“Good morning, sir,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said as he walked by and handed him two sealed rolls of parchment before he slipped into his cubicle across the way. “I wrote up the minutes from the qualification rounds.”
“Oh, yeah? Thanks.” Frank had forgotten about those. The brief time that he’d gone home, he’d stepped into the shower and helped his wife into the bed. Alice had caught some bug and, knowing his luck, she’d share it with him in a few days. He slit one of the rolls open with his wand tip, held a quill between his teeth and organized his thoughts before jotting down a critique. “Kingsley?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t call me ‘sir’. You’re making me feel old and I don’t have grey hair yet.” Frank had told him this before, of course, but he guessed Kingsley fell into the habit. “Did you get your results back?”
Frank liked pretty much everyone on his team. He had handpicked Kingsley during the young man’s own qualification rounds, and he was particularly proud of that move. Not everyone wanted him at first. Perhaps it was the earring or something. Frank, who had been one of Mad-Eye’s success stories, had made it through his trials by the skin of his teeth. The senior officials scoffed when he’d walked through those heavy oak doors and immediately labeled him as the spoiled little rich boy. Mad-Eye didn’t make it easy for him either and gave him hell for three years. Frank didn’t deny it. The only son of a wealthy apothecary and a doting mother, he’d had everything at his fingertips. For him, the Auror Department wasn’t just a challenge; it was his long awaited wakeup call.
“It’s an earring.” He could tell by Kingsley’s look that he’d zeroed in on the problem. Frank held his hand out and read a scrawled comment at the bottom. “Robards? This is nothing. If he’d wanted you to change, Gawain would have ripped the thing out of your head on the first day.”
Kingsley started to take the thing out.
“Now you’re conforming, and they’ll take note of that,” said Frank, smiling when Kingsley dropped his hand. Kingsley opened his briefcase and got to work. He’d been with them for about six months now and was still testing the waters. Getting accepted into the department after three years of excruciating training was the easy part, and Kingsley may or may not consider landing on Frank’s team a lucky break. “If they don’t tell you off, especially Robards, you should worry.”
Frank took a different approach to these training exercises than many of his superiors. He’d learned from his own experiences that berating rants only sent trainees bolting for the doors. Folks made mistakes, yes, and some were beyond help, but they shouldn’t be expected to perform at the level of the senior officials. He didn’t consider himself soft, either, because they simply couldn’t twiddle their thumbs in times like this. In reality, they were drowning under the sheer weight of all these deaths and missing people.
“Longbottom.” Mad-Eye invited himself inside the cubicle and dumped the records on his desk. “Yesterday, when you said Rodolphus Lestrange slipped up, where were you going with that?”
Mad-Eye had left round seven o’clock to get some sleep and get away from Rufus Scrimgeour. Frank guessed that he’d spend hours twisting cases this way and that even when he wasn’t at headquarters. They’d set up a room by interrogation with cots and mismatched chairs and things, but Mad-Eye did not want to risk someone slipping him something. A few months ago, he’d been slipped a tainted drink in a pub; Mad-Eye had purchased a hip flask and let nobody borrow so much as a quill since that day.
“Anything?” Mad-Eye prompted him.
“Why would he run if he had nothing to hide?” Frank asked, rubbing his hands together. “We’ve seen him before, haven’t we? Dawlish questioned him last March, and he just fired off information. We can’t say how much of it was true, mind you, because he sent us on a wide goose chase.”
“And wasted our time,” added Mad-Eye.
“Yes, I’ll give you that,” said Frank, glad Mad-Eye wasn’t snubbing him and dismissing his theory, “but I watched the questioning session this time.”
“Yeah?” Mad-Eye’s mouth twitched a little. “You paired those two together again?”
“He’s going to learn,” said Frank stubbornly.
“That’s why Dawlish is avoiding you? Fair enough. What’d we learn?” Mad-Eye took out his hip flask and took a swig. When Frank threw up his hands, he sighed, “Figured that much.”
“Lestrange just sat there and staring at wall licking his lips,” said Frank. He nodded when Mad-Eye wet his chapped lips. Oddly enough, it was more terrifying watching a scarred man mirror the behaviour. “Yeah. It’s either that or watching a man bite his nails, I guess. He’s nervous.”
“Get your things,” said Mad-Eye, walking through the maze of cubicles, “and that frilly stuff has no place here.”
“Good job, Frank,” he muttered to himself and smiled when Kingsley looked up.
Frank fingered the parcel and untied the ribbon. He knew this wasn’t from Alice because she treated him like any other colleague when they were on the job. This had become strangely complicated since they got married, but she liked playing these games. In any case, his birthday came right after the New Year, and she wouldn’t have given him an expensive gift. He shook the box and figured his mother probably picked up a little something for his birthday. He took off the lid, fished out a scratched lighter, and set it aside. Inside this, there was a smaller box. He opened this one and tossed it in the air. Frank pushed himself away from the desk and let out a scream. Seconds later, Aurors jumped up to see what was the matter so early in the morning.
Kingsley scooped the thing up and Mad-Eye demanded to see it. It was a severed hand with a lashed tongue resting in its palm. Mad-Eye slid two of his fingers inside and picked out a wrinkled slip of parchment.
He cleared his throat as he unfurled it and read, “‘Want to find the rest of him? Skim through the paper and find an interesting piece.’”
Frank reached in his briefcase and took out an edition of the Daily Prophet and flipped through its pages frantically. There were snippets of late-night celebrations and tales of Muggles spotting animated firework displays. He found it on page eleven. He’d been missing since Monday night. “Benjy.”
“What?” Kingsley asked.
“Move.” Mad-Eye snatched the paper from underneath his nose. If he was shocked, he didn’t show it.
“Damn it.” Frank locked his desk called over his shoulder. “You want an assignment, Kingsley?”
He didn’t need telling twice. Kingsley tossed a roll of parchment on his desk and followed them.
Frank waited for Mad-Eye’s assessment. It wasn’t an act of courtesy. Not really. It had more to do with the fact that he’d been told off enough times over the years that Mad-Eye conditioned him this way. Frank searched the place with Kingsley for a half an hour. He thought that they were going to pay the editor of the Prophet a visit, seeing as Benjy had last been spotted in their offices, but Mad-Eye just limped along and led them to a dead end. Kingsley had enough sense not to point this out and kept his mouth shut. They’d ended up scouring industrial rubbish bins behind a pub.
“I’ll do this one,” said Frank, climbing up and balancing his foot on the ledge.
Kingsley had searched the other one without complaint and reeked of ale. They did it the old-fashioned way since they had no idea what they were searching for. Frank had stepped in a soggy mess and ruined another pair of shoes. He landed on cracked bottles and plastic bags and sifted through the waste. He didn’t have to wait long. He’d worked in the field long enough to pick up that smell. If he needed more conviction, a sticky substance stuck to his robes. Trying not to think of a worst case scenario, Frank tossed the bag over the bin before he climbed out. He showed them his bloody hands and thanked Kingsley for the handkerchief.
“I reckon that’s not from rare beef,” Mad-Eye grunted. “Look, Longbottom, if this is too personal, I’ll move you over to the Fawcett case.”
“No.” He shook his head and looked at the trail, which glanced at the dried blood and sick, leading to the bin. He’d thought he’d seen just about everything. He felt the nausea creep up and covered his mouth with the handkerchief. “They dragged him.”
Kingsley looked as though he second guessed accompanying them to the scene. He didn’t sound too optimistic when he said, “I “ I don’t think …”
“He’s a skinny man,” said Frank, shaking his head and retracing his steps. He walked along the path and pieced it together before he stopped at the rubbish bin, “and they would have taken their time.”
“He spoke out against the werewolves,” said Mad-Eye, thinking about the article, “and they wouldn’t have bitten him and left him in a ditch, especially if he pissed them off. This is right outside a Wizarding village, yeah?”
“Ottery St. Catchpole,” said Kingsley.
“The editor’s place isn’t far from here,” said Frank. He thought it odd that Barnabus Cuffe and Xenophilius Lovegood lived so close together. He could see a black towering establishment along the way. “You think they discuss things over a cup of tea? It’d be an interesting conversation.”
“I don’t read the papers,” said Mad-Eye. “Cuffe’s a thorn in my side.”
Benjy worked for the Daily Prophet . Benjy never discussed his work much, but Frank could tell that his loyalty with the press had steadily declined since he’d joined the Order. Benjy had attended a gala the other night. He might not support the stuff that filled its pages, but the paper put gold in his pocket. If anything, Benjy went against the grain, working tirelessly to offer the public another voice. The more he thought about it, Frank saw this whole thing as caked in random evidence.
“It’s not him,” he said softly.
“Kingsley, give me that lighter.” Mad-Eye snapped his fingers and held out his hand. Kingsley picked it out of the box. Frank’s heart sank. “Perhaps you didn’t look at it too closely before because you were looking for something else. Does this wrapped quill insignia look familiar to you? Walk with me.”
“What about him?” asked Frank, nodding at Kingsley. He knew by Mad-Eye’s look that he wished to discuss matters in private. He, Frank, tossed Kingsley the handkerchief. “Tell you what. I owe you, all right? I’ll meet you back at headquarters and I’ll buy you a drink and dinner; I’ll sit a night shift with you. The next time an investigation comes up, you’re with me. Why don’t you head back?”
“All right.” Kingsley didn’t expect an apology.
“You’re running yourself into the ground,” Mad-Eye said when they turned the corner, “and I expect you at the top of your game. Running a fifty hour shift on nothing is stupid.”
“I got some sleep,” Frank lied.
“Yeah, right.” Mad-Eye scoffed as he looked him up and down. “Tomorrow you’re off. In fact, don’t come in Saturday, as well. You’re taking the holidays, too, since you worked straight through them.”
“But I’ve a briefing on the fifth, and you know Scrimgeour hates press conferences,” Frank insisted.
“Do I look like I give a damn?” Mad-Eye leaned heavily on his walking stick. He hadn’t said anything about it, but Frank knew one of the Death Eaters hurt his good foot early last week. He walked ahead a few paces and growled, “Don’t think of weaselling out of this one, either, Frank, because I’m watching you. And, in case you were wondering, no, you can’t substitute the weekend as a holiday.”
“I wasn’t even going there.” Frank laughed it off. Mad-Eye wasn’t a Legilimens, so it always annoyed Frank when he hit the mark like this. “Nobody likes you.”
“I want Mouse back because I tire of you,” Mad-Eye countered him. He’d called Alice that since the beginning. She’d been the first woman to catch his vote in the years during qualifications, and he gave her relentless hell for it. “Go back to Scrimgeour.”
“Hell, no.” Frank considered that a respectful decline, and, apparently, Mad-Eye accepted it, because he laughed for the first time in weeks.
“Frank.” Mad-Eye cleared his throat and struggled with how to bring up what he was really trying to clear up here. “I don’t believe in this psychological assessment stuff, but maybe it’s good if you clear your head.”
“I’m fine,” Frank said flatly. Mad-Eye dodged out of those things with foolish excuses, and he annoyed the Healers time and time again. It kind of annoyed him that Mad-Eye suggested this because it wasn’t a subtle hint. “You want me at the top of my game? I’m there. It was sprung on me, that’s all. You’re questioning my sanity when some twisted bastard ...”
“Fair enough,” sighed Mad-Eye, though he still looked worried. “Get cleaned up and get some rest. See you.”
“Mad-Eye,” said Frank, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He turned round and the man had disappeared.
Frank told Kingsley he’d stay until nine o’clock because he had to do something with his mother. It was some stupid birthday thing, and he’d already turned her down over Christmas. On second thought, Frank might have done a little overkill, but Kingsley bought it and thanked him for a hot plate. So, Frank got out of the Ministry in time to catch some of the meeting and made it downtown as quickly as he could. When he reached the abandoned warehouse in Greenwich, he caught his breath before he stepped inside.
“Hey.” Frank slipped in behind Dedalus and tapped Alice on the shoulder. “Are you working tomorrow?”
“No. Not till Wednesday night,” she said, watching Mad-Eye wrap up his report. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. She wore one of his jumpers over a pair of ironed trousers and rolled up the sleeves. “Happy birthday. Thirty. You’re an old man now, Frank.”
“That’s me.” He swallowed, knowing there was little point in a delay. In the corner, he saw Marlene McKinnon dabbing her eyes with a napkin; her drink shook in her hand. “Did he bring up old Benjy yet?”
“Yes. He didn’t go into detail, though.” Like Frank, Alice experienced one of the downsides of a career like this one; death became a stale reality. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. They’d simply learned to hide their emotions behind a mask and focus on the next step. “Can you imagine?”
“Yeah, they’re upping their game. Things are going to change quick.” He thanked Alice when she handed him a drink. “He’s left handed.”
“Who?” Alice snapped an elastic band off of her wrist and tied her curly hair back. “It’s hot in here.”
“Kingsley.” Frank shrugged. “He holds a quill strangely when he writes, and that’s why.”
“Were you bored tonight?” she asked.
“No, it’s just been bugging me.” Frank sighed when she raised her eyebrows. “He did that, too.”
“Mouse!” Mad-Eye called and Alice jerked her head up. “Come here, please.”
Alice walked to the centre of the room and stood by Mad-Eye. She tapped her wand on her leg and looked round at the other members. Frank had forgotten that tonight’s meeting was to assess duelling skills. He knew why Mad-Eye hadn’t picked him for the demonstration; Frank opted to stay out of training sessions with first-year trainees because he waited for them to sharpen their skills. Dumbledore, who had finished his part before Frank arrived, sat beside his brother and Elphias Doge.
Mad-Eye immediately targeted the younger members. Sirius and James sat at a table with their other friends. Peter glanced at the wall and Remus, who had been minutes, dipped his quill into the ink bottle. Lily sat off to the side with Marlene McKinnon, and neither of them looked as though they would be Mad-Eye’s intended target. Emmeline Vance, who had actually been through this before, might be Mad-Eye’s pick, but Frank doubted it. Mad-Eye insisted that anyone who joined the Order needed to have basic duelling skills in case they had the misfortune of being caught in a tight spot. Arabella Figg, who rarely attended these meetings, seemed to be the only exception. No, he’d search out the weak, rusty link.
“Remus.” Mad-Eye beckoned him with a gnarled finger. As the young man walked past the burning candles, Frank thought he looked ill. “You’re next, Peter, so don’t get too comfortable.”
“Breathe,” Frank suggested. “When you stop, she uses it against you, so don’t think.”
“Scare him, why don’t you, love? Ever hit a girl, Remus?” Alice asked.
“No.”
“That’s all right,” she said, smiling when Sirius laughed. “I tell the trainees when you’re fighting for your life, gender no longer applies.”
“Okay.” He looked like he expected something more helpful, perhaps, but he took what he could get.
Remus nodded. He looked a little nervous, but he wasn’t crawling out of his skin, and Frank took that as a good sign. He knew, of course, that this was practice, so the odds of him overtaking her were slim. The others stood off to the side or sat at the table, so they were out of the way. Remus and Alice bowed low and drew their wands with the same fluid movement. Frank had no doubt that Remus had picked tricks up at school.
Remus made the first move, and Alice countered him easily. Whereas he switched his feet often, she looked at it like a dance, circling him and taking full advantage of her space. When he switched tactics, she’d throw out pointers as if they were discussing the matter over coffee. He’d nod, ask for clarification here and there, and give it another shot.
“Protego!” He blocked her curse and made her hit the table. He followed that with a Stinging Hex.
“Good,” she said, taken off guard, shaking her left hand when it started to swell. “No, don’t look at your friends. They won’t be there when it’s just you against a Death Eater. Locomotor Mortis !”
At first, Frank thought that something had gone wrong; perhaps her spell had backfired, causing her legs to shake. A second later, Remus shifted his lower body and swung his legs together. Alice reached out for something, and when that failed, she lost her balance and slammed onto the wooden floor, knocking the air out of her lungs. Remus, who had been hit by a Langlock Curse, hopped aside and balanced his weight. Alice waved her hand, giving up, and crawled across the floor. She got to her knees, holding the position for a few seconds and retched in a metal bin.
“Are you okay?” Marlene asked Alice. Remus collapsed in a chair and let Mad-Eye relinquish the jinx.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Alice wiped her mouth on a napkin and sat on the floor. “That was a smart move.”
“Thanks. Yeah, well, you could have been harder on me,” said Remus, glad she was all right.
“You should have aimed for her other hand,” Frank suggested as he walked over to release her from the strange sensation. “Finite. It would have made your game easier.”
“Hey.” Alice punched him playfully in the arm. “Whose side are you on?”
“You let a teenager handle you, Alice,” Mad-Eye pointed out. “I don’t know.”
“That? I thought we were taking respite. Five minutes?” She laughed at Remus’s surprise and waved her hand. “I’m kidding.”
“Work on being assertive, though, okay?” suggested Frank. “Your opponent, whether he’s a Death Eater or not, will seek out your doubt and use it against you. Peter? You’re next?”
Peter shook his head. “Next time.”
“No, no, come on,” Frank insisted, setting his glass on the floor. This quiet young man couldn’t hide behind his friends forever. “We’re not picking you out to be humiliated, Peter, and this’ll help anyone. I trained Alice through her qualifications, and we still practice with each other when we need to change up our routines. Change is a good thing. I bet you’re not half as bad as you think. From what I’ve learned, it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to worry about. Give it go and show us what you’ve got.”
“No.” Peter turned bright red and glanced at his friends. “I’m n-not ready. Next time?”
“Sure.” Frank gave up for the moment and sighed when Sirius opened a white pastry box and lit candles with a swish of his wand. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“Too bad,” said James, waving him over. “You’re old and we’re celebrating it. Unless you want to set the place on fire, get over here.”
Frank took Alice’s hand and walked over with the rest of the group. He took a deep breath and blew out the candles. Lily handed him a knife, and he dished out servings and thanked them. There was a colourful bag at the end of the table. Mad-Eye glanced at it, too, as he picked at his piece and sniffed it. He seemed to think it was okay and took a big bite.
“It’s a pocket watch and a bottle of wine. Pinot Noir, by the looks of it,” he growled, smirking at him. “I’d test it before you go snooping round in that bag, though. You never know.”
“Thanks, Mad-Eye.” Alice rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “It’s your dad’s. Sam says he sold it in 1930 off a jeweller in the consignment shop in Galway to start the apothecary.”
“Yeah. And you got it? That’s mad.” Frank slipped his hand in the bag, opened a black jewellery box, and read the inscription on the back: Sampson Francis. He kissed Alice and hugged her tightly. “Thank you. That’s it. You’re the best.”
“Are you broke now?” asked James.
“No. Well, it cost a pretty penny, yeah. Not a little, not a lot,” said Alice, shrugging, “but I hope this makes up for those Christmas chocolates.”
“You’re redeemed a thousand times over,” said Frank, examining it in the light. “Has Dad seen it?”
“I thought he was going to have a heart attack on the spot.” Alice polished off her piece. “Poor Sam.”
“And Mum?” Frank put it back in the box and poured himself another glass.
“Funny you should ask,” she said, helping herself to his piece. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Frank had heard this line enough times to catch its meaning without getting angry or sparking a row. Ever since they’d met at a dinner, Alice had never exactly hit it off with Frank’s mother. At one point, over a dress or something, Alice had threatened to call the wedding off. They bumped heads a lot, and Frank loved his mother, too, but he had asked her on a couple of occasions, nicely he’d hoped, to give them some space. He hated being put in a spot where he was forced to choose between them, and he usually said the wrong thing, so he treaded carefully.
“It can’t be that bad.” Alice started to walk away, and he tugged at her sleeve. “No, come on, tell me.”
“You’ll find out Sunday over dinner.”
She listened to Dumbledore close the meeting. They cleaned up and started walking outside. She stood by the Potters and wrapped her arms around her chest. Elphias, Marlene and a few others gave rushed good-byes and left. Dumbledore bid them all good night and walked down the alleyway with his brother. Mad-Eye double checked to make sure that he had locked the doors. He handed Frank the pastry box and the gift bag. Alice walked past then and didn’t say a word when Frank called out to her. He said her name gain, owing that mistake to the fact that she might not have heard him. Of course, she was only a few feet away, so the excuse didn’t fit. When she plain out ignored him and crossed her arms and breathed sharply through her nose, he recognised the signs.
Frank didn’t understand why she’d become so angry at the mention of his mother. Sure, she was a little overbearing at times, but she really meant well. They started down the alleyway, too, and Frank took note of Mad-Eye’s artificial leg hitting the pavement. There was a popping sound in the distance. Frank whipped around, but there was nothing there. They reached an old telephone box, and Frank offered her his arm.
“Are you crying?” he asked indignantly, taking a shot in the dark. He fell back on the usual problem. “You know my mother acts like this. She’ll get over it.”
“It’s not your mother,” she said, shaking her head. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and took in a few gulps of air. “I tried to tell you, but there’s no perfect time, you know, and Sam says I should just say it.”
Frank nodded, silently agreeing with his father.
“I’m ...” She bit her lip. “We’re having a baby.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” She sounded a little put out.
Frank squeezed her arm and ducked out of the way as a streak of green light passed her ear. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head as he turned on the spot. For a second, he thought it had worked. Alice gasped and her hands slipped out of his. Frank felt a searing sensation creep up his leg and a momentary free fall before he was ripped backwards.