hurricane.

The second that Frank had walked into the room, he knew that he wouldn’t bring it up unless Alastor did. He knew that the war came with not only casualties but scars, whether physically or emotionally. From what he could tell Alastor had gained one of those scars and Frank wished that he could help take that away more than anything. But, knowing Alastor, the best course of action would be to not bring it up, not try to fix it, and just focus on the task at hand. The fact that Alastor was helping him with this and giving him the chance to fulfill his purpose meant more to him than he could say.

“July, huh?” Months ago, which wasn’t a great sign when it came to missing people. “Disappeared after an attack in muggle London, was considered a target …” He read from the notes, committing the facts to memory, before glancing back toward Alastor. “It’s possible he could be in hiding. Slim chances, but it’s never impossible. We should probably look into any family and friends, trace him back …” And just saying that brought a jolt of excitement into Frank, even if the subject matter was rather bleak. “Alastor –” he began, appreciation crossing his features as he handed back the notes. “I just wanted to say thank you, for letting me help out. It was driving me bloody mental after everything that happened, but I’m sure you know how that can be better than anyone.”

Alastor had always respected Frank’s skills as a wizard and an auror. He spent most of his time looking down his nose at the other people in the auror’s office, mostly because he felt like they were tough on all the wrong people (which he now realized was by design) but Frank was always willing to do what needed to be done, and that too for the right cases. Not the ones that Alastor thought were a waste, or were persecuting the wrong people. Of course, all of that changed when they got laid off, but thankfully, Alastor’s skills managed to find a second life in his office. It would be cruel not to offer that same second life to Frank. 

“Unfortunately.” They both knew what that meant; this wasn’t a manhunt anymore, but a corpse retrieval. Alastor was going to put his all into finding the kid, but he wasn’t going to hold out hope. It was better these days to let go of hope and face the realities of their world rather than holding onto something that only caused more pain. “I haven’t been able to find all the magical hideouts here—” Alastor pointed at the map on the wall with his wand, drawing a circle of light around the northeastern part of the city. As aurors, they had been trained in sniffing out these kinds of hideouts, but it was much easier to do with a team, rather than alone. “If he’s in hiding, my money’s there.” Alastor paused when Frank spoke again, tilting his head to the side for a moment before he just shrugged. “No need to thank me. I needed the help anyway.” He didn’t, but he wanted Frank to feel needed. Alastor knew that he always felt better when he was needed. 

“Probably not – but I’ve never been that good at backing down. So we’ll see how it goes.” Sarcasm in the face of an all-over serious situation due to the fact that Mary was never great at dealing with them. Whenever she was at the end of someone’s wand, when she had been literally tied up by someone – she would make her remarks and laugh while she still could. Hell, it would likely be the way that she would go; talking shit until the very end. Yet this… was difficult than in the past. It was, ironically, more difficult to make stupid remarks when it was Alastor was injured than when it was herself.

Fuck, she could use a little therapy.

Finally stopping the twirling of her wand, Mary’s leg continued to bounce slightly while she refrained from rolling her eyes. “Of course you can. What we can do and what we should are often two different things.” It wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair that he, of all people, came out of the fight like this.

It should have been her.

But it wasn’t, and now he was asking for her help. So she got her shit together, took a deep breath and raised her wand. Doing as he asked – as always. “Renati.”

Alastor liked Mary because she was so sarcastic. His sarcasm was a lot darker most of the time, but it was still enjoyable to have someone else around who wouldn’t do the overreacting, worrying thing that Alastor hated. He hated when people fussed over him. It was enough to drive him crazy—and it was why he hadn’t tried to call anyone in the Order who was actually a Healer. Most of them would have treated Alastor too much like broken glass. At least this way, Mary still treated him like he was himself, and he didn’t have to think so much about the trauma that he went through because of this stupid eye. 

“There’s no point in bickering with me about what’s already done,” he pointed out. Alastor knew that he probably should have sought help immediately after he had gotten injured, but he wasn’t the kind of person who could just leave things unfinished—even after he had a terrible thing happen to him. Alastor was always better at ignoring the terrible things than facing them, and he couldn’t quite tell if that made him strong or sad. 

When she uttered the spell, Alastor’s hand curled around the arm of the chair he was sitting in, the knuckles turning white as he felt a burning sensation start from the wound and spread though his face. He held his breath, knowing that if he let it out, it would only come out as a groan of pain—so he said nothing until the feeling was starting to pass, and he could finally release the breath he had held in his chest. He sighed heavily, almost gasping for breath. 

“And that’s it,” he said, patting down his pockets until he found the eye patch he had fashioned out of a scrap of fabric—the remnants of an old t-shirt—that he had transfigured into a soft covering for his eye and the scars that now surrounded the empty space. With his nerves healed, he could get another eye, and that was what mattered. That, however, would have to happen another day. 

Mary, as she so often was, found that she was at war with herself. Torn between her instincts which were to ramble on – why the moon? Where did it come from; why was that such a popular superstition? How did he feel about ladders, black cats? Speaking of – how did Alastor feel about cats, period? How would he react to Selina? Though that was likely an introduction that would never happen. An endless string of thought ran through her mind, one question always connecting to another. It was one of the things that helped keep her up at night; her mind never shut off.

The other rational part of her was saying to maybe just… back off for once. Just let him be. He shared what he had chosen to, and she should accept that for what it was. It was nice after all; refreshing, to learn something about him. About his family. Maybe if she shut up for once he would be more willing to open up in the future. So for once, Mary decided to just smile in amusement, quickly glancing over at him before nodding. “Okay.” As simple as that; not pushing or prodding or wanting more. Just an acceptance as they continued to walk along.

Alastor kept his hands shoved into his pockets, unsure of why he had said anything at all. It was strange for him to try and talk about himself, to try and talk about his mother, and so he often avoided saying anything at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke about his family at any length—perhaps he had mentioned them in passing here and there, like he had with Mary just then, but Alastor was never the kind of person to dwell on the past. Perhaps he should have spent some more time in the past. Perhaps he would have found some more comfort in reminiscing about the stories his mother told him as a child, or riding on a broomstick with his father, or running through the rolling hills behind his childhood home in Scotland with his younger brother. 

But Alastor didn’t see the value in it—instead, he thought it would be a waste of time. He thought that it would just mean that he was weak or that he was spending too much time thinking about himself and his tragedies. He didn’t want to dwell on tragedy. That would be too much for his already broken heart to take. Alastor wanted desperately to shift the conversation from himself to her, but he didn’t have to; Mary dropped it, and he felt instantly lighter. “It’s probably about time you get home,” he said. “It’s not safe to be out after night.” 

They didn’t need to talk about the eye, and Alastor was perfectly fine with that. He was sure Frank would ask at some point, but as long as Alastor could avoid talking about the eye patch over the left side of his face, he was more than happy to keep quiet about it. Instead, he was looking through a file full of his chicken-scratch handwriting, flipping through the pages as he tried to find exactly what he was looking for. Alastor, for all of his precision, was terrible at keeping track of all the thoughts he put down on paper—the file was about three inches thick, and full of his terribly written notes. 

Finally extracting the paper he wanted, he squinted at it with his remaining eye. “These are the notes from the initial meeting.” He handed it to Frank before leaning back in his chair and rifling through the papers some more. “He’s been missing since July. I’m not sure if we should be holding out for much hope.” Alastor, if jaded, was definitely realistic about the people they could save. If someone was missing for months, in their current climate, that usually meant they were dead—or worse. 

Alastor knew that it was probably a bad idea to be out all night so freshly healed from his injuries, but that certainly wasn’t going to stop him. He pressed his lips together, sitting on the stoop outside of Flourish and Blotts with a stupid bloody patch over his eye, feeling like a moron. 

He had just closed up his own office, having carefully hidden it away between the two buildings. Alastor had plans to go on patrol that evening, but he was just waiting for the last of dusk to cast a shadow over the street and make it truly night before he left. 

And, just his luck, he saw Rodolphus. Even with his terrible depth perception, he could tell that Rodolphus had been there for too long by how close he had managed to get without Alastor noticing him. Fuck. He was going to have to rethink going on patrol if he was that impaired. 

A heavy sigh as she listened to his explanation, wondering exactly how she was meant to feel now. “Well – that puts me in a bit of an awkward situation because I was ready to kill whoever did this to you, and now you’re telling me that I have to kill you. Which honestly I don’t think is a fight I would win, so I’m just torn.” Fully joking around, though Mary meant her remark about not winning against him; though that was one duel she in which she had full faith would never happen.

Still, it was surprising. She never took him for the type to make mistakes, the one who would apparate and actually splinch themselves. It was something she would expect from herself, but not Alastor. Perhaps in the future she would tease him about it. Perhaps. But not now.

Though knowing her, there would be some pirate comments in the future.

“Things to fucking do,” she muttered under her breath. “Fuck Albus. You lost your fucking eye.” Honestly, the priorities of some people. “And I’m assuming Albus didn’t know but if he did, he’s going on the kill list.” Again, another duel she was bound to fail, but she was full of rage and picking all the battles.

Settling down across from him, Mary twirled her wand aimlessly in one hand, a nervous habit she had developed over the years. “Absolutely not.” She was great at charms; it had been her best class (aside from Astronomy) back in Hogwarts and it was what saved her ass time and time again. But this…. This she had no experience in. Still. Her hand stilled, gazing at his face before continuing. “I’m sure I could though.”

“You can feel free to kill me, but that might prove difficult.” Alastor leaned forward so that she would have better access to look at the wound, surrounded by ugly scar tissue—probably avoidable with a few drops of dittany, but Alastor couldn’t think about that too much, instead just wanting to move on as quickly as possible. Besides, whatever spell had been cast on his face, it worked and it had allowed Alastor to continue on with everything Albus needed to get done. 

It was more important than himself. Alastor always talked about something bigger at Order meetings—this was that something bigger. This was the feeling of rising above personal problems and working towards something that might mean something. That was how Alastor convinced himself that this was the right choice. 

Or...well, Alastor was more than a little crazy. 

“I can live without an eye,” he replied. “I’m living without an eye, currently.” Alastor gestured towards the wand. “Hold it firm and say this word: renati. It might feel like there’s some resistance, but you just need to keep holding it.” Alastor wasn’t going to mention the pain he’d be feeling—they’d deal with that later. 

Anyone else hearing the conversation would likely tell Mary to just stay quiet – to allow him to speak, as it was a rarity that Alastor would open up. It was probably the logical thing to do; only that had never been her strong suit. She often spoke to the point of exhaustion, always having something to say or trying to find it. Whether it be to fill an otherwise awkward silence or to merely try and lift the mood of the atmosphere. It wasn’t often that she felt comfortable enough to just sit back and be; but that wasn’t the case with him. Mary didn’t have a go at him just for the sake of it (even if that was sometimes the only reason), it was just how she operated around him. It came naturally, and so when he spoke, an automatic pout appeared on her face.

“Now that’s just rude – blaming bad things on the moon. It gives us light and something beautiful to stare at every single night, and that’s the thanks it gets when it reveals its whole form? Shameful, Moody.” Slowly shaking her head for emphasis, her gaze naturally gravitated upwards. It so often did, regardless of it being the point of the conversation or not. “I’ve heard that before though. I don’t know – I think there’s too much trouble lately to try and figure out when it’s going to happen.”

Alastor wasn’t good with conversation, but he had been told (by Albus, mostly, though Greg had definitely gotten a few choice words about the way Alastor interacted with other people. If Greg hadn’t gotten that assignment, they would have been at the top of this stupid heap together, but instead, Alastor was on his own most of the time and he didn’t know how he was supposed to take care of the other people in the Order without hexing someone. It was always supposed to be someone else, some other person’s responsibility. Alastor could plan, could strategize. He didn’t know how to deal with anything else. 

“My mum always was superstitious about the moon,” he replied, ducking his head again to keep walking down the street. That was enough about him, wasn’t it? He had done the right thing—he’d have to note this conversation down as one of the better ones. Alastor, for once, was feeling pretty pleased with himself. 

“Oh uh– what’d he say?” James was ready to do whatever asked of him, as usual, he was ready to dive into work to form a new plan for the Order’s next move. James nodded carefully at Alastor’s words, “I know– I know that. I’m just— this is going to sound super shit of me, but I’m not good with that stuff. When my parents died the nurse didn’t really tell me in a way that was kind to my emotions so uh… I don’t know how to handle those things properly..”

“He has things for us to do. And this is at the top of the list.” Alastor was going to have to take care of whatever the Order needed above his own needs—even if that meant pretending like the eye that should have been there still was. “No one is good at this stuff. But it must be done.” He paused. “I found out my brother died from the Death Eaters who killed him,” he added, putting a sheet of names in front of James. The don’t let that happen to anyone else was certainly implied. “Call them.”