Alice Longbottom

All Petunia could do was give Alice those blank, cow like eyes that she clearly expected. Trying to explain to her that she was part of the problem, with her blatant lack of any respect for Petunia and likely any Muggle, and the edge of implication that even she only mattered as a freakish outlier, a dumb beast that had trampled some things in a stupid rage. Oh, of course she could rise to that challenge, and talk herself hoarse trying to convince the woman, but it would all be in one ear and out the other with her. 

Instead, as Alice continued on Petunia struggled with containing her frustration and anger. She didn’t miss that smirk, and briefly the idea of grabbing the woman and shoving her head under the water and holding her there flashed across her mind with a delicious vividness. Oddly enough, it was the sheer stupidity of the woman insisting that no one wanted to hurt her, she who had already been attacked in her parent’s home, nearly killed, lost her parents and husband, that kept Alice from getting drowned. 

Instead, Petunia scowled, and scooped her hand through the water, picking up a good bit and splashing the witch with it. “You’re an idiot.” 

Alice bit the inside of her cheek, telling herself to be patient; telling herself that she shouldn’t expect a Muggle to be able to keep up conversationally with a witch; telling herself that it was her fault for giving Petunia Evans more information at a time than she could handle -- but it was still frustrating to sit there and wait for the woman to respond to what should have been a simple subject; would have been a simply subject, if she’d been talking to a wix...

The fact that she genuinely didn’t have better things to do helped. Not much, because that lack of productivity -- of purpose -- was the source of much of Alice’s frustration of late, which meant it served as little comfort...but it helped some.

It did not help enough to stop Alice from rocking back in shock, almost dipping the sleeves of her robes in the fountain from the violence of her movement, when the Muggle called her an idiot.

“Excuse me?” Alice gasped. “What -- what did you just say to me?”

“You have a point there.” Remus said kindly, Alice was probably the most straightforward and reliable person he knew. He didn’t want her to think he was implying that was a bad thing. “Oh,” he said, in reply to her brief explanation. “I’m sorry. I’ll be sure to bring some loose leaves with me next time I visit. I can leave some of the Pineapple tea in one of these cupboards if you’d like me to?” He glanced at the clock on the wall above the fireplace as he spoke, suddenly realizing how late it was getting. His parents wanted him to stop by for dinner, they would be expecting him soon. “Apology accepted.” He said with a small smile. “I’ll be okay, Alice. Thank you for the offer though. I… I appreciate it.”

Alice shook her head at him, trying to smile hard enough to hide the way the thought of a werewolf rooting through loose leaf tea made her stomach flip (he couldn’t shed in between full moons, she knew that, and yet the image of wolf hair in the tea leaves wouldn’t leave her brain) and said, “You don’t need to stock tea for me, Remus, I can fetch the stuff myself -- really. If I’m going to act the snob about it,” she added with a less forced smile than the one she had given him to start with, “then it should be my responsibility to make sure I can, shouldn’t it?”

She paused on the verge of turning to the door, caught by the thought that she should ask him if he had plans for the evening; if he had anyone to share a meal with. It was the kind of thing Frank would ask. But a werewolf in her home? Sharing a meal with the beast? That was too much for her to ask of herself, and Alice was suddenly glad that Frank wasn’t here to make the offer.

He stared at The Daily Prophet with a rather indifferent look on his face. Realistically, he should probably look more sad - after all, the headline was talking about his brother’s death. But Sirius knew that Regulus wasn’t dead at all - he was actually holed up in a rarely-used Order safe house with an irritating house elf. But they couldn’t know that. At the same time however, it wasn’t as though Sirius had been close to Regulus in a long time, so perhaps the indifference wouldn’t seem so… odd? He didn’t think about it too much, though (never the ones to think things through in general, really) and he threw the paper onto the table just before a folder filled to the brim landed on top of it.

“Oi!” And he sat up straighter as the file slid towards him and a red-nose Alice Longbottom stared at him from her place above, her tone sounding more scolding than anything. Sirius wondered if that was her normal tone or if it were just reserved for people like him. The ones who broke the rules and caused trouble.

He would’ve cracked some insult or joke had he not actually been looking forward to the files. Eagerly, he grabbed them from the side table as she sat down next to him, opening the clasp and sifting through them. It was thick and several papers had big red words that said DANGEROUS across it. Sirius felt a twinge of guilt at looking through the files like this - without Remus’ knowledge. Almost like he was going against his friend. Betraying him, once again. Only… wasn’t this for Remus? For the Order? The Greater Good?

Sirius needed to know exactly what his friend was up to. Remus refused to speak of it much, which only made Sirius more suspicious. Perhaps the other werewolves truly were rubbing off on him. After all, there was a spy in the Order. He pulled the first one out and began to skim, moving through the parchment at random intervals. Some were filled with writing, while others simply had a name and date next to it with a little scribbled note. “It’s good.” He shoved one with odd little symbols at Alice. “What do you think this means?”

See, he could actually study when it was something interesting.

For a moment Alice thought that something was wrong, that Sirius had changed his mind perhaps (if she had noticed the Daily Prophet she would have known, or thought she knew, exactly what was wrong, but she hadn’t had a chance to see the paper yet today and didn’t know that Regulus Black was now listen among the dead) and she started to stiffen, torn between wanting to moan her exhaustion and snarl at him for asking her to waste his time -- but then he did reach for the papers after all, and Alice relaxed...or, if not relaxed, because she rarely relaxed these days and the topic of unregistered werewolves was not a relaxing one to begin with, she at least sagged a bit more comfortably into her chair and thumbed the hasp of her cloak to let it fall open around her waist and down around the arms of her chair.

Alice let Sirius look without interruption for several minutes while the kettle churned and bubbled and finally whistled its readiness; she took a deep breath, concentrated harder than any spell that simple had a right to require, and conjured herself a teacup. It wasn’t a very nice teacup -- usually she produced delicate bone china curves with intricate flower patterns around the rim, which this was a strictly-functional vessel -- but it would hold her tea without spilling it, and had a flat saucer to hold the tea when she wasn’t drinking, and it didn’t dissolve with the first pour of hot water or lump of leaves, so she counted it a victory. (How had something as simple as pouring herself a cup of tea become so difficult? Sad the paltriness of the victories she had been reduced to since the use of her wand-arm was lost to her; how easy it was to take such things for granted!) She poured Sirius a fresh draught into his cup without asking; she didn’t want to interrupt his reading, and who would ever turn down tea anyway?

The steam rising from her cup was a welcome relief after a long and tedious day sifting files at the Ministry and Alice breathed it in like a balm or a tonic while she waited for the tea to cool enough to be worth drinking.

His praise, stinting and perfunctory as it was, was another kind of balm; Alastor had never been much of one for effusive praise anyway, so in contrary to much of her upbringing Alice had learned to prefer brusque compliments to flowery ones of late -- and lately she had been denied even that, since nothing she had done since her disastrous wedding could be described as being worthy of praise. Dragging her aching carcass out of bed and letting it rust behind a desk wasn’t praise-worthy; rubber-stamping files and filling out paperwork in a shaky, sloppy hand that was barely legible wasn’t praise-worthy. Lifting her arm under its own power wasn’t praise-worthy...and having the mediwitches compliment her for such pathetic gestures soured her on the very idea of praise. But Sirius telling her that her collection of files was good -- that, she believed; that, she could accept. It had been tricky to get her hands on those files without anyone catching wind of what she’d been doing, not to mention sneaking them out the door without anyone spotting her. It wasn’t the kind of activity Alice liked, playing post-owl -- but it was better than doing nothing.

At his question she scooted her chair forward for a better look. “I’m not sure,” she was forced to admit. “It’s not the sort of short-hand we use in the Auror Department, at least not that I’ve seen before. I suppose the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has their own codes to save them time when they’re filling things out, although given how often we have to get involved with werewolf matters you’d think they’d make things clearer...but maybe the office has a cipher on file for when we need it?” she mused aloud. “If we could ask Alastor, he’d probably know...” But Alice didn’t want to get her mentor involved. True, he’d been largely responsible for getting her involved with the Order to begin with, but Alice still felt leery about openly breaking Ministry regulations in front of him -- at least when she wasn’t doing it on his behest, anyway. She didn’t think Sirius wanted anyone else involved in their little investigation either, but if he wanted to call Alastor she wouldn’t stop him...

“Honestly,” Remus grinned at the thought, “if I didn’t have James and Sirius I would probably be painfully dull.” His smile slipped when he noticed Alice lower her mug of tea. “Is it okay?” He asked. “I got the right amount of sugars, didn’t I?” He asked, knowing full well that he had. Perhaps the milk was off, although his tasted fine. He sighed, picking his own mug back up despite the liquid now being luke-warm. How nice it must be to trust the Ministry so entirely to do the right thing. The Ministry to him was a web of lies and manipulation. A complex series of old, outdated and frankly malicious practices hiding behind good intentions and a healthy does of fear-mongering. He knew James and Sirius shared his lack of faith but he had to wonder how much his treatment had swayed them. If they hadn’t met him, hadn’t been exposed to the darker side of the system, how long would it have taken them to question authority? Perhaps he was being a little arrogant there, putting himself at the centre. It wouldn’t have taken them long. He told himself. They’re good people. But then, what did that make Alice? He shook his head a little, clearing his thoughts. The world wasn’t black and white, he needed to stop thinking as though it was. There were good people on both sides. He knew that. “You’re right, of course.” He said, not wishing to upset her again. 

“People always say ‘painfully dull’ like it’s a bad thing,” Alice sniffed, her words a mutter meant more for herself than for Remus, “but where would we be if the reliable people suddenly all lit-out for the hills?” There had been times in Alice’s life where she wouldn’t have paid two knuts for reliability, but lately -- ever since the war had started, ever since she had somehow started finding Frank more endearing than annoying -- her opinions on reliability, on dependable and even dull, had changed. She tried not to spend too much time letting herself think about what that meant, or why.

Shaking off the thought once again (every time she shoved it to the back of her mind, it got easier to do) she refocused on Remus in time to muster-up a bright smile that she hoped looked as guileless as it felt on her lips. “Oh, you know me,” she said, “I’m just a tea-snob is all. For bagged tea it’s very good, but...” She shrugged, braced herself, and downed the rest of the mug in one long gulp (a talent learned from Alastor, and which would have horrified her mother into fits of swooning if she ever witnessed) trying hard not to think about what she was drinking.

“Good to know the constant threat against my existence isn’t officially Ministry sanctioned.” Not officially. Petunia frowned and gave the woman a blank look as she completely missed the point. If she were to ‘report all the details’, she’d never be finished. Never mind that they’d all be dismissed. She’d rather not waste her life.

Alice prattled on and Petunia ignored her, the words going in one ear and out the other as she slowly walked around the rim of the fountain. One part made her look up, a flash of life showing in her eyes, a glimpse of mockery.“No real concern about which part? Causing me injury, or me causing them injury?” Again, she turned her shoulder to the woman, and frowned up at the fountain. “Lovely isn’t the word I’d used. Gaudy, gauche, and stupid are all good contenders, though.” Sweeping down, she splashed a small wave of water towards the ridiculous golden figures and then turned, sitting on the rim. 

“Why would I know where to go, anyway? I’ve been here once before.” If Alice had managed to memorize all the paths of this huge, maze-like place on her first visit here, well, Petunia would offer to help her remove her wand from her ass. And then she’d eat it. 

          … the wand, that is. 

Alice bristled, even though she was sure that the Muggle woman was genuinely ignorant rather than being deliberately offensive; would a Muggle even be clever enough to offend on purpose? Alice wasn’t sure -- but she was sure that she needed to drive the point home that the Ministry was not in the habit of making threats. (Well...not those sorts of threats, anyway. It was a government; certain threat-exchanges came with the territory.)

She took a deep breath and said, in as calm and professional a voice she could muster -- wishing she could mimic Alastor’s gravely bark or even Frank’s placid drawl; her own brusque voice, carefully trained out of the languid lilt that mother had modeled for her from childhood -- would have to do: “Miss Evans, I am not sure who you’ve been talking to--” (a sudden, unpleasant image of Sirius Black chortling to himself at how oh-so-clever he was being flickered before her eyelids and Alice fought the urge to grimace; could this be his idea of a joke? Or his arrogant friend Potter’s?) “--but let me make it perfectly clear that you are in absolutely no danger from anyone in the Ministry, and if you feel that you are in danger from someone else then it would be the duty of the Ministry of Magic to keep you safe.” She paused and added, “My duty specifically, even; I am an Auror, which means that I preserve law and order. And that includes your safety. So if you have a genuine complaint to register, we can go up to my desk right now and I’ll pull the appropriate paperwork to set judicial wheels in motion.” She raised her eyebrows in something that was half-expectation, half-challenge, and waited.

She couldn’t stop herself glancing at the fountain as Petunia Evans fiddled with the water, however; part of her wanted to tell the Muggle woman to leave it alone but there was no reason why she ought to. The Fountain of Magical Brethren was mere decoration, and its sides had played host to many an impromptu lunch-break and unofficial meeting. Right now its waters gleamed from the many coins that had been tossed in as donations to St. Mungo’s (Alice shuddered) or merely in superstitious hopes of good luck. If the Muggle wanted to play with the fountain, she wasn’t going to hurt anything...so, with a sigh, Alice turned and sat down gingerly on the lip of the fountain. She left a good bit of space between herself and the Muggle -- close enough that if Evans jumped up to run off or cause trouble, it would be easy for Alice to toss an Incarcerous or Stupify after her, but not so close that the Muggle woman would feel like she was being crowded...or that Alice would feel like she might risk brushing-up against those horrible things that Evans was wearing in lieu of proper clothes.

“Remus smiled weakly. Despite knowing she meant well, he felt a tad intimidated by the woman in front of him, especially after her lecture. He’d been an idiot to think there was ever a chance of him not attending his Inquest. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” He assured her. “You don’t need to worry, I was being dramatic. I’ve been spending too much time with Sirius and James, clearly.” His smile grew in strength at her next words. “Well, you talked me out of breaking the law in the space of a few minutes. I’d say you’re pretty good at what you do.” He joked, although the self deprecating tone would be hard to miss. 

Alice rolled her eyes again and sat back in her chair. She didn’t need him to tell her that he’d been acting dramatic; that’s exactly what she had been saying! Still, she reminded herself, the important thing was that he recognized it and could take steps now to nip the melodrama in the bud the next time he felt urges toward paranoia stirring in his oft-furred bosom.

“Well, perhaps you should spend less time around such bad influences, then -- or else make use of it and take up a theatrical career,” Alice said, striving for a lighthearted and teasing tone even while her stomach did flips at the strangeness of the concept: two pure-blood wizards, a bad influence on their pet werewolf? It had to be the other way around, surely!

She almost sipped her tea, stopped herself, lowered it again while stridently suppressing a shudder, and met Remus’s eyes with a bright smile. “You know, usually I tend to be tasked more with punishment than prevention, but in this case I’ll settle for the latter and be glad of it.” It was just for his sake, either; if Remus caused trouble with the Ministry, they might all be affected, and as Aurors she and Frank would likely find themselves in an ugly spot right in the middle. Uglier for Frank, no doubt, who had been training their newest allies and would thus feel responsible -- but no picnic for Alice either, who had managed to balance her duties to the Order and the Ministry well enough to lose little sleep over the divide, so far. She knew that would likely be getting more difficult, now that she was under suspicion -- but not having to explain why she had gone out of her way in her off-duty hours to corral a werewolf she had no legitimate reason for knowing would help, or at least wouldn’t hurt.

Remus froze, his mug of tea halfway to his mouth. He was so shocked by Alice’s words that it took him a few moments to process them. It hurt. It hurt that somebody he considered a friend could honestly believe that he was fabricating conspiracies. Especially when his life had so badly been affected by the cruel and unfair treatment of those who were supposed to remain impartial. Ministry Workers, Medi-Witches and such. But he needed to remind himself that Alice wasn’t being cruel and she certainly wasn’t accusing him of being a liar. She just hadn’t seen that side of the Ministry. She didn’t know. It wasn’t her fault. He avoided eye contact with her, trying to hide how affected he was as he placed his tea on the side. “You’re right.” He said softly. “I’m being ridiculous. I’m sorry.” He looked back up as Alice softened her tone. He wanted so badly to explain just how bad full moons were for him, especially now that James, Sirius and Peter were indisposed with Order business. He wanted to tell her that each month when he wakes up he’s a bloody mess, usually with broken bones or deep scratches that persistently refuse to heal. He wanted to try and explain the burning pain that shot through his limbs when he tried to move in the few hours after turning. He wanted to talk about the mental and physical exhaustion, but he had never been comfortable talking about it, he didn’t think he ever would be, so he nodded, knowing, at least, Alice was right about one thing. He had to make an appearance, no matter what state he was in. He didn’t have a choice, as much as he liked to think he did. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but by not going he would be proving everybody right. He had to be resilient. He had to be. “I’ll find a way. You won’t have to drag me.”

Alice was relieved beyond measure that Remus did not protest further; that he neither doubled-down on his absurd claims of conspiracy and corruption within the Ministry nor turned to other, more feral forms of protest. A little of the tension that had griped her limbs halfway through her scold -- when she had remembered suddenly that she wasn’t scolding a boy but rather an animal -- ebbed away, leaving her loose enough that she could manage a gentle and encouraging smile for him.

“You’re entitled to a bit of ridiculousness now and then,” she told him, although she had never been as good at committing to that idea as Evan had -- or Frank; both of the most important men in her life, it seemed, spent a fair portion of their time together trying to encourage her to lighten-up. It was a good thing that Alastor, on the other hand, had always encouraged her to do just the opposite; otherwise she might start thinking that humor and lightheartedness were somehow gendered traits which was as absurd a concept as the Muggle preoccupation with leg-sleeves that far too many of her fellow Order members had adopted as some sort of horrific statement-fashion. “Everyone is,” Alice continued as gently as she could -- which was more brusque than sweet, but at least she was making enough effort to not actually growl (although then again, that was more his stock in trade, wasn’t it?). “What matters is what you decide to do once you’ve gotten past the moments of ridiculousness.”

Brown eyes stared at the printed black in; standing still outside of the Apothecary. Her pounding heart beating harsh against her ears as she felt moisture build in the corner of her eyes. She knew that face and sharp eyes so well; still, what a horrible picture they had picked, Walpurga would not be happy. Andromeda didn’t even glance at the other headline - let the bloody Ministry interrogate each and every witch and wizard, their bloody incompetence would lead to nothing, just as it happened with her cousin!

“One more lie.”

Her voice is rang with truth and certainty, so well-trained in deceit, Andromeda almost believed herself. Regulus wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Yet something pierced in the back of her mind - what she had done to look for him? Nothing. She looked over her shoulder, looking for colleague who had gone inside the shop to look for some much needed bat wings. Exasperated, Andromeda opened the door, poking inside before she spot him.

“What is taking so long? We need to get back within the – shit!” A gust of wind swept in with all its power, blowing away the Prophet along with some private medical records she had carried in her hand. 

“No, no, no,” the witch turned, chasing after the flying papers, trying to find her wand in the chaos before some of the slips fell near someone else. “Excuse me! Hey! Those are mine!”

But when the icy December wind scattered several sheets of parchment across Alice’s path like dry bone-bleached leaves, followed by the wafting sound of swearing and desperate pleas in a familiar voice, she had little choice but to turn and look.

The sight of Andromeda fumbling to draw her wand -- because what else could she be doing, save going for her wand? -- caused Alice’s brows to crinkle disapprovingly; it was quite irresponsible to carry one’s wand in a way that prevented it from being pulled out in an instant, especially these days; Alastor would have had Andromeda’s head if she had been one of his trainees (but of course, the well-behaved Black sisters would never have chosen as unseemly a career as Alice had, would they?). Even with her wand-arm all but out of commission, Alice had her thin stick of blackthorn out and in her hand -- her off-hand, of course; it did little good in the other, which was still stiff and clumsy enough to be little more than meat and bone dangling from her shoulder these days -- in an eyeblink. It took a second longer to cast a summoning charm to draw the papers back toward her, because it always took a few seconds too long to cast anything with her off-hand...

But “Accio papers!” was a simple enough spell that Alice could manage it without struggle, even without her wand-arm being functional; they reversed in midair and gusted back against the breeze, their edges ruffling unhappily against the current of air, and stacked themselves neatly in a pile in front of Alice. She bent down and caught them quickly before they could blow away again, cradling the stack with her injured arm. An absent-mindedly curious glance as she was standing and turning back toward Andromeda sharpened into genuine interest when Alice caught a familiar name; tucking her wand back in its sheathe she turned a few papers over and skimmed them quickly.

Petunia only allowed the two agents who had ‘fetched’ her a tiny glance as they scurried back into the life and disappeared. She muttered something under her breath that might have been ‘cowards’ as she rolled her eyes. Sniffing, she turned her attention back to the ‘new one’ and inwardly scowled. Oh look, that same witch who’d tried lecturing her before her trial. Or whatever they’d call it. It definitely wasn’t a trial. Outwardly, Petunia only pursed her lips. The other woman (Alice Longbottom, she thought, remembering the name Lily had given her) didn’t seem please to see her either, though she didn’t have a clue why that would be. Maybe she was storing her wand up her—

““How about a cup of tea?” She gave her best empty smile, a mockery of the fake cheerfulness the other women couldn’t even decently hide. “Or maybe a pony? Really though, I’d settle for not having my life threatened.” Her smile dropped away into something more vacant with a tangy hint of sullenness. “How long am I going to be here for?” Not that she had much else to do besides go back to Lily’s crap flat and stare at the wall (and try to forget the screaming that still echoed in her mind). 

Stepping past the witch without waiting for any answers, Petunia eyed the grand hall of the Ministry, the twang of awe very carefully tucked away behind a faint sneer. That statue in particular was gaudy; she might not know what some of the figures were meant to be, but the stupid look on the centaur’s face as it was turned up to the male and female figure told her that its message was infinitely stupid.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Petunia said shortly, still not looking back at the woman. Even before she said it, she knew it wouldn’t matter. Still, she felt obligated to lodge some sort of protest, even if she was trying to be on ‘good behavior’. 

Being demoted from the rank of experienced Auror to greeting-witch -- a slim step up from house-elf, in Alice’s mind -- was grating, but Alice forced herself to keep smiling as she contemplated fetching tea for this Muggle. At the mention of a pony, however (that had to be sarcastic; even Muggles couldn’t possibly keep equines in government buildings on the regular, could that?) the smile slipped away down the curve of her jaw, leaving behind a dour frown -- but that didn’t stay long either, because Alice’s eyebrows shot up into her pale hairline as Petunia Evans talked about having her life threatened.

It took Alice a moment to process enough that she could lurch back into motion and scurry to catch up with the long-legged Muggle. “You -- you’ll be here as long as it takes for the Ministry to finish your interview and determine the best course of action moving forward, I suppose,” she stammered, feeling off-balance and hating it even though for once it wasn’t the dead weight of her wounded arm throwing her off. “But nobody is threatening your life! Or, I suppose, if someone has then they certainly didn’t have -- have Ministry permission to make such a threat!” Alice exclaimed, horrified at the thought that Muggles were so barbaric they could believe that their own governments would do such things to them. “And if there have been any such threats, even in apparent jest, I must strongly encourage you to report as many details about the incident, or incidents, as you can remember to the appropriate authorities at once!”

She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself; it didn’t work. Alice blamed the Muggle woman. “Believe me,” she told Petunia Evans primly, fully aware of the lie as she said it and choosing to pretend ignorance, “I am not here to babysit anyone. I’m an Auror. We don’t babysit. That’s what we have the MLEP for.” Her grim smile would have encouraged another wix to laugh, to share the joke at the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol’s expense...but to a Muggle, it was probably meaningless, wasn’t it? Alice hurried on, saying brusquely, “I am here to be your escort until such time as the committee is ready to speak to you, at which point I will bring you to them; and to make sure that neither you nor anyone else can interfere with or cause you any injury. Not that there’s any real concern about that, but protocol, you know.” She gave a stiff, one-shouldered shrug, holding her injured arm in close against her side to keep from jarring it.

Remus’ grip on his mug tightened as Alice’s outburst took him by surprise. He listened to her passion, her faith in the Ministry, and wished, more than anything, that he could share that. He couldn’t though. Their experiences when it came to matters such as justice and Wizarding Law had been so completely different. They sat on opposite ends of a spectrum. He chewed on his lip sullenly, knowing that she was right but not wanting to admit it. “I’m sorry, Alice.” He said quietly. “But the law has never been on my side. And the Ministry does everything it can to…” He trailed off, sighing deeply. “I just don’t trust them… the institution, I mean. Not necessarily the individuals working for it. I’m worried they’ll twist my words, charm me or trick me. they will do everything they can to find grounds to arrest me. I know they will.” He stared down at the contents of his mug. “And they’ve made it all but impossible for me to attend in the first place. My Inquest is on the 4th, the full moon is on the 3rd. Do the maths. The date is no accident.” 

Alice reminded herself that Remus was young still, little more than a child really -- but she still rolled his eyes as he whined about the Ministry, she couldn’t help herself. “Oh don’t be an imbecile,” she said waspishly, waving her good hand as though she could shoo his paranoid persecution complex away just by wishing it. “First of all, the law doesn’t pick ‘sides,’ that’s the whole point -- it’s the same for everyone, neutral and solid.” She spoke firmly, although a little voice in the back of her mind pointed out that that wasn’t strictly true -- but now wasn’t the time to talk about how everyone knew that a big enough pile of gold or favors could sometimes weight the scales in someone’s favor if a vote was close or a judgement on the edge. That wasn’t the point, and anyway it wasn’t relevant; the fact that Remus didn’t have a pile of gold to offer or could make the kind of promises that anyone wanted just meant that he would be treated with perfect fairness rather than getting to tip the scales a little. It wasn’t as though things worked the other way around, with people who couldn’t pay for preferential treatment punished -- the Ministry wasn’t that corrupt! -- they just received no extra benefits, that was all.

“Secondly,” Alice continued briskly, giving neither of them time to dwell on her slight fudging of the same for everyone comment, “they have not made it impossible for you to attend so stop being dramatic. Unless you honestly expect me to believe that they’re having a special session after business hours just for you,” she raised a skeptical eyebrow, “then you can’t possibly be expected there before eight in the morning -- long after the moon has set, and you have returned to your...usual self.” She grimaced and tried to rush on past the discussion of lycanthropic transformations as quickly as possible. “So whatever you usually do with yourself during...ahem, during nights when the moon is full, it won’t have any affect on your ability to appear for questioning.” Alice shook her head and fought-down the urge to roll her eyes a second time. “Look for ulterior motives and conspiracies as much as you like, but personally I think it unlikely that whatever mid-level bureaucrat was in charge of setting the schedule of meetings even knows when the next full moon is. I certainly didn’t know off the top of my head, until you told me. You’re just being paranoid.”