waiting for the knife

Somewhere, deep down in the mess that is sitting before her, is a man that she knew. There are glimmers of him if she looks just right, which is hard to do. He is just so aggravating– the kind of aggravating that makes her twist in her sheets when she’s laying in bed bitter and alone. But she needs him, and he needs to know that she needs him. Beneath the layers of grim the ephemeral quality he has, that he’s always had, is still pulsating, drawing her in even though history has repeated told her that he will be nothing but trouble for her. 

“That’s why I came here. Maybe trying to find a loophole makes me a bad auror, or at least a hypocrite. But no one is listening and I’m tired of waiting.” It took everything in her not to be fatigued by the moving parts of her life that all seemed to be forever paused. 

She shrugged– one minute he could see through her, the next his sight was gone. “I’m fairly certain the movie and takeaway I had planned in my flat have flexible schedules, Al.” She peers around him at the picture he’s holding, her mind flipping back into auror mode. “What’s got you frowning like that?”

“Have it your way then.” He mumbles, even though this is the way he’d rather have it too. He missed her in the usual ways-when he got up alone in the morning, when he was drunk enough to cry, on Christmas; but he also missed her every time someone walked in his door with a mystery. She was the best-maybe sometime his ego would let him tell her that. But working with her, despite what he wanted to tell himself, made him better.

Amelia Bones was the best partner he’d ever had, in every sense, and he’d fucked it all to shit. 

“These are hand tied.” He says, pointing at the marks on the dead man’s wrists.

“Magic ropes leave burns, not bruising. So we’re dealing with a muggleborn or halfblood or someone who knows muggles-at least enough to tie a knot without magic. That’d take some time so, whereever he’s killing them....he’s not in a rush.”

He glances at her. “Secondary location drop off, obviously, you know that.” He sighs. 

Amelia rolls her eyes– she forgot just how quickly he was able to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

She chooses to not brush over his comment, her heart twisting despite it. It’s the whiskey, and the passage of time that is easier to pretend wasn’t littered with seeping wounds of frustration that they’d never be able to reconcile. Alastory Moody and closure did not seem coexist. 

Her eyes land on one of the images and she’s hit with the quick falsh of nausea that happens when she forgets to look at crime scenes through the eyes of an auror. It all goes to sidewyas when she remembers that they’re  more than just a puzzles to solve. 

“Catching is preferable, but striking back if it’s not possible. I need to stop this by whatever means necessary.” She flicks one of the photos over so she doesn’t have to look at it anymore. 

“Do you think that you’re up for it?”

“Aye. Are you?” His voice catches in a way he ignores, softer than he’d like, but that’s always going to be the case when it comes to Amelia. He clears his throat. 

“I can uh, “ He frowns as he scratches at the back of his head. He can’t quite remember the last time he took a shower. He watches her watch him with mild disgust and decides he’s going to have to literally clean up his act if she’s around. Wait, what does that matter? Why does she care if she’s disgusted by him?

Sex his brain helpfully thinks when he watches her purse her lips. Alastor sighs and shakes the thought away from his brain, knowing its something much more than that, it always has been with her, and not wanting to explore that any further, he picks up the photo she flipped over and stares at it. 

“Look, we both know how capable you are, eh?” He says, glancing over the top of the photo at her. “But-” He cracks his knuckles. “There might be ways of dealing with this that go against that bloody oath we both know you’re bound to.”

“I could just take care of it, ‘Melia. Merlin owes I know you.” He can’t look at her again so he stares blankly at the photo. “This kind of shit...” he doesn’t finish his thought, knowing she won’t hear it but hating that she’s subjected to these horrible things. Cases like this should be reserved for lost causes just like himself.

“It wouldn’t take me much, and without regulations....you could make plans this weekend.”

“Actually, that’s a fact, Ex-Auror Moody.” 

She follows him into the room, wishing that she had been surprised by his response. But Alastor was nothing if not a creature of habit to her, and it wasn’t his sunny disposition that had brought her to his door step. 

She takes the drink in hand, immediately putting it down on the nearest surface. The accursation of being a snitch to Barty Crouch burns her, but not enough for a retaliation, as it’s an accusation based in truth. The early days of her career had seen her be only the loyalest of rule followers, a devout belief in the system and the structure that she knew, when followed properly, would lead to justice and equity. But years of watching the system be abused, of sickles being thrist into the right pockets and guilty men walk free had inclined her to see Moody’s way a bit more, that perhaps the right thing was not always in line with the laws that were governed for them. 

“Crouch would much rather prefer to pretend that you’re dead in a ditch somewhere. I’m here for me, Moody.” She pauses, sliding out the picture of the victims from the envelope so that they’re fanned across the table. “And for them. We both know that you weren’t fired due to lack of ability.” 

-

“A ditch, eh? Quite generous of him. Do you think he wanks off to the thought of it?”

He stares at Amelia for a little too long and distracts himself by knocking back the glass of whiskey. He sighs, not looking at her now, staring at the photos. Gruesome shit. 

That itch, the one he couldn’t not scratch, perks up again in the back of his brain, beating against the wall of drunkeness. 

It might be a nice break from cheating spouses and taking out business rivalaries. That’s the only reason he’s considering it.

Alastor finds her eyes and knows he’s a liar and about as worthless as she thinks he is. 

“I forgot how fuckin’ pretty you are.” 

Another lie. Whiskey. It’s the whiskey that makes him sound so sad. That has to be it. Alastor sighs again. He picks up one of the crime scene photos-there’s a tiny Chudley Cannons pin on the collar of this man’s coat. Festive. Hopeful. A lie too. 

“So...what?” He sucks a little on his teeth, putting the photo back down and turning back to fill another whiskey glass.

He looks like hell. Though she couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t look like hell. The scent of stale booze wafted towards her and she couldn’t her but grimace– Her eyebrow lifts, unimpressed. “You somehow manage to have a home and be homeless simultaneously. Charming.” She was not charmed. 

She doesn’t wait for the invitation she knows isn’t coming. Instead she takes a delicate step in, her heel just grazing a wadded us newpaper before she is in his vestibule, where the stench has become more noticeable. Amelia shakes it off before continuing. She puts on hand in her bag, rummages around for a second before pulling out a slim blue envelope. She knows that Alastor isn’t going to take her request well– she’d be more surprised if he did, actually. But it isn’t about comfort, or peace for the two of them, who probably would’ve gotten on better if they never spoke to one another again. But she needed the best, and despite his aroma and general appearance, he was the best. 

“Take a look at this, think about it for at least four seconds, and tell me what you think.” She handed over the file for the criminal that had been plaguing amelia for the past few weeks. Men, found with marks that confused the hell out of her, had been showing up around London. Just when she thought she’d nailed down an idea of who she was looking for, she’d find something else– she was no closer to finding the person than when they first left their mark, but a steady stream of bodies– one every three days– was beginning to pile on her doorstep. 

He takes the file but doesn’t look at it.

"One...two....three....”

Alastor glances at her, holds her eyes and then opens the file. He points at one of the photos.

“That’s a dead guy. And this-” He points to the Magical Law Enforcement seal on the file before he closes it and hands it back to her.

“Means it’s not my fucking problem.” 

He pushes his fingers through his hair and its so greasy it sticks up. He wanders around to his desk and retrieves a bottle of whiskey, taking a shot right out of the bottle. Al grimmaces and looks over at her.

“I was fired. That’s my opinion, Auror Bones.”

The ghost of his manners is the the only thing that prevents him from spitting on the floor. He waves his wand and two dusty spotted glasses appear. He pours her a drink and sends it over to her, levitating in the air beside Amelia. 

Alastor squints, closing his left eye to really focus. He rocks backwards and forwards, trying to gain the right kind of power and momentum-the knife is balanced perfectly between his index finger and thumb. 

He has his shot lined up, he leans back, starts to throw-

Someone knocks on is door three times in quick succession. Al jumps and consequently,his knife misses the dart board completely.

“Blast!” Moody glares at the picture of Crouch he has on the bullseye and heads downstairs to his office. Office might be a general term, but it was the space that had a door to the street and cluttered desk that technically held case files. His clients didn’t come to him for his organization abilities, and he didn’t give enough of a shit to have any.

Moody pulls his knife off of the wall and straps it back into his boot, he wields his wand, wary of the knocking. He checks the foe glass he keeps right by the staircase down-everyone is as blurry as usual, but he’s pretty sure Dolohov flips him off. Moody chuckles, then stiffens when the knocking comes again, harsher.

“Seven hells!” He shouts-it’s 2pm, if someone wants to try him in the light of day, he wouldn’t mind getting some aggression out. He stomps down the stairs and shouts as loud as he can. “I fucking heard you-” 

Alastor opens the door and sees Amelia Bones. If he’d been slightly drunker, he would’ve thrown up. He sets his jaw and swallows hard, and looks her right in the eye. He wills his emotions to die, or better yet, come to life and murder him right there.

“What do you want?”