#alastortheauror

[edgartotheboneiys]

009. Somebody Told Me

Alastor Moody

...Is the reincarnation of King Arthur and secretly calls his wand Excalibur. 

...Has a butterfly for a patronus. This is his deepest, darkest secret.

...Is actually a rare form of tall leprechaun. 

[edgartotheboneiys]

March 14, 1979 | Alastor and Edgar (The Hangover)

Edgar Bones was definitely no stranger to the effects of alcohol. Ever since his Seventh Year at Hogwarts - the year he'd finally given up trying to keep up with the family name and had made a complete mess of his NEWTs - he'd been regularly drunk, usually every few days. And with regular drunkenness came the headaches and patchy memories when he woke up the next day, making him wince at loud noises and clamber over to his trunk to find some sort of potion that might be able to fix it. 

Except this time he wasn't in a dormitory at Hogwarts, or at his sister's (and his, now) flat. This time, he was lying on a lumpy and dusty mattress in a small cold room, and no matter which way he turned there seemed to be something digging into his back, giving him the most terrible backache he'd ever had. Definitely not the most comfortable of places, but he sincerely doubted that comfort was what whoever had designed it was going for. Plus, he had to deal with his bloody throbbing head all by himself.

That's not the worst part though, is it? He thought, massaging his temples and blinking. The worst part is that I'm stuck in the fucking Ministry, suspected of murdering someone.

He hadn't though. He couldn't have. He was capable of a lot of things, but wilfully killing someone he barely knew, and someone who by all accounts was the complete opposite of criminal, was not one of them. It just was not possible. Edgar groaned out load, which gave him another flash of skull-splitting pain. He swore, and started talking to himself just to break the god awful silence. His voice was made husky by his parched throat. 

"I need a potion. No, I need a fucking drink. The only good cure for alcohol is alcohol."

But the room he was locked in was neither a apothecary or a brewery, and there were bigger problems on his plate right then. So the only thing left to do to pass the time was to figure out how to get himself out of this shit.

For the next hour (he had no idea how long it really was, but it felt like that), Edgar tried hopelessly to sort through his hazy brain and come up with something to say when he was inevitably questioned over this whole fuck-up. He managed to find only three memories in his aching head that were clear enough to describe in any amount of detail - Marlene McKinnon coming over to Amelia's place in the morning, and then somehow finding himself at the Ministry, and then that all consuming need to run out of there like his life depended on it and the Aurors catching him and bringing him to a cell. Whenever he tried to come up with anything else, it slipped away from him, like he was trying to grasp a handful of water.

That final thought made him even more thirsty, for Merlin's sake. And to be honest, while Edgar wasn't unfamiliar with not knowing what had happened the night before, this time it terrified him. 

[greeneyedgingerlily-blog]

March 14th, 1979 || Alastor & Lily || Suspicions and Suspects

After the service concluded, Lily filed out of the cemetery along with the others, her throat scratchy and raw from her suppressed tears, her eyelids feeling gritty and strained. For once, she didn’t have anywhere to go, but for once, she wished she did. A distraction from this ominous reminder of the fleetingness of life was sorely needed, but as she scanned the faces of those walking past her, no one was familiar. Ministry members were easily identifiable by their robes and especially forlorn faces, and although she had noticed many of her friends in attendance, they all seemed to have dispersed, and she wandered somewhat aimlessly the rest of the way out, fiddling with odd pieces of lint in her pocket. Just when she thought she had grown comfortable or at least accustomed to the concept and prevalence of death, something happened that reminded her of its injustice and random nature. 

And funerals just made it worse: surrounded by people crying, the impersonal sermons, the dreary colours and the coffin that stood at the front like a bad omen. Lily was certain now, after having attended so many services, that when she died, she didn’t want any solemnity. No crying, no coffin, and for Merlin’s sake, no black. Everyone would be required to show up in their brightest outfits and wear party hats and drink copious amounts of alcohol while swapping their favourite stories about her and celebrating her life, however long or short it might have been. Because honestly, she found the alternative far too depressing. She smiled a bit to herself as she walked, wondering how her loved ones and friends who react if they knew her wishes. The idea had come from the wakes that the Irish had, which she found to be such a healthy change to how the English went about it. 

When she looked up once she reached the fence surrounding the cemetery, she was surprised to see Alastor Moody walking around the corner. Speaking of the Irish, she said to herself, quickening her pace to catch up. She didn’t actually know the man personally, though sometimes it felt like she did, given how much James prattled on about him. Honestly, it bordered on hero worship, and she’d given up rolling her eyes and asking him to shut up, and in the process, had learned a great deal about the Auror who was so well respected within the Order. “Alastor!” she called after him, raising a hand in an awkward sort of wave and hating herself for the degree of familiarity she infused in her voice. Stupid child, she chided herself, but was left no option but to close the distance between them when he turned and acknowledged her with a surprised expression. “Idiot,” she muttered to herself as she approached him, but put on a cheery smile to hide her discomfort. 

“Hello,” she greeted him somewhat awkwardly, hoping that he wouldn’t think her completely mental for sprinting after him down a street after a funeral. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, I just saw you…walking and I…” Lily’s cheeks began to flush as she stammered through her excuses, feeling more foolish with each passing second. “Well, I suppose I thought we might walk together a ways, if you’re headed back to the Diagon Alley area. It’s always nice to have some company when the weather’s dreary like this.” As if on cue, a light mist began to sprinkle down from the stormy looking sky, and Lily bit down on her lip at the irony of it, already feeling the small drops cling to her bright hair. Offering up a small smile to Alastor, she rocked back on her heels and waited for his response, hating her presumptuousness but hoping for the best.