty drawled, “Rosier said I could find you here. You ready?”

Remus set the glass down, not bothering for a backward glance to Tom, ready to wash himself clean of the session.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[eyeofcalliope]

May 8 - butterfly weed - 392 words - @moonkillermicrofic

Barty was bored.

Usually, he loved going shopping with his boyfriend, but they didn’t usually go to a greenhouse. All there was in there were plants and flowers with long-ass names Barty couldn’t pronounce.

He had nearly dragged Remus back to that little café they had passed, tempted by the thought of coffee and a break from the endless rows of plants.

“Rem, baby, what are we doing here again?” Barty asked, resting his chin on Remus’ shoulder from behind.

Remus only smiled fondly and patted his arm, picking up another plant. “Trying to find a cheap but good flower to attract pollinators. Next week is my pollinator unit and I want the kids to have a hands-on experiment.”

Barty huffed, but he was too in love with this man to pretend to be mad. He instead kissed Remus’ cheek.

“You’re such a good teacher, love. Spoil those little buggers rotten, what will they do next year?” Remus grinned, kissing Barty back gently.

“Beats me, that’s their next year teacher’s problem.” Barty laughed, caught off guard.

“You’re rotten, Rem, such a foul plan. I knew there was a master plan in your genius little mind.”

They wandered from greenhouse to greenhouse before Remus found what he was looking for with a loud gasp.

Barty shot up from where he was crouched down petting the barn cat. “Remus? Are you okay?” He hurried over, worried and fretting.

Remus turned with a beaming smile, holding up a small plant. It was mostly green with little dots of orange flowers in the twirling stems. Barty smiled back, unable to resist his boyfriend.

“What are those, love?” Remus had already gotten to work adding pallets of the little plants in the cart, 24 in total.

“Butterfly weed.” Barty snorted at the name. “You’re getting the butterflies high?”

Remus glared half-heartedly, used to his boyfriend’s antics. “No, it’s a species of milkweed. Attracts a lot of butterflies and is colorful so it will be a hit with the kids.”

Barty smiled as Remus nerded out about the little plants. He dropped a kiss to his sandy curls.

“Sounds perfect, Rem. They’ll love them, simply because you always go above and beyond.”

Barty had never thought he’d look forward to a greenhouse run. But every spring, there they were, loading up on butterfly weed like it was tradition.

[moonkillermicrofic]

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Butterfly Weed | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 1193 (because I have no self control)

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“The fuck happened to your hand?” Remus asked, snatching Barty’s wrist and squeezing as the reporter did his best to yank it back.

“I got in a fight with a wall.” Barty admitted, “I may have lost.”

Calloused fingers and scrutinizing eyes inspected the damage, careful not to cause more.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s broken,” Remus surmised, abandoning Barty as he walked toward the bathroom leaving the muderer alone with his thoughts.

He had to see it—the corpse, had to see it with his own eyes and even as he stared down at the lifeless form he knew he hadn’t destroyed, he still couldn’t believe it.

Everything was matched perfectly—down to the emerald green letter, and he didn’t blame Remus for not recognizing the difference. Not when he couldn’t spot it himself.

The urge to warn the inspector, he had grown so fond of, racked his bones, but he couldn’t shed any light on the trickster without also outing himself.

His mind wandered to the possibilities. It had to be someone who was intimately familiar with his work, beyond just the informed reader.

In any other world, he would have been excited—elevated—flattered even, at the mimicrey—but in this world, he couldn’t help but think of the danger Remus Lupin was in and he cursed himself for getting too close.

It had started out as a leg up, fighting tooth and nail for the position of lead writer against Rita Skeeter, a woman as vicious as her pen. She played dirty and Barty admired her for that, but he had needed to get on even ground, so he created his own stories with the end of a blade, coating the tip of his pen in the blood he had shed. But then—Remus Lupin came along. Clever, brooding, handsome, Barty found him intriguing and decided to play with him. But the more he played, the more fond he had become of the inspector.

And now someone was playing with the both of them. Trouble was—Barty was the only one who knew another player had entered the game.

Remus returned, a tin container in his hand, and walked toward Barty ordering him to sit on the sofa before joining him.

“What is that?” Barty asked as Remus unscrewed the top, placing it on his thigh and fingering the paste within the container.

“Butterfly weed balm,” Remus said, reaching out for Barty’s hand, “My mother used to make it for me when I was a kid. Helps smooth scrapes and cuts.”

Rich vanilla wafted in the air as Remus liberally applied the ointment, “Smells nice.”

Remus hummed and Barty took a moment to observe the man up close. Faded scars lined his hands and face gracing him with a roguish look that many would steer clear of. Barty only found him more intriguing.

Though Remus didn’t lift his head, focusing on healing the hands that had caused so much chaos and destruction, Barty knew he could feel the weight of his stare as the inspector's cheeks darkened.

“You can ask,” Remus whispered.

Barty nearly did, but backed down at the last moment, smirking as he claimed, “Nah. Makes you more mysterious if I don’t know.”

“Mysterious,” Remus scoffed.

“Yeah,” Barty said, “Keeps me guessing.”

“Wouldn’t you rather the fulfillment of knowing?”

“Tell me, Remus,” Barty whispered, tracing the veins that blushed beneath his fingers, “Do you get fulfilled at having solved a case? Or do you feel the hollow emptiness knowing the chase is over?”

Remus snapped his head up, warm amber eyes blazing with indignation—not at the question, but at the known answer that settled between them.

“There’s always another killer,” Remus argued.

“But it’s not the same, is it?” Barty whispered, “You get little bits, clues into the mind. You become attached, don’t you? Looking forward to the next bit of evidence, the next corpse, hoping it holds more secrets than the last—but not too many secrets, otherwise the game is over.”

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying one’s work,” Remus countered.

“No, there certainly isn’t.” Barty agreed, “The thing is though, everyone seems to assume you enjoy aphrehending the fiends who soak the streets in blood. Stopping them before they have a chance to kill again. But that’s not true, is it?”

Barty leaned in, ghosting his lips against Remus’, tasting the confession that refused to spill. “You enjoy the chase, not the catch.”

A phone rang in the distance and Remus screwed his eyes shut before reluctantly lifting himself from the couch to take the call.

Barty caught fragments, another victim had been claimed but this time he knew who the perpetrator was.

When Remus had hung up the phone, he fixed Barty with a curious stare—a question lodged in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down before it had a chance to voice itself.

“The Butcher?” Barty asked, admiring the handiwork of the salve on his knuckles.

“Yeah.” Remus rasped, “Left a note for me again.”

“One might begin thinking he’s in love with you or something with all these notes and flowers.” Barty joked tightly.

Remus hummed but remained tight-lipped, and Barty sighed, “Well, go on, what did he say this time?”

“Read it yourself,” Remus said, hurling the phone toward Barty’s battered hands.

He already knew what it would say before he caught the phone and glanced down, but he made a show of reading it out loud:

Constant vigilance, darling.

The Birmingham Butcher

Remus’ brows were furrowed when Barty lifted his head from the portable screen.

“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Barty asked, curious to see first hand how Remus’ mind worked.

“It’s a warning.” Remus said, simply.

“Aren’t they all?” Barty asked, walking toward the shrine unwittingly made in his honor, “Better luck next time, Keep up, I don’t share, Careful, Constant vigilance.”

“No.”

“No?”

“The first two—they’re teasing. The third could be construed as a warning, especially coupled with the personal victim, but I don’t see it that way. It’s more—informative. Setting boundaries in our relationship. A yellow, if I’m honest. The fourth one—”

Barty held his breath as Remus hypothesized, “The fourth one—I don’t know why but I have this gut feeling—”

Remus shook his head, but Barty turned on his heel to face the inspector head on, “What?”

“I don’t know,” Remus sighed, his face hidden by a wide palm that pulled at his skin as it drifted down his face, settling over his mouth as he continued, “like it wasn’t meant for me.”

“If not you, then who?” Barty asked.

“I don’t know.” Remus answered honestly, “but this one—see how he’s bolded the word “The” he’s only done that once before. Emphasizing “yours” in this one.”

Remus said as he walked over, pointing at the third note. It’s a claim—they both are. The third one was claiming me. This one—I think this one he’s claiming himself.”

“How do you mean?” Barty asked, desire running through his veins straight to his cock as Remus did his best to work it out.

Remus fixed him with a clouded stare as he admitted to the reporter, “I don’t know yet.”

[moonkillermicrofic]

You'll end up in prison for breaking words limit, and I'll sit in next cell 'cause I let you lol