- R.A.B.

The man was quiet for a moment, but he gingerly took the notes in a scarred hand, his normal eye scanning over them quickly, while his magical one stared fixedly at the boy. As much as he hated to admit it, the notes were thorough, and written in a clear, neat hand that was much better than his own hurried chicken scratch. After he had finished reading what Regulus had verbally described in lengthy detail, he settled the notes in a neat stack on the corner of Frank’s, and now apparently Regulus’, desk. 

“These are… thorough,” it was the highest form of praise Regulus would be receiving, especially is the kid seemed to think that he had the experience to get to the root of it. “But, a countercourse, now, is of little use if we can’t track down where this is coming from. We’ll have more victims, most that we more than likely won’t even know about, that’ll show up. They won’t bring them to us, but to St. Mungo’s, who will be ill-equipped to treat them if we’re fighting the Office to simply realize the scale of this thing.” His words were not flowery, but to the point. The kid was onto something–his ideas were all over the place, but he had, at least, given them a baseline, and theories to keep in the back of their minds. 

Moody straightened back up to his full height, putting his weight back on his cane, and his whole body groaned in protest. “If we have two victims who know which objects the curse came from, we start there. You might not have access to the files, but I do seem to have a little pull within this department.” His magical eye twirled into the corridor, and he called, “Perkins!”

A mousy-looking wizard hurriedly poked his head into the room, his eyes wide and terrified at being directly addressed by Auror Moody. “Get as much information on case 10078 as you can; I want victim statements, names, addresses, anything you can get your mitts on. And, while you’re at it, I need you to contact the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Arthur Weasley. Tell him Moody needs every mention of any cursed silver object in the last, oh, six months.” When Perkins nodded vigorously, but continued to stand in the doorway, Alastor hardened his tone. “Now.”

regulus makes a few extra notes of his own as moody barks orders at perkins, who he decides seems to be a rather unfortunate fellow who could do with being a bit more proactive, or at least quicker on his feet.

"i would like to see the items themselves, at some point, assuming they were taken into custody and not destroyed outright," he muses, not looking up from where he's using a muggle pen to neatly compile a list of potential areas of interest where a cursed artifact may pop up. his hands seem to have a permanent shake to them - or moody frightens him more than he's letting on - but he manages to keep his notes tidy all the same.

"i don't think i could discern the origin of the curse itself from only the teapot in question, nor study it in full without being able to inspect its effect on the body - and my healer has told me i am no longer permitted to use myself as a test subject. hm, where was i going with - right, sorry. i could at the very least determine a workable diagnostic charm, to ensure we can correctly identify the items without anyone needing to be afflicted beforehand." he keeps writing even as he talks, adding another page neatly to the stack, listing a collection of businesses and suppliers - legal or otherwise - who may have inventories marked at risk.

》 As quickly as Snape crossed her mind, she pushed him from her thoughts just as quickly.

"in that case ... i have no complaints, healer evans. i am pleased to be in your care, and i intend to keep any personal matters unrelated to my health out of our professional engagements. i will have complete faith in your discretion and judgement."

he steeples his hands together thoughtfully. "though, as your duties may demand, you have my full permission to reach out to one of my contacts if you worry i'm a hazard to myself or others. they should be listed in order of, ahem, preference?" narcissa black is listed as priority, and then barty crouch jr. and then bellatrix lestrange - the latter marked as [emergency only].

"i was going to ask you the same thing, admittedly. if you believe there might be any ... conflict, over my former associations, or whatever relationship you may have with my," and his voice cracks a tiny bit, raspy and brittle, "brother - ahem - i would hardly take offense to you passing me onto someone else. i am a curse researcher prone to accidents, i am very nearly a werewolf, and i was once ... associated with a former terrorist." and that's putting it delicately. he doesn't care to beat around the bush when it comes to the matter, because he imagines this is mutually awkward.

》 Taking a moment, Lily leaned against the wall beside the room and flipped open the folder. Her brow furrowed as she read: Black, Regulus A. That wasn't possible. She looked up and glanced around the empty hallway and wondered if someone was messing with her. She thought that she graduated from all these sort of pranks. With a deep breath, she carefully closed the folder and pushed herself off the wall. After counting to three, she grasped the door handle before she stepped her way inside.

"i hope you're enjoying it," he tells her, because he's not quite sure what else to tell her, and he's less sure if he's expected to ask about sirius or - or anything. so he doesn't. "least of all because i expect i'll be in your care for the forseeable future. ah, i expect we'll be going through my file?"

“Independent researcher,” He repeated with a growl, “I’ll say.” But he couldn’t help but notice that the boy put weight on his cane rather than his leg, and couldn’t help but wonder, against his better judgment and what he knew of Regulus Black which was more than he cared to know, if the boy in front of him was also facing wolfish repercussions. 

But then the ridiculous little urchin had to open his mouth, thick with Black-arrogance that Alastor was all-too-familiar with, and all fleeting traces of kinship were swept away in an instant.

Moody’s eyes fixed on the boy, his brown one narrow with dislike, but he swept the arm not holding himself up around the room. “You’re looking at our workspace. Being an independent researcher doesn’t allow you a place at an auror’s desk, Black.” 

He ignored the question about the leg, yet repositioned it slightly, the stump was beginning to ache with overuse. If the boy was joking – the joke wasn’t funny, and Alastor was in no mood for jokes to begin with. If the boy was being genuine, he had such an air of superiority that Alastor didn’t deign to answer the question. 

he's already collected copies of the official reports, passed to him on his way in and neatly annotated in green ink. eight victims, none deceased but all in st. mungo's, afflicted with an unknown dessication curse proving unresponsive to treatment. only two had identified the items that had caused it - a silver tea set for the first, and a tarnished handheld mirror for the second. both had been purchased earlier in the day, from different locations, with no apparent connection but for material. the rest of his notes are neat, concise paragraphs of information and theories and incredibly precise runic circles and diagrams.

"i wasn't given any access to testimonies or personal information of any affected, only the initial reports," he notes, before moody can accuse him of anything. "fill in if i'm missing anything. i'd like to inspect the suspect items in person, but i have some theory as to the nature of the curse - namely, that it seems at the very least time-delayed, not taking effect immediately but instead after a few hours. assuming the curse is implanted upon touch and activates after a certain period ... all it would take is a single artifact attracting curious fingers, and we could have dozens of victims. multiply that by the possibility of a number of cursed items, lying innocuously in wait ... and i'd be so bold as to theorize this case threatens to be much more catastrophic than your superiors seem to think it is. at least, judging by them putting you alone on the case and hiring a wizard of suspect background."

he notes it all with an impassive sort of professionalism, focusing entirely on the task at hand - efficient reporting. "both recovered items being of the same material is as interesting as it is concerning. it grants credence to our perpetrator being an individual or coherent group with intent, rather than a new hex used indiscriminately. but it seems entirely indiscriminate in who it effects, no? cursed items left out in shops where anyone could pick them up ... but, old silver, specifically. most old families have their own silverware sets, so our perpetrator could assume only poorer individuals would be handling the items, suggesting blood purists or death eater sympathizers. alternatively, under our current climate, it could be a plot meant to target non-werewolves who suffer no adverse effects to pure silver. there's a small chance it's some overlap between the two, or neither of the above, but it's ... a possibility." he sets down the sheet in his hands, offering the stack to moody and steepling his fingers together.

The family expectations had always included keeping eyes on the younger kids, and even now, with them grown enough to keep themselves in order -- she couldn't turn it off. Did that mean she had to drop in on them without warning? Probably not... but was that going to stop her? Absolutely not. She'd show up as much as she needed to if he didn't fancy leaving his metaphorical four walls.

right on cue, bella calls out. loudly, in a manner so wildly bellatrix he cannot help a slight smile to himself. regulus slowly rises to his feet, locks the door, and sets to the task of limping down the stairs. "silly me, i must have forgotten our appointment," he calls as he winds his way down. "hello, bella." he sweeps her into a hug as soon as reaches the bottom of the stairs, if only for a few moments. if she's going to barge in unannounced, she's going to endure his brief, rare affections.

he clearly wasn't expecting her, still in his nightclothes with a plush robe pulled over the top, hair messy enough to be nearing an impression of a feral sheepdog. he has to brush it out of his eyes to inspect her delivery.

(and there's no one to take note of how he looks more like her brother than he does sirius', these days, but he still feels oddly proud to think of it.)

When: Around 2pm

Who: Narcissa and Regulus ( @inferidrowned )

There really was nothing Narcissa adored more than brewing her potions. Or well, maybe she liked dresses and gossiping too. But brewing potions made her happy. Selling them too, and making her own money was helpful too. Of course, she had her trust fund, and well did not need to make her own money. But it was nice to have her own money. Money that wasn't connected to her family.

Most of the time she could be found in the potions lab in her apartment. Hearing the door bell ring, the blonde sighed, before going to answer the door. There was a smile on her face when she realised who it was. "Reg!" He was probably one of the only ones she would actually leave her potions lab. "Hi!"

even as his nose wrinkles for just a moment. "you smell as if you've been rolling in dittany and fluxweed all morning," he tells her, before stooping to kiss her cheek. "hello, cissa. i do hope i'm not interrupting anything time-sensitive. i come bearing gifts."

Still, he wished people would talk to him, rather than hear the whispers about how he was doing, about if he was still up to snuff. He’d practically begged Scrimgeour to give him an assignment, any assignment, something to pass the monotony nicely. And, the head auror, shockling, had obliged. 

A curse. A particularly mind-boggling curse. Technically, he would be the lead on the case, but they were bringing in a curse breaker of some sort, an expert, who knew everything there was to know about curses. Alastor was supposed to follow their lead. However, Alastor didn’t tend to follow anyone’s lead. 

In he clunked, his hard, wooden leg heavy against the floor, his presence known to all before people could even see him – though he could now apparently see through walls, which was disorienting, to say the least – and he made his way to an unused office, not expecting to see a scrawny, black haired boy who was supposed to be the supposed ‘curse breaker’.

he takes quick stock of moody's state rather than dwelling on the thought. he'd heard the man had recently been hospitalized, but regulus is suddenly very glad that his leg is still intact, at least, and can't quite hide a sympathetic wince. even now, the calculating part of his brain is breaking down what he knows about magical-creature-injuries (a lot) and the scars they leave behind (he may as well be an expert). moody fared even worse than he did. poor bastard. he probably hurts more than regulus does.

"i don't," he hums simply, leaning off the desk and putting his weight back onto his cane. "work for gringotts, that is. the leg's a liability when it comes to tomb-robbing or whatever such nonsense they get up to. i would hardly refute being an expert in the field, though i'm more of an independent researcher." he grins mirthlessly, no trace of warmth in his eyes, teeth a bit too sharp. "i brought my notes on the case, if you could show me where we're setting up - what took yours?" he tilts his head. "your leg, i mean. should i be keeping moon phases in mind while arranging for any field work?"