Mundungus Fletcher

Bertha took a cautious step back when the pile of fabric and garbage started moving. She wrinkled her nose and gripped her wand tightly in her pocket, ready to defend herself if necessary. The coat slipped off the man’s face, covered in dirt and grime. Seeing the state the man was in she kinda regretted the decision to wake him up. She could’ve been back at work now, instead of standing in the filth with a bum.

The rough voice and downright rude attitude made Bertha huff out loud and she placed her hands on her hips. “Of course,” she muttered. “No gratitude. I should’ve let you freeze to death instead.” 

The man either didn’t hear her, or didn’t care, but it seemed as if he’d decided that it was time to wake up. He was rubbing his eyes and with that removed some of the grime on his face. When Bertha saw who the man was she let out a loud sigh. “Mundungus Fletcher,” she said with thinly veiled dismay. “Still kicking?”

She barely remembered Mundungus from school. Pureblood, but poor, and not a good match or one to consort with. Though that had never been an issue. He was a few years older than Bertha, so they never really spent any time together, despite being in the same house. He’d been kind of a loner at school and no one really paid attention to him unless there was a party involved. The only thing she knew about him these days was that he was mixing it with the boringly good guys. Bertha hadn’t been able to confirm it, but she suspected Dumbledore had something on Fletcher, which he wasn’t above using to his advantage.

“Shouldn’t you be with your little friends?” she said and hunched down in front of him, all thoughts of making it back to work forgotten. “What is the Order up to these days?”

“Wha’?” He blinked a few times, silently willing his mind to kick into gear while he squinted up at the lady who seemed to be inspecting him with a look he knew all too well: disgusted  recognition. He wished he could have said he shared the sentiment. Alas, that required a crucial part he was yet lacking.

Recognition.

He groaned, head lolling back as he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to rid himself of the stiffness a long night curled into an awkward position had gotten him. “Lots of words you got there.” And he was still trying to piece them all together the way they’d been intended to arrive at his brain. What did this crazy woman want from him anyway? Usually when people found him in the position he was currently in, they either chased him off, ignored him, or—more rarely—offered some misplaced yet well-intended sympathies. They didn’t make a habit of sticking around to torture him with questions. A particularly nasty option, as he quickly found.

When he’d managed to adjust to the light enough to keep his eyes open in a hungover squint, he forced himself to sit almost properly upright, his back falling heavily against the dirty wall. That was about as proper as he’d get, and he only bothered with the effort because that lady looked like… well. A lady. He’d conveniently unlearned a lot of his pureblood heritage over the years, and gladly so, but he supposed some things just got stuck if they got drilled into you enough.

“You got me,” he said hoarsely, swallowing dryly as he noticed the scratchiness of his throat. Merlin, this morning truly took the piss, didn’t it? “‘dungus Fletcher as I live ’n breathe. Who’s you?”

She seemed to know him, which meant nothing. Many people did. Most of them he’d met and had absolutely no way to remember, considering the state he liked to keep himself in. Far as he could tell, they used to be best mates ten years ago, or maybe they met once in a pub. It made no difference to him. The only thing noteworthy about this woman was that she apparently had an inkling who he worked for, which was news even to his clouded mind.

The house was less quiet than usual. Normally it was just him and Gid, and there wasn’t much noise unless the dog were being particularly mischievous. Mornings after Order meetings however, the house felt a little more alive. It wasn’t exactly noisy, there was just a kind of hum. Normally empty rooms were occupied, somebody in some part of the house was doing something. Fabian liked waking up to this hum, liked knowing the house was useful, and that his friends were here. He’d even cook breakfast for the people who wanted to stay for it. 

From experience he knew the hum wouldn’t last for long, by mid morning most visitors would be gone, by lunch everyone would have vacated. It would be him alone with the cats again like usual. But at least this brief interlude was better than nothing. 

He was up and dressed when he remembered the excitement from the night before. Dung turning up blind drunk in the middle of the meeting. Gid had been ready to throw him out, but Fab stopped him. The likelihood was Dung didn’t even know about the unspoken ‘no alcohol’ rule, he probably didn’t even know about Fab’s alcoholism, it wasn’t something he went advertising. He’d convinced Gid to let him stay. Honestly Fab was just impressed Dung had remembered the meeting was on and how to find the house in his obviously intoxicated state. It was impressive when you thought about it.

Dung hadn’t done too much harm, the first whiff had caught him off guard, the elastic band around his wrist had been snapped a few times, but he’d pushed down the urge without too much trouble. Gid had noticed the slight tremor in his hand and quietly stilled it under the table as the meeting continued. Fab almost chuckled thinking about it now, trust Dung to cause a stir during a perfectly mundane meeting. 

He made a quick trip downstairs to grab a glass of water, expecting Dung would have the hangover from hell and wanted to help out if he could. Returning to the room where they’d left Dung last night hough, he found the bed empty. He hadn’t heard him leave the house, so he must be wandering around somewhere. He went back into the hall and checked the next room. 

Bingo. Dung dropped the object almost comically. Not suspicious at all, Fabian thought with a smirk. Dung was lucky, Fabian had always found him more funny than harmful, others didn’t have the same patience. “Oh I’m glad,” Fabian nodded handing Dung the glass of water. “What do you think you’d fetch for that on the market? We’ve got 10 more just like it in the attic.” He grinned, gesturing to the standard mantle piece clock now lying on the floor. He caught a slight smell of stale alcohol in the room, but nothing overwhelming. Fabian would view this as a test.

He was too self-aware to wish or expect memories of last night to come flooding back at the sight of the man in front of him, but at least he could make some inferences with his presence. Most importantly, he wasn’t in any immediate trouble, which was good. Fabian beat a horrified muggle homeowner as the morning surprise any day. He could also assume they’d met for Order business the night before, which was less great as he remembered nothing of the meeting’s contents and expected that fact to never change. Either he’d be rudely reminded of his duties in a few days’ time by someone very large and imposing or he’d get away scot-free because there was nothing on his plate after all. He supposed he’d find out one way or another.

“You’re a good kid,” he grunted when he took the water, washing away the foul taste of stale alcohol that lingered on his tongue. Yeah, he supposed if he committed a little home invasion, this was the place to do it. The service was not bad, even though a little chase around the house by someone wielding primitive muggle weapons sure sharpened his senses in the morning in a rather unique way.

Bloodshot eyes wandering between Fabian and the clock, he grunted something that might have translated into a thoughtful consideration. “Depends who you sell to,” he said vaguely. “Normal value? Lousy. Find a gullible bastard and spin ‘em a story about the enchanted tree this was made of and the invigorating effects it’ll have on ‘im? Got yaself a nice margin.”

He bent down, picking up the piece in question to return it to its rightful place. He was a guest here after all, and he hadn’t been raised without manners—even if he chose to recall them quite selectively.

“If you’re interested in the art of fencing, I could tell ya a few tricks,” he offered kindly, grimacing a little as he his palm pressed against his throbbing forehead. Merlin’s beard, that was a hangover from hell. What had he been thinking? “After my head’s cleared enough to talk business, that is.”

The only reason he was still standing and not violently emptying his stomach in a corner was years and years of training pertaining to handling his liquor. He felt worse than usual though—like his brain had been hit by an obfuscating spell with a vicious kick to it. Why would he—

Ah. Memories not so buried after all. He’d have to do a more thorough job of it next time.

Bertha needed a new watch. Something that beeped or made noise or actually hit her over the head when she was even in the area of being late. She hurried down the street, looking for a proper alley to disapparate from. She cursed herself for even leaving Diagon Alley at all, but a rumour she desperately wanted to confirm had forced her to leave the comfortable streets where no one fainted if you disappeared into thin air.

After spending far too much time with too little reward hunting down her lead she had stumbled upon a peculiar little café. Her curiosity got the best of her and she had stepped in and felt the urge for something chocolatey. It was delicious, and probably would’ve cost her a galleon or three. Not that she had paid for it. A simple spell and the lady at the desk had forgotten all about it.

Which led her to this moment, where she were hurrying down the street in a pace that probably gained more attention than simply vanishing would. Her billowing robes weren’t making things better. Bertha mentally berated herself for spacing out once more. She was already getting frowns from her boss, and she didn’t doubt that his displeasure would decrease after she was late yet again.

She let out a relieved sigh as she spotted an alley up ahead. She made a quick turn and looked back on the busy street she’d come from. Just as she was about to disapparate she stumbled across something laying on the ground. A displeased frown appeared as she had to hold on to the grimy wall. At a closer look she saw that what she had tripped over was hiding under a big piece of fabric, could’ve been an old coat. The shape was big enough to be animal or human, though it wasn’t moving. Bertha carefully poked the figure with the tip of her shoe to see if it was still alive.

He didn’t awaken with a start—it was far too early and his head was banging far too loudly for that. Those bouts of energy were reserved for very special occasions only; certain women with loud organs and a murderous glint in their eyes, Order members he’d seen in real fights before, and dogs, mostly. This seemed to be neither, so he determined that a rough and unhappy grunt would suffice until some of his senses had returned to him after the deep slumber had lifted.

His limbs felt leaden, heavy and uncooperative as he struggled against his battered coat. Was this really a situation worth putting that much effort into for? This early in the morning? The poking seemed insistent he react in some way, so he begrudgingly obliged, lifting the fabric from his head in order to peek out at the intruder.

“Argh.” He groaned, pressing his eyes shut at the bright light burning through his skull, and turned his head away. Squinting through one half-opened lid at whomever had so rudely awoken him, he grumbled, “Do you mind?”

One hand was still clutching to his coat, ready to draw it over himself as a shield once more, but the other reached for his face, rubbing over dirty skin in an effort to wake himself up a little. The sun was too obnoxious for morning. Noon? Perhaps it was time to get up. He could hardly remember last night at the moment, but he knew the memory would come to him eventually, once he’d forced his brain into gear. Chances were he wasn’t missing anything of importance, but he figured it would be safer to make an effort regardless. He wasn’t looking forward to missing another Order appointment anytime soon. Last time had scared the everliving shit out of him, if he was honest.