& she tries to find the joy in life

“If that helps,” Pandora answered, “nobody else seems to remember much either. Which is not great for me, but…Well, you must be very tired after such a mess of a day. I’ll just have to do my best with what I’ve got.” 

Pandora had supposed that people would have already cooked up theories, that they would be eager to tell it to the press - when something so drastic happened, seemingly out of the blue, people were usually pretty quick to make up conjectures. Of course, those weren’t the best sources to get the actual facts, but it could also be interesting to report on the perspective of the public. Especially those who were directly concerned by the incident. That was why she had decided to try those interviews, but she could see now that she had grossly neglected the poisoning part of the story. That was just like her: to get so wrapped up in her own ideas that she forgot that other people existed in the equation until she was confronted with the fact that they did, in fact, have their own feelings and their own problems. 

It does not help to hear that. Alice had hoped that even if she couldn’t recall much about who has been skulking around the food tables, someone else might have noticed something. Someone might have seen something wrong and been able to tell someone, do something about it. Though - she supposes that in a party full of ministry employees, someone who does know what happened might want to try and deal with it internally first. It’s a faint glimmer of hope - that another auror, some she trusts - did indeed see something but has the foresight not to let the press know before they have a solid case lined up, or at least a plan. She has to hold onto that vague hope as tight as she can.

Mary chuckles. She’s always admired people who are able to speak their minds freely. For Mary, this particular skill has always been much more difficult, her true thoughts and feelings often getting stuck in her throat while more palatable ones take their place on her tongue. Alice has always struck her as the kind of person who didn’t particularly care what others thought of her, who did things the way she wanted, in a way Mary wished she could, too. It was always refreshing to speak with her. “She is, a little bit.” She says softly, so even Alice could barely hear her words.

“You’re welcome for that one, then. When people ask you why you’re here, you’ll have a decent lie to cover up your desire for free food and drink.” She says, “The free stuff does certainly make being here a little more appealing though, doesn’t it?” She could only guess that these events were more of a nuisance than anything else for aurors, who could be better spending their time working on cases, keeping their cities safe. Or, as safe as they could be, what with everything that was going on. 

“Probably some sort of fruit nobody’s ever heard of, from an exotic faraway place.” Mary says, grabbing a couple of cups and handing one to Alice.

Alice finds herself becoming more bold the more frustrated she is with any given situation. On a normal work day, among the usual hustle and bustle of other aurors, she likely wouldn’t let her tongue be so loose. Anger, though, must vent from somewhere; if she bottles it up she often feels like she might burst with it. The heat building in the back of her head as she watches people wine and dine and ignore the fact that a man is missing in action and has still yet to be found fuels her quick words and unworried flouting of the rules of polite society. Oh - she knows how you’re supposed to behave at these things, but she simply would rather not humor the charade any more than she must. She came, she dressed nice, and that’s all they’ll be getting from her, thank you very much. “A lot of them are, honestly.”

A small laugh, more genuine and less cool than before, is drawn from her as she looks over the spread of food and drink, carefully selected by some Ministry hired party planner to suit the evening, no doubt. “Yeah - it makes it a little easier to - hah - stomach.” The pun is accidental, but she isn’t going to walk it back now, “Mostly it’s just something to do, yeah? I’d rather stand here eating than stand here doing absolutely nothing for hours on end. Something to do with my hands, at least.” Alice shrugs a shoulder and flashes a grimacing smile at Mary. Standing still has never been Alice’s strong suit.

There was no bite to her words, but it was most certainly a pout, and that alone was greatly amusing to Antonin. Was this really the type of person who was accepted into the auror program? Children who threw miniature tantrums when things didn’t go entirely their way? “Oh, I’ll cry myself to sleep tonight I’m sure,” he said, watching as Longbottom drank from her thermos. “How dare you sit a square to the right. My mistake.”

The replacement of Alastor Moody was grating against Longbottom far more than anyone else Antonin knew, and wasn’t that curious. She didn’t even bother to feign any sort of happiness for Scrimgeour as he took on the position; while he didn’t care much himself, he at least put on a show of being polite and congratulatory. “In my experience, people throw grand parties to give themselves something else to think about for a bit,” he said slowly, eyes turning back to the decorators and the horrid yellow color one of them seemed intent on using. “Parties are something that can be controlled when other things cannot. I do want to know though–who’s to say Scrimgeour doesn’t deserve the job? Who’s to say he won’t do better than Moody did? You seem awfully biased toward him, Longbottom.”

“That spot is the best one on the steps. You’re right in the middle of the way so people have to go around you and note your suffering, and it’s got the best view of the space.” Alice nods towards the small army of amateur decorators and the fact that the spot Dolohov is in does, indeed, offer the best angle on the wide expanse of space below. “So. You ought to work up those tears tonight, knowing you stole the best spot from poor old me.”

The thing was, he couldn’t deny any of it, and it was made worse by the fact that Alice was an Auror. Her job was understanding dark wixen. “I’m not discounting it as a possibility. Just consider it as a … a … character witness in the case,” he said firmly, so as not to have to admit it was more like the desperate pleading of the broken-hearted. 

Alice’s theory did, in fact, sound exactly like the one he’d given to Bellatrix - only Fabian had suggested Rodolphus had been the one to do it on You-Know-Who’s bidding, proving himself.  And when Bellatrix had rejected it, what had he done? Gotten furious with her for being blind to the possible truth of it. Well, it was evident Bellatrix could be his blind spot in return if he let her. Setting his jaw into place, he was determined not to let that happen - that was why he needed Alice. 

“You could well be right. I’m only saying, from my experience with her - not that I really know her that well, of course, the occasional extended family interaction aside - I just don’t think it’s likely,” Fabian added carefully, lying more easily than he thought he could. But he was used to lying about Bellatrix, and shrugged it off. 

Seeing the lines of Alice’s face turn to worry made him feel a pit of guilt build up in his stomach for adding more to her pile, but he couldn’t do this alone. He waved it off, thinking about her question instead. “Unless you happen to know Legilimency, it’ll be tricky. You don’t, do you?” Fabian asked, only half in humour before sobering again. “The problem is we’re too reactive. A double agent actually would be useful, if we could find one. We should consider that.” If they could find someone, turn someone - it would be incomparably valuable. 

“Until then …  we need to do whatever is necessary to find that information. Can I just ask … you’re in the Order. But you’re also an Auror. Where exactly do you draw the line? When it comes to what you consider … ethical.” 

A character witness? Bellatrix Lestrange has character, alright, but Alice doubts she and Fabian see eye to eye on what exactly that character is. Every night, before bed, while checking the wards, Alice heard the echo of that distinctive cackle in the back of her head. She still doesn’t know if it was an accident - a kill whatever do-gooder you come across - or if the witch was sent after Alice specifically, but she can’t take that chance. Maybe Fabian is more trusting than she is, or maybe there’s something more he hasn’t told her about why he thinks Lestrange didn’t murder Regulus.

Not that there’s any proof of that, but he just...talks like someone who knows something. Maybe it’s something different altogether, some secret unrelated to the case that he wants to keep close to his chest and away from Alice’s ears. Still, she hesitates before nodding in a mild, relenting manner, folding and unfolding her hands. “Again - not just with her. They’ve got a big family tree that would be willing to do a lot to protect their so-called honor.” It’s his focus on Bellatrix that draws her interest - Alice has been talking broadly, and he twice now has narrowed it down to just Bellatrix Lestrange. It’s interesting - something there she’ll ruminate on, do some research about, but leave him be about for now.

A short laugh slips from her at his question about Legilimency. “I mean, do I seem the type to you? Don’t really have the, uh, disposition for that sort of thing.” The mental control needed, that careful skill of practiced Legilimens, is not something Alice has ever had. She’s too impulsive for it; the few chances she has had to study it were met with wary thanks and a polite refusal. Seeing into someone’s mind against their will - lips purse and brows furrow at his next question.

WHO: @alicclongbottom WHERE: St. Mungo’s Hospital WHEN: late evening, near midnight, February 29th, 1980

Hero. That’s the word they’d all opted for - the fledglings of press outside the hospital, the victims, the Healer of St. Mungo’s, even the back-up Aurors who had helped Lucius and Prewett boy cart all the victims out of the atrium and to here. Hero. As if hadn’t been a pawn in a scheme he had yet to understand the scope of; as if he hadn’t narrowly avoided becoming a victim by the sheer chance of universe alone. Hero. As if he didn’t run circles with villains, as if he didn’t have his own suspicions as to who had carried out such a nefarious plot, as if ignorance and panic alone hadn’t fueled his decision-making at the time. Hero…. As if he wouldn’t have simply let them all fall and die like the gnats they were, if Rabastan hadn’t been in the mix. 

And like the hero he had been dubbed, Lucius had left for only an hour or two, before coming back with a cart laden with bouquets, gifted by the Malfoy Foundation to those affected by the night’s undoing. The press still squandered outside despite the late hour had an absolute field day with that image. Mostly whites, some yellows, and three bundles in particular that were different from the rest - personal, if one could believe, that Lucius took a personal interest in anybody but himself. His objective perception remained that it wasn’t being tender, but a decisive attempt to roll public image in his favor. That made it easier to swallow, at least - tenderness was a concept he didn’t like to touch, and this night had already left him feeling splayed open & vulnerable for everyone to see. Might as well make use of it. 

Lucius chewed the inside of his cheek as he made his way through the halls, the turmoil having died to the waiting rooms and mourning lounges, the worst of the chaos having ebbed its way to those peripherally affected. The Healers had gotten the thick of the crowds out of this area; once the antidotes were given, bed rest was the only treatment left to prescribe. He hoped that everyone would stay asleep - last thing he needed to be known for was his unrelenting talent with flower decorum & etiquette, the practice outdated and ridiculous but a talent nonetheless. He’d lucked out with the first few affected, leaving behind a modest collection of white jasmines ( good fortune, positive energy ), but he had a special set picked out for the first victim of the night - the annoying gnat of an Auror herself, Longbottom, of course had been idiotic enough to drink the very well she was supposed to be guarding. Typical. Lucius couldn’t even luck out enough that the poisoning might’ve taken her toward the death bed she deserved, instead living to fight another day like the gutter rat she was.

Foxgloves ( healing, but also, insincerity & pain ) had been his selection for her - a towering bundle of purples and whites ( ceremonious gestures, implied innocence ), hosta leaves around the base ( it looked nice, sue him ) all gathered together in a clear vase with a silver ribbon around the middle. A Romantic era gesture that spelled out hatred better than he could ever say, lest he peak any more of her suspicions in him. Lucius was delicately placing the bouquet down at her bedside, eager to make his escape, when a tell-tale rustle from her bed indicated the worst of the scenario - she had woken. Fighting the frown that often crawled across his features in Longbottom’s presence, he simply straightened up with a quieted sigh, refusing to look at her as he murmured in the darkness of her room, “It’s a shame what happened tonight. The Prewett boy saved your life. We’re lucky no one died - you’re very lucky to be alive.” To bother me another day was best left unsaid.

Sleeping is far from her mind tonight, even if the healers and mediwitches insist she needs rest. Alice can’t let herself drift too far - she has seen the consequences of doing such a thing all too closely tonight. There’s nothing but electric worry tingling at the base of her mind, sharp suspicion at the back of her throat in an acidic sting of fear that she can’t swallow down. Letting her guard down isn’t an option. Nothing will change her mind about it, not even the risk of her own condition getting worse or stagnating at this awful, throbbing pain that shoots through her skull every time she takes a breath.

The door creaks open and she doesn’t move at first, peering through her heavy eyelashes at the hazy figure in the dark room. It’s fuzzy against the light from the hall and the shape is wrong. Whoever it is is carrying something bulky. The item is set down on the small table directly beside the bed and that angle affords her a view of the face - a face that fills Alice with heavy suspicion. She’d been told Malfoy was one of the people who saved the day, who helped save her life, and she can only wonder what he got from it. Malfoy isn’t the sort to do something unless it benefits him - Alice has no doubts about that.

James remains in the doorway for another long moment, although he takes a small step forward as to not accidentally creep Alice out. He had only heard of what had happened at the Ministry through passing; having been so caught up with Sirius and his accident that he’d barely had time to even sit down, let alone read up on the inevitable incident reports that would be clogging up everyone’s in-tray. 

It had been a night for chaos, it seemed, and yet somehow James had been lucky enough to miss both incidents by the skin of his teeth; something that caused nothing less than a crippling conflict inside him. Could he have been able to stop either thing from happening? Or would he have ended up in his own hospital bed beside his colleagues, his friends?

Jerking forward at the sight of Alice’s pained face, James moves further into the room, his forehead crumbled in a frown. Like most people, he hated seeing others in pain, but it always seemed to be so much worse when one genuinely cared about the person in question. As much as they all joked that he was Alice’s work-husband, despite the presence of her actual husband in the office, James considered her one of his closest friends and one of his favourite people to work with; which only made the whole ‘almost losing multiple people’ thing even worse than it had been.

“Frightening mediwitches, being generally handsome, considering sticking a portrait of myself on the wall outside to see if anyone would notice…you know me; the usual,” James teases, although his tone is less jovial than normal, and he eventually gives up entirely. “There was an attack at Hogwarts. Sirius’ is here as well. They kicked me out, so I’ve been wandering, and I wanted to check up on you all.”

Merlin. All this in just one night. Alice knows it was probably planned that way very specifically - strike twice in one night, take as many people out of commission as possible and scramble those still on their feet with worry and confusion. It’s a good tactic, a useful one, one that could work if the other members of the Order, and the other aurors, don’t do their best to combat it until everything is back to normal; as normal as they can get back to, at least. It’s the sort of double-pronged plan Alice herself might have hatched against the Death Eaters if she were just a little more organized.

They’d gotten the jump on them, that’s for sure. She does her best to smile at James, to act like her head isn’t throbbing and her stomach isn’t twisting and there isn’t a stone of fear and guilt and regret sunk into the base of her throat. How well it works is a toss-up, though, and the smile diverges into a grimace at the mention of Sirius being hurt.

That man can’t catch a break. “Frank told me about the attack, but I didn’t - know who was hurt.” She motions for the seat in the corner, “You, uh - you wanna sit for a while? ‘Till they forget to keep an eye on Black’s door and you can sneak back in, all hush-hush, yeah?” She could use the company, honestly. There’s not much to say, and Alice isn’t going to force him to trace back through the events at Hogwarts - even if she desperately wants to know what happened - so soon afterwards. Merlin knows enough people will make him do it in a professional setting.

“Oh, okay,” Pandora startled, surprised at the sudden harsh the woman had taken. People didn’t usually get unpleasant like that: you could usually tell from the start whether they would be hostile or helpful. That was the problem with being a journalist: people usually didn’t like you. Pandora just wished she could explain to them that she was just trying to get to the truth, to spread the information that needed to be spread and to help them all. Unfortunately, she would never be able to conjure up enough wit to stay that to a stranger, especially one who was acting hostile: Pandora hated conflict, and she automatically back away when she felt someone was attacking her. or worse, looking for a fight .

Alice’s next words reassured her : she was probably just frustrated about not remembering anything. Pandora wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent person out there, otherwise she would have been much better at her ob, and would have been able to pick up things like that. She was probably bothering the woman by asking her question like that, as she probably wishes that she had noticed something - maybe then she wouldn’t have been poisoned.

“ It’s okay, it was very kind of you to agree to talk to me regardless.”  

The surprised look on Pandora’s face has a pit of guilt expanding in Alice’s stomach. It’s not this journalists fault Alice is in the hospital - though, honestly, being asked about what put her here so soon after the incident is a little grating. All she wants to do is curl up and sleep for a few days, but it isn’t safe to do so. Not here. Not until she’s back home, in her own bed, behind her own wards that she knows and is able to trust to keep her safe from someone bursting in in the middle of the night. The worry has firmly curled itself around her mind; it’s so easy to slip into and out of these hospital rooms. Too easy. She won’t be able to rest until she’s somewhere more secure.

“They’re pretty wonderful kids, if I do say so myself,” Arthur says with a slow smile. He supposed it was untoward to brag so heavily about one’s children, but well…he’d truly won the luck of the draw with his. To have managed to marry the utter love of his life and to now be parenting five truly fantastic sons with a sixth child on the way? What more could a man ask for, aside from the answers to his most important Muggle queries? “He’s already tried to smuggle a gnome or two into the house, which no one was particularly pleased about. Made a right mess, that one did.” 

“They might be. I must confess, I’m not that great at them really. Too many clues I’m not sure about and not many people willing to sit and muddle them through with me.” Arthur knew that most people barely tolerated his fascination with the Muggle world and that forcing the point was probably only going to make such a thing worse. Arthur quirks his head a moment, knowing from years of gently easing confessions from his sons that often silence was the way to go, especially when someone had something pressing on their mind. He had heard enough from Fabian and Gideon, from his visits to toy with the telephone, to know that the Order was struggling. That for every win there seemed to only be another loss, and Arthur was sure it was taking its toll. “It sounds it,” he says sympathetically, shooting Alice a smile, “You know you’re doing great though, don’t you?” The words might not be enough, might be too simple for such a complex thing, but Arthur hopes his meaning bleeds through regardless. “Today’s my last day, then I’ve a few weeks off. Hopefully enough time for him or her to arrive and then some extra time to settle in,” he says, “Don’t offer that, we’d have to take you up on it. The older boys are fine, but the twins are well…the twins. They’re running poor Molly ragged.”

“You should. They’re great.” They really are. Boisterous, of course, but what little kid isn’t - especially one with so many siblings to bounce around with and cause trouble among. Alice had never bemoaned being an only child until she watched the Weasley boys operate with each other, the connection they have and the way they interact. “A gnome? Merlin. Can’t imagine how you and Molly even handled that one.” That sounds like the worst part of having kids - the unending shenanigans they cause. Alice sometimes wonders what a child of hers and Frank would be like - would they be boisterous or quiet? Studious or playful?

She’ll find out, one day. Alice is determined about that.

Laughing gently, Arthur shrugs a moment as he slides the aforementioned crayon into the pocket of his robes. “It’s likely to be Percy. He’s been doing ‘paperwork’ ‘round the house as of late,” he explains, thinking of the scores of parchment piles that have begun appearing. “Charlie on the other hand, only likes using certain colours. Something about making sure all the magical creatures are the right shade. Merlin knows he’s getting some use out of Scamander’s book as of late.” The book in question was the only one Charlie liked to read from when it came to bedtime, unlike his brother. If anything, it just made Arthur more curious about how their next baby would turn out.

“No bother, thanks for helping me out,” Arthur says, his tone bright. “I like them to pass the time. The Prophet one isn’t bad, but have you ever read The Times?” Arthur had only come across the Muggle newspaper here and there over the years, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t fascinated with it; even if he could never quite work out all the clues. “Work and work?” He says, eyeing Alice pointedly. With brothers-in-law such as Fabian and Gideon, and his own clandestine participation in the Order, it wasn’t difficult to work out who else seemed to be a member of such a group. “We’re all good. Molly’s about ready to pop; mind, don’t tell her I phrased it like that. She thinks this one’ll be a girl, but I’m not sure if the Weasley curse is going to be broken anytime soon.”

“That is absolutely adorable.” Alice can’t help the grin that spreads across her face at the mental image of little Percy clutching a quill in a small fist, scrawling nonsense across parchment in an imitation of his father, and then at the idea of Charlie insisting on getting the colours of certain creatures absolutely correct. “Sounds dangerous. You better keep an eye on him, or else you might find your house full of - pets.” Magical creatures tend to make poor pets, but if anyone could charm a being into staying somewhere, it would surely be Charlie Weasley.

Pandora stopped herself, realising that she was starting to slip away from reassuring her that information would be put to good use and ranting about her work instead - which she would love to do, usually, but right then her job was to encourage the woman to talk to her. It wasn’t the part of the job she was the best at, Pandora had never been good with people and believed herself to be naturally awkward. Then, so was her husband, and since she didn’t trust one of their employees and the other was slightly too informal to be talking to witnesses in the name of the quibbler, she was often forced to do that part of the work herself for lack of a better alternative. 

She took out her pen, ready to take notes of the account, but unfortunately, there wasn’t much to write down. 

“That’s… a good start-” she tried to give her an encouraging smile, though she felt like this probably wouldn’t be of much use. The woman was tired. She was probably still sick from the poison - she had been poisoned only hours ago. That was part of the job: trying something, having it lead nowhere, knock on another door. Same as her research, and usually she was fine using her patience, but tonight she wasn’t at the top of her form. Maybe she shouldn’t be out there in that case: all she would find here would be either sick inmates or tired and anxious family members. Really not the easiest people to talk to.

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else? It’s alright if you don’t, I appreciate the effort. Did you notice anything strange? Sometimes the seemingly innocuous details can end up being crucial to piecing everything together.” 

“I don’t,” She doesn’t intend to snap at Pandora, but it’s what happened, voice a flinty and hard thing despite the rasp still lingering at the back of her throat. Alice frowns - more at herself than anything else. It’s frustrating. It’s horrible. Not knowing what happened - having been so damned clueless that she doesn’t have any information about what happened, who might have done it, when and who and where. Had the punch been poisoned from the start or had someone slipped something into it during the party? Who had it been? Alice doesn’t know and she hates that uncertainty more than anything else she has ever hated.

Head tilts back against the pillow and eyes slide shut. Her chest rises and falls heavily once before she shakes her head. “Sorry - I’m not - I don’t know.” Alice’s voice falls back to something less angry, “I was by the drinks table nearly the whole night, and I didn’t see anything suspicious going on. So. ‘Fraid I’m not really the most help.” She tries, tries to make it sound at least a little lighter than she feels, but there’s something bitter lodged too deep in her heart to sound anything other than worn down.

She should have been watching. Kept a keen eye on more people - instead she had allowed herself to be distracted. Talking with people, scowling about the party, and not paying attention to the others around her had nearly cost her her life. Had nearly cost several people’s lives.

Fabian rocked back on his heels, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “What do you mean?”  A member of the family … it shouldn’t hit him with that cool surprise, with that prickling sensation of unease cascading over his shoulders. He’d considered it, hadn’t it? Bellatrix could have … he wasn’t so blind … but her rage. He could trust her rage. She had been so angry.  It hadn’t been her, that was a gut instinct, or maybe simply the feeling in his heart, which so often led him wrong but to stop listening to that would be impossible when nothing else had ever been as strong. 

“Bellatrix is … Lestrange is …” he corrected himself, not wanting to seem like a biased party. “I know she’s ruthless, but her family is her weak spot. I’m not even convinced she could really kill Sirius if it came down to it, though I’ve no doubt she could make him very much regret not being dead. And Regulus is - he was - the baby of the family. I don’t think it would have been her. But you’re right about the family. They are the type to want to save face.” He settled in more comfortably now he had stopped talking directly about Bellatrix - maybe he should admit to Alice that he’d spoken to her about it, but he still feel the coating of shame around the memory whenever he thought of it. “I think… Rodolphus. Maybe Rabastan, he’s mad enough to do it, but I’m not sure he’s ever had an original thought in his life.”  

“See, that’s the thing, when it comes down to it. These are people who like to kill, sure, but they don’t make their own choices. They kill on orders.” Pausing, his brow furrowed further, as Alice made another point. What Regulus knew. That could be the key to all of that. “ I think focusing on the family is too limiting. The real problem is that we know nothing about their structure, about who does what job. Who knows what. Who is closest to You-Know-Who. Who takes out traitors for him? That’s what I think we need to find out, Alice. I just … I don’t think this one was a family job.” His voice turned pained. He almost needed to believe it, the sting of the betrayal he’d felt as Bellatrix had refused to help, had walked away, was still raw.

“I never said I thought it was Lestrange,” She might have been thinking it, though she didn’t voice it. “Look - I know you’re related to them, and it’s not a - nice thought,” Alice tries to modulate her voice into something a bit more tender and understanding, even if her theory being dismissed like that does make something in her grate, “But I just don’t think we should discount it. They were already humiliated by Sirius turning on them - it would call all of their loyalty into question if another family member left their cabal like that, yeah? Draw unwanted attention from You Know Who. Merlin, maybe he found out about Regulus and ordered a family member to take him out - prove their loyalty. Kill the baby of the family or be killed yourself.”

Shoulders rise and fall and teeth worry her lower lip in thought for a moment, brow furrowing as she thinks it over. It’s all so ugly - she’s used to it, at this point. Every case that crosses her desk is ugly. Every time the Order discovers something new it’s ugly. No matter how much she wishes the world were a less awful place at the moment, it doesn’t change the truth of it.

No, they’ll have to change it. It’s a heavy weight on her shoulders when she lets herself think about it in that light. The world is in bits and they have to put it back together. Better not fuck it up, Longbottom.

He smirked as Longbottom huffed and puffed her way to the space beside him, sitting a tad closer than what could be considered polite but not bothering him in the slightest. It amused him to see how others reacted when they didn’t get their way. “Oh, I have a private office,” he confirmed, tone light and airy and, of course, a tad bit smug. “It’s a wonderful office finely decorated for those of my stature. I like a change of scenery though, so to the steps I’ve come.”

Sulk steps. Antonin stored that away for the moment–a curious name to give a set of stairs–and nodded at her question, ignoring the snark that coated it. “Oh I’m certain I can,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “What’s better is that I know people that would do twice as well as the sorry sods they’ve hired.” Of course, these people knew to do well or risk angering him, but that didn’t need to be said out loud. What did have to be said out loud, though, was the attitude that Longbottom threw at the whole ordeal, and he grinned wickedly. “Oh, is that why you’ve come out here? To sulk over the fact that someone’s replaced Moody?”

“Well. You’re taking a step from someone in need. Just ruminate on that one.” There’s nothing all that serious in her tone. It’s a step, but it’s her step. It’s the principle of the thing - of someone with a big fancy office eating lunch on the step where she eats to escape the sound of the shared auror office. Even with the bustle of decorators scattering about it’s quieter here, and she doesn’t have dozens of files spread across her desk, taunting her. She starts drinking from the thermos, watching the people flit about through the space, trying to make it look nice for a party that will no doubt be a miserable affair.

“Mm,” Mary hums in agreement, “She probably wouldn’t even remember if I had a fifteen minute conversation with her, in all honesty. I wouldn’t be surprised if I went over now and she didn’t know my name.” She chuckles, though there’s uncomfortable truth behind her words. Since learning about the Wizengamot back at Hogwarts, Mary had aspired to be part of the wizarding world’s justice system, to get to sit in on their equivalent of a courtroom and make real decisions. She had figured that a job working in their administration department would be a stepping stone on the way to bigger things, and had been thrilled to get the job not long after leaving Hogwarts. Of course, with the war brewing, it seemed as though everybody had bigger things on their minds, and Mary’s position was becoming stagnant. 

“Well, good for you, being the bigger person and all that.” Mary nods. She can understand why the aurors would be unhappy that such an event was even taking place. That they were celebrating a man who only had this job because their former leader was missing in action, and, though Mary was scared to admit it, she feared that with Moody being gone for as long as he had been, he might not be coming back. 

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She admits, glancing around the room. Attending events such as this became almost second nature once she started working at the Ministry, somebody always finding an excuse to celebrate something with fancy food and expensive drinks. She hadn’t really considered the fact that they might pose a security risk until Alice mentioned it, but now that she had, Mary’s eyes scanned the room, trying to account for as many aurors as possible. As Alice said, just in case. “Let’s grab a drink.” She says, turning to the drinks table she’d been leaning on, “I’ve been told the punch is great, but it’s a bit of an off-putting colour, really.”

“Sounds like a shite boss.” Alice doesn’t feel like holding her tongue today. There’s nothing here worth holding it for - and Mary could probably use someone commiserating with her about just how awful that boss sounds. Alice never had the right amount of patience needed for the sort of job Mary has; politics and the judicial system is far too complex, too full of sidelong sneers and masking what you really think with pretty words for her to ever survive it. It’s not that she’s mean or anything - she just isn’t the sort who can lie about how she really, truly feels about something.

The laugh she gives isn’t very happy. “I mean. Being the bigger person sounds better than the real driving factor for me being here - free food and drink.” Ministry parties always have at least passable food, and it’s one of the few good things about having dragged herself out here tonight. Bright eyes dart about the room for a moment, glancing over all of the people in the room - the amount of them she doesn’t trust versus those she does. It’s a worrying proportion if she thinks about it too long. How many Ministry workers are against them? How many would love to see Alice, Mary, Frank, Fabian - any number of them - dead?

She doesn’t want to think of how many aurors might, too.

Pandora startled. It seemed that she had gotten lost in her thoughts - again - while waiting for the right moment to come in. She had decided to come to St Mungo’s because frankly, this was were the action was, and this seemed like the best place to get information and probable witnesses. It seemed like a good idea before she got there, but now… Pandora didn’t like hospitals, and though nagging people for info was an important part of her job, she was afraid of bothering people who would rather be left alone. It would all have been much easier if she’d attended the induction herself - but of course, Sinistra Lowe had insisted on doing it herself. Not that she trusted Sinistra, she shouldn’t have and that was why she was hunting for information herself. No, she’d only agreed to let her go along because Pandora had no desire to go to the ministry herself. She hated that place, and for some reason she had decided to assume that nothing of importance would happen there that time. Foolish, considering the times. It also helped that she’d been increasingly tired - still was, though now she would have to face the possibility of a sleepless night, which definitely wouldn’t help her case. Well, what must be done shall be done. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t … I work for The Quibbler - we’re an independent journal, you might not have heard of us - and I was… Looking for informations, maybe witnesses, I figured this was the best place to start. You look like you need to rest, so I’ll leave if this is bothering you, but I’m here if you’d like to share your versions of the events.” She produced what she hoped was a kind smile, trying to place this face. The woman couldn’t be that much younger than her, they must have gone to school together at some point… Luckily, Pandora had been a very observant girl - a skill that has come in handy now that it was her job to recognize people who could be of interest to her. Besides, she found that strangers were much more likely to give her a minute of their time if she knew their names. “ You’re Alice, right? I think I recognize you from Hogwarts… You probably don’t remember me, I was a lot older than you…” It was only then that she realized she hadn’t introduced herself yet. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t developed that habit, which was probably offputting for the people she would try to interview who didn’t necessarily know who she was. She supposed that it was easier to trust someone when you at least knew who they were. “ I’m Pandora Lovegood. “

“Oh - uh, I have.” Frank had picked up a copy of The Quibbler and Alice had flipped through it. Interesting enough, she supposes, and started by Hogwarts alumnus. Not the sort of thing she usually read - though most papers and journals and magazines have fallen from her interest. Call it cynicism, if you want, but Alice doesn’t really want to read about how dismal the whole world is when she’s actively living in said awful reality. Lips quirk at the question. Journalists will be what they are - will always be looking for the story to report.

“I...yeah, I recognize you.” Kind of. It’s in that half-way way, the fuzzy memories of a face lost to time, fading into the background. The name Pandora sounds familiar enough, though, “Don’t think I’ll be much of a good source, though.”

His fist still smarting from his earlier interaction with Fabian Prewett, combined with the fact that the Healers had all but booted him from Sirius’ room had left James in a remarkably bad mood. He knew he needed to go home soon, that Lily would worry if he didn’t, and the last thing that he wanted to do was worry his wife, but James couldn’t quite bring himself to leave just yet.

The news that Sirius had been attacked had shaken him. The sight of Sirius after said attack had completely thrown him. And the knowledge that while this was happening, someone had attempted to poison the event he had skived out on made him feel a whole lot worse. He had come so close to being another victim in a hospital bed, and he missed out for the sheer fact he’d developed a strong dislike of both large gatherings and obnoxious prats.

The luckiness of such a thing does not escape James, and he only hopes that it will not lead to something more unfortunate for him in the future.

As if to shake off the underlying tension and nervous energy that bubbles through his veins, James finds himself pacing up and down the corridors, waiting for the best moment to sneak back into Sirius’ room when no-one was watching (whoever said his cloak would be useless after Hogwarts was very clearly wrong). His pacing is only interrupted by the sight of an open door, and James can’t help his curiosity as he peeks in, heart only relaxing at the sound of a very familiar voice.

“I’m always suspicious,” he chimes, “It’s part of my natural, rugged charm.”

Something in her, something quiet and tense that Alice hadn’t even really taken notice of her, relaxes when she realizes the figure, backlit against the glow of the hall, is just James. James, who wasn’t at the party - who was at Hogsmeade instead. A different kind of attack. Is it wrong for Alice to wish she had been there, too, rather than at the party? At least that kind of violence is one she knows how to fight; slinging spells and running breathlessly to aid comrades is Alice’s job, both in the Order and the Ministry. Sitting around and grimacing out polite nothings between her teeth and unknowingly ingesting something meant to kill her is more difficult to fight.

“Can’t say you’re wrong on that one,” He does so often look like he’s up to something, “What’re you waiting for out -” She frowns, face going taut with pain for a moment as she shifts herself on the bed, curling knees up and turning on her side to better face the door, cheek pressed against the cool fabric of the pillow, “Out there? Trying to scare some poor mediwitch?” Alice tries to sound like she’s fine. Like this isn’t terrifying. She has been through worse, but still - still.

She wonders who else is in the hospital tonight. Other Order members were hurt, but Alice isn’t sure who; Frank hadn’t been and she had shooed him off to be debriefed and sleep in an actual bed tonight rather than the uncomfortable chair tucked in the corner of her room.

Lifting his head from his paper at the sound of the familiar voice beside him, Arthur shoots Alice a wide smile before glancing back down at the crayon in his hand once more. “Hallo Mrs. Longbottom, fancy seeing you here,” he remarks cheerfully, “Just my crossword. Think one of the boys might’ve swapped out my quill when I wasn’t looking and I didn’t notice until now. Does the job though.” He turns the paper so that she can see the smeary blue letters that he has filled in already.

This many children into his life, Arthur saw little reason to really get upset about the little things. If his son using a quill meant that Arthur was stuck with a crayon for the day, he wasn’t about to let it bother him. If anything, he’d much rather his kids were happy far above his own comfort. “Twig could work,” he says, wrinkling his brow as he pencils the letters in, before folding the paper in half and sticking it in his pocket. “Thanks for that. How’ve you been?”

“Which do you think nicked it?” Alice asks easily, smile bright on her face at the thought, “I’d put a galleon on Percy, though I s’pose Charlie might have, too.” Head tips as she wonders which boy got it into his head to take their dad’s quill. “That it does,” A soft laugh brackets the word at the sight of the bright blue letters filling in the little boxes. There’s something so gently domestic about the whole thing, so kind and happy and warm, that she can’t help but yearn for it - just a little bit. She wonders what Frank would do, should he get to work and discover his quill misplaced for a crayon.