open flame

“It was bold, and I think it worked both as a distraction for us and a declaration for the rest of the wixen world. Be with them, or be against them,” Caradoc said, his voice and expression growing more somber. “I can’t say if this will end up work against them, or in their favour,” he admitted, with a sigh following that confession. He could see how people would be angry by having Death Eaters bringing their war on the streets of the wixen world, in the very heart of it. No more isolated to the Muggle world, or the house of Muggleborns and Half-breeds, but right where Wix spent their Sunday mornings with their families. “We have,” he nodded, “but deaths were easier to estimate than total number of Death Eaters present. There were too many of them, anyway,” he said, shaking his head, “they were able to work on two different locations, at the same time. And Diagon Alley is not just a small street. “We will have confirmation of the numbers in the next few days.” As frustrating as it was, they could only wait to see what kind of ripples this particular stone would produce one thrown. 

That was a colourful way to describe the situation, but Caradoc was used to it. He had heard worse coming from Branwen. Anger, too, he was familiar with. 

“They are not the same situation, and you know it,” he said, almost a hint of scolding in his voice and the little frown on his face. “No one us saw what happened to James coming, at all. And, you can’t have someone’s back if they take off without you.” Which was what he didn’t understand about Peter. He had never seen as the overconfident guy. Mary was right, he always looked as someone you would’ve have to keep an eye on and who in turn was glad you did. “Unless you have a time-turner, or some secret lore that would allow you to be in more places at the same time, it wasn’t your fault. The point, in the end, is to do everything we can to do this together. I believe you did. Do you?”

It was a pretty clear-cut message, sure, but Mary didn’t have it in her to be as hopeful as to assume it might drive people to action; in fact, she was pretty damn sure the opposite was more likely to happen. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, watch half of them dust off the summer homes and go vacationing in France. Meanwhile the rest’ll be tripping over themselves to either join Voldemort or beg us to sneak ‘em out.” And they already had way too many runaways to deal with. Mary exhaled slowly, thoughtful more than angry as she processed his words. “We gotta hit back. Soon. Let them all know we’re still in the fight. Not even just Voldemort’s goons, but everyone else too.”

New direction: The news of Peter’s death brought on a couple of revelations that Mary wasn’t too happy with. For one, she realised that she wasn’t as tough and callous as she liked to think she was and for all her preparation for war, this was one weakness she’d overlooked. She didn’t have a problem with the price of victory being death -- as long as it wasn’t the deaths of people she knew, people she’d grown to maybe care for. Which was just stupid, clearly. She knew there was no way to prevent that, but at the very least she could avoid being directly responsible for those deaths.

So the plans of organising her own little task force that would take action were put on hold. When Dorcas approached her after the attack, ready to go off the books and get shit done, Mary turned her down. She’d had similar ideas, of course, but she’d carry those out herself; it’d be better that way. Except Dorcas hadn’t been dissuaded by the refusal and had instead decided to also take matters into her own hands -- which, really, Mary should’ve seen coming because the fact they were so alike was one of the reasons she liked Dorcas. She couldn’t just let her go off on her own and get herself killed, though, so Mary did end up joining and in her opinion, the two of them made more progress in a few weeks than the better part of the Order had in months.

And Dorcas was definitely a useful ally to have on your side, something she kept proving time and time again, including when she told Mary about Emlen Lowe. Unsurprisingly, Mary entirely approved of that little mission, but more than that, it solidified another thought she’d been toying around with for a while -- that maybe she’d been wrong about Frank. Thanks to Dorcas’ story and the few conversations Mary had had with him, one most notably on her birthday, she was starting to see him more as yet another potential ally rather than just the hindrance she’d considered him to be up until recently.

“Calm down,” Dorcas repeated, nodding obediently, “right, yes, sorry. Early stages, right!” She nodded again, harder, making her curls tremble. She didn’t want Mary to think she wasn’t taking this seriously – because she was. That’s why she was so excited, because she was taking it seriously. If it was just a lark, it wouldn’t have meant enough to matter.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind going in with a group! I’m sure you’re right that that’s better.” It was hard to make herself settle down enough to think things through when she felt like she’d swallowed a whole bottle of Fizzing Whizbees (only without the gaseous nausea that came along as a side effect when one actually did that – as Dorcas knew from bleak experience) but she forced her brain to break through the shroud of gleeful anticipation enough to assess the idea logically. Or as logically as Dorcas Meadowes ever assessed anything, anyway. “They’re used to ignoring me, too, after all. But if they see it’s not just me and not just you – if they see that there’s a whole bunch of us who want to stop sitting around twiddling our thumbs at the Death Eaters – they’re more likely to take action, right?”

Dorcas wasn’t in this for personal glory, or even for personal excitement (well…maybe the latter, a bit; but she’d sacrifice her own chance for action if it meant someone else would actually get to do something that made a real difference, even if she’d be disappointed at being left out of course – but she’d do it because this war was so much more important than any one person). She wouldn’t mind standing back and letting someone else do the talking and take the lead, as long as it actually led somewhere.

She wasn’t sure who Tweedledee and Tweedledum were, and although she didn’t want to admit to Mary that those unfamiliar words meant nothing to her she knew that she had to – but then she figured it out. “I dunno any twee–? Oh! You mean Benjy and Emma? Yes, yes of course! They’ll be totally in for this too, absolutely. We talk all the time about how we want the Order to do more – sometimes more than talk,” she admitted, half-shamefaced and half-proud. Well, it was hardly a secret, and surely that was the reason why Mary had come to her about this in the first place?

In reality, it was possible that Mary might’ve been waiting for Dorcas’ fire to fizzle out. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen it happen, people going in with all these ideas and expectations and just ending up growing complacent. Or scared. Or just killing themselves because they got too cocky. But Dorcas was still alive. And Mary needed her for this plan. “Better excited than terrified, I guess,” she admitted with a shrug. “I’m not gonna force anyone to fight if they’ll just drag their feet. Which is why I won’t even bother asking some people if they wanna join, they’ll just hold us back. But if you’ve got any names in mind, I’ll hear it.”

She was a bit less sure when it came to the Order becoming more active, however. “Are they? Everyone’s so damn busy doing their own thing, thinking their plan’s the best. I don’t expect much from them anymore.” She had, back when she’d joined. The Order had seemed like a dream come true then; an entire organisation dedicated to fighting against the very same thing Mary had been fighting against since the moment she’d stepped into the wixen world. Now it seemed more like a book club -- all talk, no excitement. “Whatever. Can’t do anything about that anyway. But I’m done waiting.”

Tea and Troubles

“Ohhhhhh,” Marlene breathed, equal parts fascinated and repulsed by Mary’s explanation. “I guess they can’t just go to a Healer for a restoring spell and a gargle of Skel-e-grow when their teeth go bad, can they? I never thought about that. I guess they don’t have Toothflossing Stringments or Teeth Cleaning Charms, either…huh.” She blinked, utterly nonplussed as she realized quite how much she just didn’t know about life in the Muggle world – and more than that, how much she’d never thought about it. All those simple basic parts of life that one never paid much attention to, that just existed in the background of every moment – how many of them were different for Muggles, without magic? How many of them didn’t exist at all? It was fascinating…and a little frightening. “So…how do Muggles clean their teeth, then?” she asked, frowning curiously as she leaned forward and propped her chin on her hands like a little girl settling in for story-time.

She fell back chortling at Mary’s vehement denial of either Severus or Lily as possible objects of affection. “Okay, okay!” Marlene relented, waving her hands in surrender, “dully noted! You don’t fancy either of them! I’ll make a note.” She mimed scribbling a quill across the palm of her off-hand, as though a mental note was insufficient without the corresponding gesture. “My sincere apologies.” She grinned unrepentantly.

Marlene didn’t waste time that might have allowed Mary to change her mind; the moment the other witch capitulated she laced her arm through Mary’s elbow and led her gallantly to the door. “Hours, yes, the sense that days are made up of hours. But the only real way to learn about the Derby is to experience it properly,” she continued in a lofty voice. “And getting you familiar with horseback is an excellent preliminary – or prerequisite, maybe. Now you can attend as my guest and I shall not need to fear embarrassment because you don’t know which end of the horse is which or anything like that, and I shall promise to never refer to you as any form of poultry…and to tell anyone who asks,” she added with a wicked grin, “that you fancy neither Lily Evans nor Severus Snape and your heart thus remains a mystery to all and sundry. And in between bridling and mounting, you can tell me who really does make your heart pound – or at least tell me all about the fascinating arts of Muggle teeth cleaning. What a glorious day for us both!”

Marlene laughed and pulled her half-willing victim to the stables.

Even after fuck knows how many years in the wixen world, sometimes Mary still felt so out of place that she doubted she could ever truly belong. Now was one of those moments too because for all McKinnon seemed so shocked and confused about Muggle practices, it would’ve never crossed Mary’s mind to think of toothflossing strings or cleaning charms either. And like most things did, it annoyed her; she was part of this world, she was fighting for this world, and she still didn’t belong. It was bullshit. “They brush them,” she said, deadpan. “You buy a toothbrush and toothpaste and you brush your damn teeth. No fancy spells. So yeah, everything you’re so used to doing with magic, muggles have their ways of doing without.”

And for all McKinnon was cracking up, Mary did feel she deserved an apology for even hearing that crap. Snape. Or Evans. As if. “While you’re at it just Obliviate me so I don’t have to remember.” And she didn’t talk much to either of them anyway if she could avoid it, but now she felt she’d go out of her way to keep away; not because of what people thought or whatever but just for her own peace of mind. Disgusting.

She let McKinnon drag her around with only an eye roll, which felt very mild by Mary standards. She was getting soft, god forbid. “I can tell a horse’s arse from its face,” she snapped back as if to make up for it. “And I really can’t explain enough how much I don’t care about this derby. If I come at all, it’ll only be to piss off the rest of your pureblood pals. Which would work better anyway if I don’t know shit about horses.” And yet, she was still following McKinnon. Only because she had nothing better to do, though, she was quick to justify. And she was definitely not getting on one of those winged things. Really, it was only practice for pissing off the other purebloods at the derby; she had to see which stupid questions would push their buttons the most, after all.

“No one ‘makes my heart pound’,” she rolled her eyes as they walked. “That’s dumb. And guys are all idiots anyway. But if you wanna hear about that time my brother tried to kidnap the tooth fairy, sure, knock yourself out.” She didn’t talk much about her family, she knew. Ideally, she tried not to think of them too much either. But fuck it, she was feeling nostalgic and if that meant telling McKinnon a dumb story then it was whatever. At least it was more fun than horses.

It had taken all his courage to make it to Mary’s door. One week ago, his casual fling had shown up in their usual meeting spot covered in soot and ranting intoxicatedly about a murderer. 

Somehow, Dolohov had discovered that Adam Macdonald was related to Mary Macdonald, who he was apparently convinced had killed his best friend. The problem - Adam wouldn’t put it past his sister. While he felt he didn’t know her anymore, he knew that she was capable of terrible things if she felt it needed to be done.

Then there was the rest of the rant to think about. Explosions and chaos and so many things that Antonin probably didn’t mean to tell him. The bloke was a wizard and that fact was almost as shocking as when Adam had learned his sister was magical as well.

Her wand - he’d only seen it a handful of times - came up to his throat and Adam instinctively took a step back. He had actually never seen voluntary magic from the stick of wood, but he knew it was what she used to control what had one been weird tricks. Oh, that’s just Mary, they’d all said when they were kids.

She pulled him in roughly and he let her. Everything from their hometown was rough and his sister was no different. How many times had they handled one another like this growing up? Adam’s eyebrows shot up in disdain at the start to her sentence, hearing the rest even as she changed course. It made his usual bitterness for her come back with ease and he was reminded why they hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Trust me,” he said, just as coldly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be. I… I think I’m in trouble, Mary. And you’re the only one that can help me.” He wasn’t one to beat around the bush, so he pushed forward. “I think we should sit down so I can tell you about Antonin Dolohov. He’s one of your people.”

No one in their right mind would have ever called Mary sensitive, but goddamn if this whole thing didn’t sting. It’d been so long since she’d last seen Adam and she sure as hell didn’t regret that; it was just hard to reconcile the memories of back when the two had been a proper team to whatever this was.

But any nostalgic thoughts vanished at the mention of Dolohov. “Like hell he is,” Mary snapped immediately. That was the only thing she knew for a fact -- that piece of shit Dolohov wasn’t one of theirs. It still explained nothing though. Her family and magic, those two were separate, always had been. But now here Adam was, talking about a Death Eater, and she struggled to make sense of it. “Forget sitting,” she said, almost incredulous. “Where’d you even hear that name?” Oh, Adam could sit if he had to, but Mary had too much energy to stay still right now. 

Caradoc nodded. “Though I was not close to the explosions, I still heard them,” he said, remembering how what had seemed just another day in Diagon Alley had been shaken to descend in such frenzy. Where once had been just the buzz of people talking, laughing, and arguing over the price of the latest beauty potion or broom model, there were screams of confusion, fear and despair. “Once I was out into the street, it didn’t take long for me to run into my first Death Eater.” He had to pause a moment at the memory of Elleanore Avery, laying unconscious, a moment before he took away her memories as if they were nothing more than weeds. “And not the last, of course. Most of them were going around attacking and terrorising as many people as possible. If they targeted someone in particular it seemed more by chance than design, aside from the targets of the explosions,” he explained, speaking from his own experience. “My first close encounter was like that.”

Mary seemed to stumble upon her words, but he didn’t comment on it. He had seen enough battles to know that trying to piece together what happened even in front of your own eyes was not easy. But he was clearly surprised to hear that Peter had gone after a few Death Eaters on his own. He had never quite pictured him as the type of person to run after the enemy. Maybe James’ death had changed him. Or maybe Caradoc had never understood the young man to begin with. “You couldn’t have, “ he said, shaking his head. “I would haven’t thought him to do such a thing, either. I underestimated him in that regard. Or maybe he simple felt too overconfident,” he suggested, after all now it would be difficult to understand Peter’s choice. “Unless there is something you have noticed, thinking back on it, we won’t know for sure why he did what he did. And you also have to remember that, no matter how hard we we want to and try, in battle we can’t always stick together. It was the same in Diagon Alley.”

It was still hard to wrap her head around the whole thing. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the scale of the attack, maybe with the fact there’d been two of them, but whatever it was, every bit of information only had her frown deepening. “That’s bold, even for them. Diagon Alley of all places, no real targets outside those shopowners… I get they’re sending a message, and it was probably a good distraction for us too, but either there’s even more to it or they can just afford to go bigger.” Which was an issue, clearly. Like it or not, the Order was struggling and with Abbott and the traitor -- or hell, multiple traitors, why fucking not -- things weren’t looking too great. “Do we have any approximates? How many of them were there, how many were taken out?” She didn’t ask about casualties.

He smirked at her flat response. Her abrasiveness reminded him somewhat of Bran, and how unapologetic she was. So instead of being put off, he was almost endeared. “Perhaps they were whiney cunts before you found them then. You can’t be held responsible if you’re as nice as you think,” this was more teasing, more playful. If Mary wished to break him with her sharp remarks, she’d have to try a damn sight harder. She wasn’t even nearly the most stressful thing in this room.

A wry eyebrow lifted at her question about hobbies. So she was above the weather, but hobbies were the best she could summon up. He didn’t remark verbally, but the eyebrow said it all. “I do as it happens.” Thank Merlin for Caradoc and Strongarm giving him the gift of hobbies again. “I garden, I fly. Caradoc’s dad tried to get me into chess but I’ve never been much good at it.” He’d never been much good at thinking 10 moves ahead of himself. Here and now he was fine with, reacting to the other player’s moves, changing his plan with a moments notice, fine, but knowing what he’d do 10 moves down the line, not his forte. He decided not to bring that part up, not if this was an interview. Let Mary decide for herself what him being bad at chess meant. “And you? When you’re not calming people with your sunny disposition?”

He shrugged his tense shoulders at the sensitive comment. Yes, he supposed he was fairy sensitive. Particularly tonight. “I prove my point then.” He wasn’t said with any superiority, or a ‘told you so’ attitude, just a finality. He didn’t have to consider her next question much. “If your plan requires secrecy to work then no, I won’t tell them, but otherwise, I likely won’t keep it from them.”

She had no intentions of finding anything he said funny and so she was almost offended by the snort she let out at his stupid comment. But it wasn’t like she preferred his non-comments either, and the raised eyebrow had her snort turning into a huff. “Sorry, was I supposed to ask what your favourite drink was? ‘Cause we can talk about that too if you prefer.”

It was hard not to wince at his so-called hobbies though. “Sounds… fun.” It really, really didn’t, but she didn’t want to have to think of another topic so she genuinely tried to be interested. “So uh. Is it like potion-making plants? Or just any?” Then flying and chess, well. What was there to say about those? Chess was boring as fuck and Mary hated flying; not much to discuss. The best she could offer was, “Yeah, chess sucks.”

But then the question was turned back to her and she still didn’t know what to say. She did have things she liked doing, just for herself, just for fun, but she wasn’t about to just tell Prewett. Those were personal. “I work,” she said dryly instead and it wasn’t like it was a lie. “And when I have free time, I take extra shifts. It’s super fun.”

Lying in Wait

Frank didn’t have to wait long for someone to come. The help was a tad unexpected; he knew he wasn’t alone in the house (hell, he didn’t even know if people were allowed to stay in the house like they used to with the Potters) but he didn’t think that there had been anyone in the vicinity. 

But of course it had to be Mary.

He didn’t have any actual issue with Mary; there was just something about her that was so disagreeable that there was only one time that Frank had attempted to offer his help–and the offer still stood. But he wasn’t sure that she remembered that. 

If she did, then he really did look a little pathetic now, didn’t he? He bit his lip and glared at her for the comment, not that it would be of any help. 

“No–it’s tea.” Frank strained to speak, looking down on his sodden clothes at the wasted tea. What was it with the fact that he couldn’t make tea anymore? Still, he had been through worse than this, but the wound wasn’t getting much better. “Yes–help me up. I landed on my bad arm, and it’s…”

He hissed, trying not to roll over to get more of the tea all over him. His good hand pressed against the wood to try and prop him up with some difficulty. He got some traction, but it was still slippery.

Oh, Mary was very aware that she was probably one of the least helpful people who could’ve found Frank; she most definitely wasn’t thrilled to be in this situation either so his glare did nothing. Especially when he was looking so damn miserable just lying there in the pool of not-piss.

Still, she didn’t move immediately, not even after the confirmation she was supposed to help him up. All she could do was frown, conflicted. “Uh, isn’t it bad to move injured people or something? Maybe you should-- aaand you’re doing it.” She snapped her mouth shut as he tried to get up on his own and didn’t even have time to roll her eyes before letting out a groan, “Okay, fine. Just. C’mere.” Finally, she reached out to help and since she wasn’t actually as heartless as some assumed, she even tried not to touch his bad arm. Instead, she wrapped her own arms around his torso and tried to pull him up -- kind of like a very awkward hug, she thought vaguely somewhere in the back of her mind.

Nothing. Not even an empty offer to help! Mary just stood there and watched Maddy clear the street from the rabble and talking like none of this was her business. Of course not. It was just like Hestia had said. Some people in the Order only cared about destruction. About death. They didn’t care about fixing afterwards what had been broken, about making long-term plans to figure out what would happen after. No. It was only about the Now. About the enemy right in front of them. Like children and a lack of object permanence. “What do you want from me, Mary?” Maddy asked, stopping in her track when yet another line of condescending questions came her way. “Like, what’s your end-goal here? Do you want me to say, ‘oh no! Are you saying I might face more than three enemies at the same time one day? Well, golly, I better quit all this then and prepare my husband some dinner before he comes home from work’?” Her voice was pushed a little higher, but her accent shifted completely from the rough Irish to a crystal clear, upper-class English. “Do you want me to prove to you that I’m not scared of more people coming my way? Shrug it off and be like ‘oh don’t worry, I can handle it’. Because, obviously, I can’t. I still need to learn, which is what I’m doing right now, am I not? What else do you want me to do? And what on earth are you trying to do? I didn’t get killed. I stunned some Death Eaters. What else do you want? Do you want to scold me for getting myself in danger? Because you’re not my Mum!” A laugh escaped her, the image rather comical to her. “And I tell you, even my Mum would be pretty amused by what you’re doing here. Running after me like I’m a toddler who needs his nappy changed?” She shook her head, grinning now from ear to ear at how ridiculous it was now that she was highlighting it. “What’s next, Mummy? Are you gonna make a spoon-plane fly into my mouth? Are you gonna check if I did my homeworks? Mummy, am I allowed on the TV tonight, please?” Laughing to herself she’d come back, picking up a rather large piece of rabble now.

“Yep,” she said. “I’d rather die than kill someone.” 

Mary could only blink as Warren went on some sort of self-righteous monologue. It should’ve worried her, perhaps, the utter lack of sympathy she felt for the girl. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Be detached enough to save herself the future pain. She was no idiot; people would die. Some of them would be the very same people whose faces Mary saw all the time at meetings. Getting attached would just be dumb. However, detachment also meant desensitization. And so when she saw Warren rant and laugh and lose her shit, Mary only felt a vague sense of pity. It wasn’t enough to soften her up. “Get off your high horse, princess, it’s not all about you so no point in getting all touchy. You’re just new,” she shrugged simply. “I don’t know how you duel, how you deal with shit. And that’s the kinda stuff I’d rather not find out when we’re counting on you during a mission. So I asked and now I know.” Easy as that. She didn’t see why Warren would get so worked up. She didn’t get why she’d be so against killing the people who were trying to kill her. She’d forgotten she used to be like that too; it felt like a lifetime ago anyway. “And take your mummy issues somewhere else, I’m not interested.”

It would probably come as a shock to absolutely no one to find that Mary didn’t usually get any visitors. What was there to visit anyway? She was certainly never in the mood to entertain guests and her flat had exactly two rooms, one of which was the toilet while the other one was everything else; hardly inviting. So when the knock came, over a week after the attack on the Potter estate, her initial reaction was suspicion -- tense, angry suspicion that had her blood pumping and her hand reaching for her wand. But it was immediately followed by logic; Death Eaters didn’t usually knock, in Mary’s experience. And while she didn’t let herself get caught up in the adrenaline rush of a potential duel, she kept her grip on her wand even as she marched forward to yank the door open.

Her wand was at Adam’s neck before she even recognised him. “Adam?” Immediately, she pulled the wand away and moved to glance around behind him, check if he was alone. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She had no idea why he’d be here. 

“Come on. Inside.” She reached out to pull him in, making sure to slam the door behind him, but that was where her certainty ended. She didn’t like surprises and she didn’t like confusion; Adam’s presence meant both. She turned to him, expectant, both eyebrows raised. “The hell? You know you can’t-” be here, she’d been meaning to say. That sounded mean, though. And usually, it wouldn’t bother her but… this was Adam. Mary frowned and tried again, “What are you doing here? Did something happen back home?”

Lying in Wait

House of Bones 3 April 1982, midmorning @marywithoutthelamb​ 

Frank was in a state of waiting. That’s what brought him to headquarters again that Saturday morning, arm straining with Ministry paperwork—it made him unsure if he were grateful that there weren’t more explosions that day, no more smoke rising to the skies were everyone—even the muggles perhaps, with how easy it was to look skyward to see smoke with no source.

No, the Death Eaters didn’t want the complete destruction of Diagon Alley. How was that useful? They’d have to start from the ground up. Frank levitated the teapot, and so deep in his thoughts was he that he wasn’t actually watching what he was levitating; the teapot didn’t drop this time, instead tipping the tea out of it as it collided with the chair.

Frank cursed, setting the teapot on the table and stepping forward to Vanish what had spilled—instead stepping into his own puddle and slipping to the ground, his clothes stained. Though this wasn’t the problem he was having: his wand arm, still nursing the injury, somehow made better and worse by the people who have tried to help him so far, collided with the ground with as much grace as one does when slipping on the tea that they had spilled themselves.

Frank had fallen, and he couldn’t get up. “Hello? Can someone help me?”

That was rock bottom. It had to be. Spending her birthday at the fucking Bones house. Mary wasn’t sure if she was looking for people or if she was actively avoiding them out of sheer embarrassment. But she wasn’t leaving, which in a way made it all the more sad.

In a fucked up way, hearing the call for help was almost a saving grace. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself today, true, but that was one problem solved if Death Eaters had broken in yet again, wasn’t it? Of course that was a whole other problem on its own, a way bigger one, and by the time she opened the door, she’d changed her mind to decide that no, actually, Death Eaters in the headquarters wouldn’t make it all better.

She hadn’t expected this, though.

It normal circumstances, he might have made some quip. ‘Well, seeing as you bring it up it has been unseasonably warm for the time of year don’t you think.’ But his brain was in fight or flight mode and he only just had enough capacity for straight forward conversation, never mind jokes and nuance. Still. “Only every other day, that’s impressive.” It wasn’t quite a joke, the smile, the glint one’s eye, that’s what more often than not set a joke apart, and they were both absent. “What are you doing to stress them out?” He asked. Other than convincing them to walk back into the den of their former addiction, he added silently. “Everyone deals with stress differently. I think whining is one of the safer side effects.” His eyes lingered on her as she took a drink, but eventually he tore his gaze away and took a sip of his water.

He almost chuckled at her astute observation, but he came out as more of a strangled choke. “You don’t have to ask me anything, but don’t blame me if we run out of conversation. I’m not the one too mighty to discuss the weather.” He replied instead. If he talked too much about this, paid it too much attention, it would be unbearable. 

He looked confused, perhaps a little hurt at her question. If it was possible to add any more pain to his expression. “I didn’t ask Edgar or Caradoc.” More to the point, if they had already said no, he wouldn’t have gone behind their backs to find a different answer. “I heard you might have some plans, and I wanted in. You’re telling me that if I’d gone over your head, used my friendship with Edgar and Caradoc to get in on this, then you would have accepted that?” He looked at her with doubt. His impression was that no one could tell Mary to do something she didn’t want to do.

Well, that was just sad. It was like having a conversation with a particularly emotionally-stunted robot -- the words were all there but delivered so painstakingly flatly that you’d think she had a gun aimed at him. “Hell if I know,” she said in a tone to match his, no hint of a joke. “I think I’m very nice. Some people disagree. No idea why.”

But it wasn’t like she preferred silence either. She groaned. “Fine. We’ll talk. Whatever.” She racked her brain for a question; she wasn’t asking him about his favourite colour or any of that shit, that was for damn sure. “So. Have any hobbies that aren’t getting pissed?”

“So much of our information has been leaked by the spy currently sitting in our midst. I believe they’re hungry for it. If we grant them good enough information, it will leak, one way or another,” he replied. He gave it a nod. “How easy, do you think, is it for people to become corrupt?” he asked. “If we made sure our own people got into good positions at the Ministry, how long do you think would it take for them to accept corrupt offerings? To eventually switch sides?” A pause, as he thought about his own question, very much unsure about the answer himself. “I’ve always wondered if corruption is an inherent trait or something one becomes.” Questions which were, perhaps once again deemed unimportant, but which would, in the long, possibly save thousands.

“Oh, Mary,” Edgar sighed, softly. “I was not being petty, so there’s no point in you being petty either.” His wrist was set down on his knee as he looked at her. “When will you learn that I am not the one who keeps anyone from acting? That I make those plans because I want someone to act them out? On the contrary, I’m more than eager to see people take action, and that if you deem a plan good enough for your liking to finally do something, I’m genuinely glad to hear so. Now,” He didn’t have much hope that his words would reach Mary much. He’d said them so often before. “I remind you of two things. The first being that the reason it looks to you like I’m taking my time and stalling on things getting done, is not because I enjoy things taking time, it’s because we are working on extremely thin ice. And as you’ve noted yourself, in our midst, there’s enough people who are being hunted for sport, and I’d rather not give those hunters any more fuel and bullets. Thus why I take time to ensure that our plans are sound.” Or at least as sound as possible… “That even if something goes wrong, we have a back up plan. So people don’t die needlessly.” Which they seemed to do anyway… Sometimes it all seemed so futile. If only Mary could understand that this was very much the reason why he’d not oppose anyone brave enough to start ‘clearing’ the Other Side. “Secondly, just because you don’t see me taking action, does not mean I am not.” 

Too fucking easy, was the answer to his question and it was an answer Mary didn’t like. “Nothing’s a permanent solution,” she said instead. “But any second counts. So if we get rid of his goons even for just a few months, that’s still good enough. And hell, who knows what’ll happen in a few months. ‘Cause yeah, corruption’s easy, but the price rises if it looks like they’re gonna lose.” She scoffed a bit at the last part. “Inherent, chosen, does it matter? The end result’s still the same.”

Maddy gave her an indignant look. “Before Mister Dedalus comes back, of course.” With that, she began moving again, picking up rabble and throwing it into a big trash container she’d organised. “It’s going to be just like he left it, yep yep, if not prettier, and he’s going to be really happy about it.”

Maddy kept her polite smile, even if she thought Mary could be doing more to deserve it. “I nearly got stunned because there were three of them and one of me, and then I kept fighting with Missus Alice by my side and it didn’t happen again, and I am going to Miss Bran’s training, but thank you for the advice.” This felt like in school when you were clearly struggling to do a thing, and your professor told you ‘just do the thing’. Brilliant. So useful. Maddy tossed a piece of rabble into the container. “Of course I haven’t killed any of them, Miss Mary,” she said, appalled by the mere suggestion of it, and grasping onto herself only in the last second by throwing in a ‘Miss Mary’ at the end. “And no, I wouldn’t have. I neither have enough knowledge on the curses that would do so, nor any interest in executing them. That is foul magic and you should know that.”

Warren said that like Mary was supposed to have Diggle’s entire schedule tattooed on her arse and it was almost impressive how quickly it made her lose interest. “Yeah, looking real great,” she said instead, eyeing the rubble. Then again, she couldn’t say she’d have called it ‘pretty’ before the attack either so maybe some people were just into that. Now, the talk about the attack itself was much more interesting on the other hand. Mary raised an eyebrow. “You realise three on one isn’t that bad, right? Hell, it’s as fair as it gets with those fucks. And of course it wouldn’t happen with Alice; she knows what she’s doing.”

“I was,” Caradoc replied, nodding, making no remark about her comments on the others who had been in Diagon Alley that she had talk to so far. Fear was a powerful feeling, and he knew all too well how it could shape memories and sometimes even make a mess out of them. It was also that, “it was a frantic battle. It managed to spill almost along the whole district.” Of course, Diagon Alley proper had been the place that had seen the most destruction, but a few skirmishes had spilled over other streets in the heart of wixen London.

Pettigrew. 

The name had him pause. Not from hesitation, after all there seemed to be little doubt to the fact. “He is,” he said, with his cold and even voice, “it was found enough to identify him, and it seems unlikely that he could escape such a blast and not been seen or heard since. Not with the kind of injures he would most likely have suffered.” There was no way to sugarcoat this, and Caradoc wouldn’t know how to do it if there was one. “Did you see what happened? Can you tell how things have gone down?” he asked, moved solely by a curiosity that was genuine and, as for now, free of judgement.

When other people said something along the lines of, it managed to spill almost along the whole district, Mary usually assumed they were exaggerating. Coming from Caradoc, it made her let out a sharp breath. "Shit." Obviously Voldemort had numbers, that wasn't news, but the reminder of exactly how many goons he had at his beck and call was infuriating. "Were you there for the beginning?"

Bran snorted in amusement. “Sounds an awful lot like my Mum though.” Bran had yet to receive an owl from her mother asking if she was even alive after the attack on Diagon Alley. For all Bethan Yaxley knew, Bran had died that day, and probably didn’t lose any sleep over it.  “Oh, are they? Last time I saw them they looked like they’d seen a ghoul.” A huff. “Or someone’s organs hanging out into his lap.” 

“Never heard ‘bout that in Herbology. For all I know it might just be true.” She let out a laugh, which sounded less like a laugh and more like a ‘Ha!’. “God of the devils. And since you found me, you get one wish, if you want. If I feel like it, I’ll make it come true.”

She absolutely could not care less if anyone back at the house was feeling a little queasy, especially when it was as much on them as it was on Bran. "Shouldn't have let you go in alone then. They don't get to complain about it now." Mary glanced back towards the house for a moment, brows furrowed. After a beat, she turned back to Bran, and the frown turned into half a grin. “And some of it was on the floor, anyway.”

Edgar raised his eyebrows and tried not to look too amused, hiding his smirk by puffing his pipe. Being told to be patient, to quit pushing, now that was what he called self-aware. Though, who knew, perhaps actually planning and doing something herself for a change would finally show her why most actions the Order took, took so long. 

“A plan James made in February. It was supposed to start happening about a week after Vanessa’s Engagement Party.” He didn’t finish the thought. It was obvious why it had not been touched since then. “Just to sniff out the corruption,” he nodded. No matter how little he disagreed with the idea to just … kill the worst of the worst of the Other Side, he knew it wasn’t realistic. You couldn’t kill everyone who collaborated with the Other Side – simply because it would make too many enemies and leave a perforated society. “We have people in the Ministry ourselves. To replace the corrupt ones with ours will result in long-lasting effects, past-… Past the war.” He had not said that in such a long time. Thought about it only in abstract concepts, never in its full wording. Past the war. Planning for a time after Voldemort. How … strange. He cleared his throat. “Now, if you want to ‘clear’ them the definite way, I won’t stop you. However, I will have to insist that you make sure you’re not creating a power-vacuum. Find someone to replace them first, someone better, whatever this means.” Someone more mellow or someone with an actual political stance, it didn’t matter, as long as they had their heart in the right place for now. “The last thing we need is someone in the higher ups who is corrupt deciding that too many people are disappearing and they should just take over  themselves.” 

Oh, there was definitely truth to it. But until now, Edgar had not seen one of those moaners actually do something. Except perhaps Dorcas and her friends – and her energies weren’t exactly constructive. “How lucky we are that you finally have a plan, then,” he replied, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

James' plan. Realistically, that didn't mean much. A plan was a plan, no matter who'd come up with it. And yet, the mention of James had Mary shifting uncomfortably in her seat, as it always did. She hated it.

With a click of her tongue, she shook her head and glanced back down at the list. "This'll come as a shock to you but that's not what I meant. I was talking about those who won't snitch, whether it's 'cause they don't work for Voldemort or 'cause they're smarter than that. So all I'm saying is this test isn't gonna be conclusive either way. Just 'cause someone doesn't leak information, we shouldn't assume that clears them. Although," she looked back at Bones, almost amused. Only almost, of course. "Now that you say it, I do think we should also clear clear some of them. You said it yourself, we have people in the Ministry too. And it's not like it'll be hard to find more power-hungry fools anyway; they just have to be the harmless type of fools. Plenty of those around too."