“And where were you going?” asked a tall man. As he came closer, Frank recognized him as Anton Dolohov. “It’s a lovely evening, and it seems we crashed your party. What’s the occasion?”
Someone slammed into the pavement and a car swerved out of the way. Frank took a quick look. Of course, on second thought, when a stabbing pain crept up his spine, he regretted it. It wasn’t Alice, though. The young man had blonde hair and had been knocked out cold. His walking stick flew out of his hand. Frank saw streaks of light out of the corner of his eye, flashes of green and red. Slowly, he slipped his other hand into his robes and withdrew a pocket knife and jammed it into Doholov’s calf.
Frank yanked it out and his wand zoomed into his hand. Dolohov yelled out. Frank got to his feet. He’d never used his wand that much with his left hand, so this could be disastrous with a delayed reaction time. Frank walked a few paces, backwards, not daring to turn his back on his opponent. He guessed it was the adrenaline pumping through this veins; he felt no pain. Death Eaters tried their best to drag Alice down, but she didn’t miss a beat with them. Frank aimed a curse at Doholov. If he struck the man down whilst he was off balance and hopping round on one foot, he wouldn’t be able to get back up. The curse was a simple one, but just as he thought of it, he aimed for the other target advancing on his wife. This Death Eater looked like a walking corpse whose dark eyes rolled in his skull. Frank missed. Next second, a hot flame whipped his neck.
“You there,” growled Mad-Eye, hitting Dolohov in the spine with a curse; the large man’s feet broke into an uncontrollable dance. It must have been painful indeed with that leg injury. “We don’t do that.”
Alice chased the fourth one on foot, a man with dark shoulder-length hair, but he slipped through her fingers and Apparated when she was a foot away.
“We can’t walk home anymore without these fools on our heels.”
Dolohov laughed madly and started getting up.
“Don’t play with me.” Alice kicked him when he reached out to grab her. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing here. Tracking three Aurors? You’re either extremely brave or extremely stupid.”
“Come on, you,” said Mad-Eye, yanking one by the one of them by the scruff of his robes and supporting the unconscious one, too. “Rosier and Dolohov. It’s been a while since you’ve visited my interrogation room. Let’s have a little chat. What say you? Who’s your partner?”
Neither of them said a word. Frank released Rosier from the curse and pulled him and the unconscious one to their feet. He didn’t want to drag them down to headquarters; it would only raise questions. “Speak.”
Barty Crouch had stepped into this mess the previous week. The public liked him. Frank thought it had more to do with the fact that the Ministry appeared to actually be getting on top of things. Crouch changed things up. He had more favour than the Minister, which wasn’t too surprising, so his ideas passed through with approval with flying colours. Nobody questioned him because it kindled some fire, and, somehow or another, the man became the driving force behind everything. One day, they walked into headquarters, and Aurors were given a waiver to do just about anything they wanted to get answers and gain control. Was it working? Frank didn’t know; he felt that some line had been crossed and consequences, although they didn’t show up at the moment, would end up costing them in the end.
“Go on.” Dolohov licked his lips, taunting him. “We all know things are different now. Think you’ll scare us? Go ahead. Here’s your chance.”
Frank hesitated. They started walking and reached the bridge. Alice walked over to the edge and glanced down into the murky Thames. If they happened to get anywhere, and they probably wouldn’t because these two were tough to crack; it was going to take a while. Frank wasn’t going to treat them like animals. They all knew Unforgivable Curses were free game, but he couldn’t imagine himself performing such a curse on any opponent because there were simply other ways. What separated them? Frank had been through a couple of practice sessions with Mad-Eye and showed that he lacked skill. Mad-Eye suggested that he wasn’t filled with the right passion; Frank wanted the Death Eaters off the streets, but he took his anger out by other means.
“You’re not worth it,” he said, lowering his wand.
“Weak.”Rosier broke his grip and took Alice by the arm and flipped her, holding her over the river. He ignored her screams and raised his voice. “Tell me. What’s the difference between us? This woman? This girl? How much does she really mean to you? Careful, now.”
He loosened his hold and Alice cried out. Mad-Eye pointed his wand at the man’s chest.
“A fair trade,” suggested Rosier, nodding at his partners. Frank looked to his superior for a decision. Surely, this cornered fool was bluffing. They had them. “Too late.”
Alice screamed. He let her go. Frank dropped the captured Death Eaters like dead weight before he rushed to the side and threw out his hand. She was falling fast. Dolohov fled, and another duel broke out between Mad-Eye and Evan Rosier.
Alice swung her arm, grabbing theipping a ledge with one hand, and grippinged his fingers with the other on the third try. They broke apart a second later. Panicked, Frank prepared himself to dive into the water. His right hand proved no good, so he used the other with little hope. Alice could swim, but it‘d be like treading through ice water. Desperate, Frank leaned over the side, nearly falling over himself, and she finally grasped his hand.
“Don’t let go.” Frank crushed her fingers. “No, you’re all right. Don’t look down. Look at me. Don’t let go, Alice.”
Mad-Eye yelled out in pain and slipped on the pavement. Rosier took off. Slowly, Frank pulled his wife up and she wrapped her cold arms round his neck. Frank lifted her over the ledge and set her on her feet. Frank wasn’t letting Rosierhim get away. Ropes shot out of the end of his wand and wrapped themselves round the Death Eater’s limbs. He called out for Mad-Eye but received no answer.
“Are you all right?” Frank asked her. “Don’t do that to me again. Ever.”
“I’m fine. Oh my God,” said Alice, clearly shaken. She rushed towards the old Auror. Mad-Eye lay face down on the bridge. Blood leaked from his face. Frank had never seen that much blood pour from a head wound, and he’d witnessed strange injuries, yetbut it was a direct hit. A driver in a black car honked his horn, but Alice paid him not heed. She tried to help Mad-Eye up, but he slapped her hand away. When he finally lifted his head, they saw that Rosier had carved a crater in his face. “Mad-Eye, Mad-Eye, let me look.”
“It’ll stop,” he said, slapping her hand away. “Where’s that idiot?”
“Get him off the damn bridge,” hissed Frank.
“No, it won’t heal . Not without pressure. Let me fix it.” Alice shook from head to toe, so she wasn’t holding her wand in a steady hand. “Episkey!”
The bleeding stopped, but the hole was still there.
“Well, stop looking at me like that. I’m not dead,” he growled, as they both took him underneath the arms and heaved him to his feet. He shrugged off his travelling cloak and handed it to her. “Take it. You’re freezing.”
“Mad-Eye.” Alice draped it over her shoulders.
“I’m fine. Here. I found this on the ground.” He handed her the jewellery box and heaved Rosier to his feet, careful to be none too gentle with neither him nor Malfoy His legs shook underneath the weight of the prisoners. “Get yourselves home.”
“Do you need me?” Frank asked automatically.
“I need you to go home,” said Mad-Eye. They didn’t speak again until they reached the telephone box. Mad-Eye turned round and wiped his bloody face on his sleeve. “And Mouse?”
”Yes?”
“Don’t think we’re done discussing this,” said Mad-Eye, rolling his eyes when Alice gave him a familiar look. “You were off? Not anymore, miss. See you at five.”
He turned on his heel and disappeared.
Months passed and, before Frank knew it, summer arrived. He worked his cases and ploughed through his struggles. Things didn’t always work out, and, sometimes, it was downright frustrating. He never left the office these days. Not really. He packed it into his briefcase and carried the mess home with him. His mother bragged of his success all the time. He hardly talked about his work with her. It wasn’t just because she filled him with vague optimism, either. There was a confidentiality vow, too, and he stuck to that like Stinksap. Augusta didn’t really listen to him because she countered him with advice and empty sayings. With everything piling up on him, Frank needed a change of scenery for a while, so he set up a lunch date with Alice.
He spotted her sitting by the security guard. Alice took a break round three o’clock in the afternoon for a snack. She wore a plain red dress and chatted away with two heavyset men. One was Eric, the security wizard. The other, dressed in emerald green robes, was Frank’s father. He had hazel eyes and walked with a limp. His walking stick was propped against the wall. When Frank sat down, his father handed him a glass of water and a wrapped parcel . Frank smiled at Alice’s large plate of eggs, toast and bacon.
“Breakfast for lunch? You’re going to eat all of this?” Frank helped himself to a strip of bacon and dipped it in the runny yolk. “Where’d you get all this?”
“I asked Tom to knock up special order before I left the shop,” said Frank’s dad, Sampson. . A novel lay in his lap. He was working his way through a sandwich and passed Frank a second one. “Your wife’s a stubborn one.”
“Yes, darling, start working on that before it’s too late.” Alice layered on the sarcasm and twirled her hair with her finger. “I think it’s a little far-fetched, that’s all.”
“Which one are you reading now?” Frank didn’t add much to their book discussions. He didn’t read, for one thing, so he’d only slow them down. He held his hand out for the book and read the copyright. “ Riddles of Neville St. Clair, Book IX by Benjamin Daniel Fenwick. Benjy? He wrote this series?”
“You know him?” asked Sampson, interested. “He passed away.”
“Yeah. Benjy?” asked Frank, glancing at Alice for approval. He took a bite of his sandwich and waved it round. “ You’re kidding me. He never said a word, that stinker.”
“Frank.” Alice squeezed his hand when Sampson frowned at him. She invented a white lie on the spot. “We met him during a case in Manchester, Sam. We all shared a compartment. Oh no, you might actually have to read a book, eh?”
“‘Shitty whores get nowhere and always head south,’” Frank read the first line aloud and burst out laughing. “Dirty, dirty quiet old man. Wonder if anyone washed his mouth out with soap. Who knew?”
“He writes nonfiction, too, though, I don’t know if he finished it,” said Sampson, flipping through another volume. “I haven’t skimmed through this one yet, and I’m wondering if it’s as good as the others. We can’t place the dedication. ‘We’ll meet on another train soon, you and me. We’re never alone. That’s all I really know. I keep waiting.’”
Alice thought it over as she polished off her plate. “Benjy would’ve made a cute husband for some lady.”
“He was a pain in the arse,” Frank snorted, catching a glance from his dad. “Sorry. You had to know him, I guess. Hilarious, cynical old fool, he was.”
“You got all this on a train ride?” Sampson asked, suspicious, fishing in the bag for something else.
“Eh? Oh, it was delayed,” Frank edited quickly. “Delayed for a long, long time. Benjy “ Mr. Fenwick “ talked my ear off. He signed Alice’s things.”
“Did he now?” Sampson asked. He handed Alice a chocolate biscuit; he’d picked up on her sweet tooth long ago because it was something they had in common.
“Yeah, every Neville St. Clair,” said Alice. Frank was glad that he landed on the truth with such a haphazard guess. Benjy had given her a cool gift. “Are you jealous, Sam?”
“No,” he sighed dramatically, mock angry. He clapped his hands together, changing the subject. “So, about naming this kid ...”
“Oh, look at the time, Dad,” said Frank, checking his pocket watch. “Got to go. See you.”
He hugged him and said good-bye. Alice walked with him after she pecked Sampson on the cheek and suggested breakfast for their Sunday dinner. They really were late, so he wasn’t just throwing out an excuse to dodge his father again. His mother made no secret that she wanted a grandson. Alice and Frank hadn’t planned this; and when they broke the news to her, Augusta had been furious because she hadn’t been told immediately and they kept it a secret for a few months, but, eventually, she’d calmed down. Frank suspected his dad had talked her down. Alice held one of the books and shuffled aside when they got in the lift. It was crowded with the lunch crowd rushing back last minute.
“I kind of like it,” she said, shrugging. “Ben. For a name, you know, Ben Longbottom.”
“No.” Frank stopped her right there. “Say that again. You really want to name a child after him?”
“Oh. Fair point.” She nodded. “Well, there is always Doug, Grace, or Sandy, or, you know, Harry.”
“You done yet?” Frank shook his head, chuckling. He put his arm round her shoulder as they walked down the corridor. He’d noticed that problem a long time ago and caught the butt of many jokes for it.
“If we’re in a bind, there’s always Francis,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “and it goes both ways.”
“No!” Frank put his foot down. “Let the name die out. No Samantha or Samuel, either, or we’ll never hear the end of it with Dad. I like Daniel or Patricia. Benjamin’s all right, too, I guess, if that’s what you want, but we’ll have to stick to just that. No nicknames. Spare the kid. Mum says Agnes.”
“Absolutely not.” Alice shot it down. Frank knew it wasn’t going to fly.
They walked into headquarters and greeted a few of the others. Kingsley smiled at Alice and offered her a chair. He’d been working at Frank’s station for a few days now. Frank sat on the top of his desk and flipped through a volume on defensive techniques. “You want this, Kingsley?
“He can’t read, Kingsley, so he’s passing it off,” said Alice.
“It wasn’t in the job description,” added Frank, “but we’re not sure I can read, so there you are.”
He skimmed through a briefing. Rosier was held in a cell, since the Wizengamot granted him an appeal and postponed his first trial. Malfoy never got that far and went on with his life. Frank didn’t know all the details, and he wasn’t too sure he wanted to be filled in. Had one of the Aurors ended up dead, the Death Eaters would have been rewarded with a spending life in jail cell without question. So, they cycled through the investigation and interrogation, which Rosier took as a treat. They caught up with Dolohov, too. The evidence against him proved less conclusive, though, and Frank suspected he’d paid his way out by passing gold under the table. Frank shuffled his notes and headed towards the training station with Alice in tow.
He wasn’t foolish enough to believe all officers did the right thing about this. It’d be quite easy to play with emotions and take advantage. That’s how some folks got ahead in the world. A job didn’t separate these folks from evil; it was their motivations that defined their character. Did Frank join to be the top of the crop? No. In fact, most days, he hoped he did the right thing. Three times a year, they held qualification rounds, which went hand in hand with weeding the garden. One of the hardest things Frank learned along the way was going back on his word and admitting a mistake. They went through the concealed entrance and took her time with the steep concentrate steps. Alice tapped the brick wall with her wand and handsome French doors swung open to admit them into the glass room.
“Are these finals?” asked Alice, taking a chair in the back by Rufus Scrimgeour.
“No.” Scrimgeour flipped through his notes. “Endurance and Disguise exercises.”
“Who’s that?” Frank tapped the glass window. “The one with the pointy ears and ponytail?”
“Kieran Williamson,” Scrimgeour read off a name. Williamson donned a fashionable ensemble with some dangerous heels. “He makes cross dressing an art.”
“Oh, yeah?” Frank saw now that the trainee was no woman. “He’s not bad. Might as well go all out. I think my mother totes that same pocketbook round.”
“You want him?” Scrimgeour tapped his clipboard. “You’re escorting a date to the Bagnold place?”
“You forgot the date? June twenty-first, seven-thirty, guarding the Minister?” Alice kept things straight for both of them. Frank felt like things blended together and slipped through the cracks. ”Is Trevor flying solo tonight?”
It was easy to slip into roles in this field. Frank had picked up a couple of identities along the way. His favourite guise, the one that landed him this job, was Trevor Nesbitt. Trevor, a writer in his thirties with a weakness for women and drink, attended galas and got the inside story. Frank often carried an umbrella, writing things and a camera round with him. Frank had actually spotted the name in an edition of the Evening Propheta few times.
“No, Frank.” Alice handed him a rejection before he had a chance to string a proposal together. “Look at me. How’re you going to explain this with Trevor’s personality?”
Frank scratched his chin. “I don’t know. Give me a minute.”
“You’re not. Seriously?” Alice slapped him on the knee. “Frank.”
Frank fished a scrap of parchment out of his pocket and aimed for the dark-haired woman in the first row. Hestia looked round, confused. When their eyes met, Frank gave the slightest nod and gestured with his index finger. Hestia sat there for a few minutes, so Frank ripped off another piece, but she got to her feet and climbed up the steps. Annoyed, Scrimgeour got up and leaned against the wall. Like Kingsley, this was her first year with the department, so she pretty much did anything anyone asked of her. She was patient, too, which is why Frank liked her. They had never worked together on an assignment. At the moment, he guessed, she was logging observation hours.
“Are you free tonight?” asked Frank, cutting to the chase.
“Why?” Hestia gave Alice a fleeting look.
“Frank needs a partner to escort to Governor Square and he hasn’t the slightest idea about pick-up lines,” said Alice, fanning herself with a folder. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
“Come on, Hestia,” said Frank, opening the door for the women. He sealed the door and leaned against the wall. He waved his wand and caught a thick file. “Ever heard of Trevor Nesbitt?”
Hestia blushed.
“Guess who you’re standing next to?” Alice took the file from Frank and handed it over.
Frank cleared his throat when Hestia gaped at him. He put the rumours that were flying round in the papers to rest. “No, I’ve never spent the night with Rita Skeeter or anyone else, for that matter. By the way, you can’t share a word of this outside of Scrimgeour, Mad-Eye, Alice, Robards or me, all right? You know no Nesbitt, no rumours, no nothing outside these walls.”
Hestia nodded.
“Good.” Frank kissed Alice softly before he turned to leave with Hestia to brush her up on Trevor. “I’ll see you. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Behave, Trevor. Be careful.” Alice took his wedding band, said good-bye and headed towards the archives.
It’s amazing what one could pull off with a few trinkets. Frank hooked the pocket watch on the inside of his jacket and pulled it on over his vest. Donning a disguise allowed him a chance to experience life through another’s eyes. Trevor Nesbitt gave him a fictional cover, yes, but he switched from the hardcore investigator to a man who ensnared others by the very idea of him. The unexpected guest, the suave writer and the quiet philosopher wrapped themselves into this one individual. Frank hardly read for pleasure these days. He kept up with the swing of things to keep Trevor alive and ahead of the game.
When he spotted Hestia, who posed as his new girlfriend, Rosalyn, he raised his glass to her and helped himself to another from one of the house-elves. The Minister threw these garden parties to mask the rhetoric. Of course, she was a politician at heart, so she lived and breathed for discourse.
Frank wore a three-piece suit and had polished his shoes until they shined. Kingsley had dropped a few hints, so Frank felt well dressed indeed for the evening. White tables were scattered around the place, and a raised platform stood in the middle by the colourful water feature. He offered Hestia a chair and pecked her on the cheek. She wore her finest robes and had wrapped her hair in some braided twist. They sat through some boring speech about budget proposals before they sat down to the first course.
“You think she’d be jealous?” she whispered . Hestia put her napkin in her lap and took a bite of her salad. They sat with a Junior Minister, his wife, and Rita Skeeter. When Frank glanced at her, she added, “Your sister?”
“My sister?” Frank had adopted a deep voice, a tone reminiscent of Kingsley. Frank didn’t want to think of his sister as his wife. He had no sister, but, still, it was a little strange. He stabbed a cherry tomato and made a quick recovery. He preferred not to think of Alice when she wasn’t there because it kept his mind focused. His opposite, Trevor, would claw his eyes out at the very thought of tying himself to one woman for the rest of life. “No, she doesn’t like dinner parties. Especially the dancing. She has two left feet.”
“You dance Trevor?” Rita asked. She set her fork down and nodded at the guests slowly venturing on the dance floor. Most of them stood clustered in small groups, wrapped in their conversation. She held out her bony hand. Hestia raised her eyebrows and waited for Frank to make a move.
Hestia didn’t help; she just grinned. He couldn’t refuse. After all, Rita had seen him dance at another get-together with Alice. His wife had posed as a good friend that evening, and Frank glided her across the floor whilst Alice basically shuffled her feet. He took Rita’s hand and led her onto the floor.
“So, where have you been?” Rita linked their fingers together and went straight for the kill.
Good question, he thought, flipping through his options. He glanced at a young blonde woman in shimmering robes. She stood next to a man leaning on a walking stick and whispered to another guest.. “Galway.”
“You didn’t answer my letters.”
Alice had burned them after having a good laugh and sharing them with him one night.
“Rita,” he said, hoping he sounded courteous. He nodded at Hestia. “I’m with Rosalyn now. I “ I love her. We can’t do this. I invited you to lunch. That’s all. There is no you and me. We don’t exist.”
He dropped her hand and left her standing there. Frustrated, thinking she’d never get off his back, Frank pulled Hestia aside and whispered a request in her ear.
“What?” Hestia took a step back.
Frank could feel Rita’s glare boring into him. He stroked Hestia’s cheek and kissed her. She stood as still as a statue, and he took her hand, thinking she was about to strike him. He took a breath and kissed her again, keeping his eyes on the tall, blonde man. Lucius Malfoy walked along the sidelines keeping his wife close. There was another slender woman with them; dark tresses fell down her back. Malfoy kept glancing at the Minister’s table, taking timid steps to approach her without causing a scene. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.
“What was all that about?” Hestia gasped when they broke apart.
“Nothing.” Frank weaved through the tables and knelt at Millicent Bagnold’s side. She knew the secret behind Trevor Nesbitt’s guise and had requested Frank on her permanent service. “Madam, come with me.”
“Why?” She knew better than to ask questions, but she did it anyway, and Frank found it infuriating. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, you’re that writer,” Lucius Malfoy drawled, staring down at him. “Madam, if you’ll pardon me for interrupting your private discussion with your ... friend, I’d like to introduce my wife, Narcissa. We can’t stay all night because we’ve left Draco with the nanny ...”
“Madam, please,” said Frank, holding out his hand. He scanned the skies and saw something out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh, Lucius,” said Bagnold, waving a hand between them. “Have you met Mr. Nesbitt?”
“No.” Malfoy sneered nastily and crushed Frank’s fingers, locking him in a handshake.
Frank had a split second’s warning. Next moment, he pulled Bagnold out of her chair and forced her to the ground. People shrieked and scattered. The podium exploded and was reduced to pieces. Frank deflected a spell as the candles fell and lit the silk tablecloth aflame. He locked his finger’s round the woman’s wrist and shouted after her to keep up with him. The house-elves looked as though they had been Petrified; they were scared stiff. Hestia jumped in between the two party crashers and fought them both. The scuffle ended as quickly as it started. Hestia had Stunned Malfoy and pinned Bellatrix in the damp grass. It didn’t hold long. Frank finally slammed Bellatrix into a wall with a swish of his wand.
“How dare you?” Narcissa Malfoy cried.
“Going after a government official “ the Minister of Magic, no less “ lands you in Azkaban without question,” Frank challenged her. “You want to jump on your defence or hold your tongue, Madam?”
“Now, now, Trevor. Temper, temper,” Bellatrix said hoarsely, laughing when Frank turned pale.
“We weren’t after her. Where’s dear Alice?”