#ainsleyabbott

Location: Ainsley’s apartment, London Time: Noon, December 22nd Status: Closed, for @ainsleyabbott

“Remind me, what’s the first rule of research?"

It was not unheard of that Edgar would just start a conversation already mid-conversation. Especially around people he trusted and knew didn’t need a long-winded introduction to keep up with what he was saying. However, it was rather rare that he just showed up on their stoop without even sending an Owl first to announce his visit.

This, together with the lack of softness that typically surrounded his every feature, every word and every question-like opinion, it was obvious that Edgar was not here to philosophise. This was not the faithful, good-hearted, willing-to-believe-anything Edgar. This was the Edgar barely anyone ever got to see because he was buried beneath so many emotions he usually made sure to never even have.

Peter Pettigrew was a broken man. He was alive; that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? That he was alive, that he would continue to have a place to live and the safety net of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord behind him? He was alive and safe, but at what cost?

James Potter had been killed. And then they’d found out. Found out about him being a Death Eater, found out about how he’d been passing information, found out that it was partially his fault. They’d sought him out, calling for his death, and Peter had thought that would be the worst of it. Those he loved, acting like he’d never meant a thing to them, like he’d never been family, and calling for his head on a stick. They wanted him dead, and didn’t care to listen to him anymore, if they ever even had before.

But losing James had caused the Death Eaters to get an advantage. Them being after Peter had left an opening. And, when Diagon Alley exploded, Sirius, Remus, and Lily, had all been murdered in the blast, along with so many other members of The Order. That hadn’t been his fault completely; Peter had gone into hiding, and the Dark Lord had commissioned another Death Eater to pretend to write a letter from Peter, asking them to meet him there. But they’d all died, thinking that it was all Peter’s doing.

Maybe it was. Maybe this was what he got, for being so desperate to survive, to live, to find someone to follow and have them keep him safe. The Order hadn’t been able to do it, but the Death Eaters had. But in his effort to worry more about keeping himself alive, he’d lost the one thing that had really mattered the most to him; the family that had chosen him at Hogwarts, and who he’d loved more than anything. He’d sacrificed love for survival.

Had they ever even loved him? Had they been real family though, or had they all along seen him as the tag-a-long who wasn’t wanted, who didn’t deserve to be a Marauder. Maybe if they’d never put up with him, they’d have been safe. Maybe if they hadn’t let him in, none of this would have happened. Maybe if they’d just let those bullies in school take care of him, get rid of him, their lives would have been a lot easier. Perhaps that’s what they’d thought in their final moments. They should have never allowed Peter Pettigrew to be around them.

Something inside Peter had broken when the news of their deaths reached him. Some naive part inside of him had hoped, had been begging, for them to give him a chance, to let him explain, to allow him to repent. Had there ever been a chance of redemption? Had there ever been a chance of them helping him, instead of condemning him to death? Or was he doomed from the start, that they’d never have tried to pull him back to the light? Maybe he was never meant to be saved. Maybe he was only meant to destroy.

And, destroy he was going to do. All that kept racing through his mind was Ainsley Abbott. How she had murdered James Potter. How it had been her spell that had hit him. How none of it would have happened, if she would have just left James alone. How this was her fault. Her fault. Her. Fault.

That was why he’d come out of hiding. Why he’d showed up at the Daily Prophet, standing out in front of the building where he knew that Ainsley worked. He was shaking, and looked a mess. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, and just had a look in his eyes that was clear, he wasn’t fully there anymore. Pushing the doors open, he made his way through the hall, knowing exactly where her desk was. He’d planned this, over and over in his head, and now it was time.

Ainsley looked up as he approached, and he couldn’t read the expression on her face. Shock to see him alive? Fear at seeing how much of a mess he was? Pity at knowing what had happened? His mind couldn’t figure it out, and it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered now, was doing what he’d come here to do. “Peter--” She’d started to speak, but he wasn’t going to let her.

“Murderer!” His voice cracked, weak from months of disuse, sounding off-kilter like his look. He saw her going for her wand, but he was faster; “Crucio!” He snarled out then, voice sounding unlike himself; damaged, dangerous, and full of a fury and rage that he’d never shown before. This was the voice of a man who’d lost himself completely; and Peter had, because once he’d realized all of his friends were gone and he was left alive and alone, what was there for him anymore?

There were people running, and he knew he didn’t have time anymore. He moved closer to Ainsley, grabbing her by her shirt, wanting to look her in the eye as he did this. She was struggling, in so much pain still from the curse, trying to get to her wand, to try and get away from him, to free herself and fight. “This is for them,” He snarled out at her, pointing his wand directly at her chest, and then whispering out the spell that she had used on James.

Can we just be done with the FBI agent lady now? I find myself fast forwarding past any scene she’s in, and she’s not even good at her job, to boot.

I wonder if this scare will provoke Martin into an escape attempt, especially if he finds out Watkins is still alive. (Surely TPTB wouldn’t be stupid enough to incarcerate them both in the same place.)

@ainsleyabbott​

Artem didn’t mind a good party, but they still weren’t sure how they felt about being at one like this. It felt a bit like, “We failed but didn’t die!” which didn’t compare at all to the muggle clubs they’d spent time in. Those had been lots of people and dancing, and even if most people were strangers, it didn’t matter. Here people were theoretically not strangers, but Artem couldn’t say they were particularly comfortable among the crowd.

As they sipped on their second glass of clearly spiked punch for the night, Artem noticed Ainsley wandered in their general direction. Artem didn’t know if she’d seen them, so they slipped away from the wall and toward her. “Ainsley,” they called, just loud enough to be heard but hopefully not attract other attention. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

Artem didn’t have a lot of people in the Order they’d necessarily call friends, but Ainsley was one of them. What had started as simple conversations to keep her spinning on theories had quickly become closer in school, at least on Artem’s end. If someone had asked, they might have even called her a friend.

“So are we taking bets on if it’s alcohol or some kind of giddiness potion in the punch? I can’t actually tell the different, but with some people, it’s kind of hard to tell.

Date: January 10, 1982 Location: Potter Estate @ainsleyabbott​

James had asked Ainsley here with a purpose. He hadn’t heard anything about Frank or the possibly betrayal since he had talked to Caradoc and Edgar about it. Edgar had gone off to get Ainsley said of the story - the ever researcher, always making sure they had all the facts before making a decision. But that was the last James knew.

In fact, Frank was still going to work every day - still on the field in the Order. Nothing had come out of this. Nothing had changed. It hadn’t been brought up any further in inner circle meetings due to Alice’s presence - not to mention Moody, who was also an Auror, though completely on their side. 

But James hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t stopped wondering what this meant for them - what the next steps were. If Caradoc and Edgar weren’t going to take this threat seriously, it didn’t mean James himself just had to drop it. While he wanted to do what was right... he couldn’t just blindly follow the same rules as everyone else. Change had never happened that way.

He’d secured them a room on the third floor - away from prying eyes or listening ears. This was his house, after all. He knew the secret passages, the places that were best for an unheard conversation. This room was behind a tapestry that looked nothing more than simple art. Sirius used to smoke in here.

“Ainsley,” James greeted when she entered. “Find the place alright? I wanted to be specific in the letter without giving away too much suspicion. I called you here to talk about Frank.”

@ainsleyabbott​

A roar of green flame announced Ainsley’s arrival. So did the clatter of knees and elbows on hard flooring as she tumbled out of the grate in her haste and sprawled forward painfully. Hissing and cursing under her breath at the sting, she thrust herself to her feet without once properly ceasing her – somewhat stuttering – forward motion. In one hand she clutched a copy of The Daily Prophet so fresh off the presses that its ink was still damp enough to stain the fingers curled around its crumpled length.

“Oi – anyone here?” Ainsley half-yelled, half-coughed; she had been in such a rush to go through the floo that she had made the rookie mistake of inhaling after she spoke her destination, and had gotten a mouthful of soot for her pains. “There’s news – bad – I’m sorry, I only just found out when we went to press, another editor was proofing the story, I swear I would have owled right away if I’d known sooner–”

Her flood of words stopped dead when she locked eyes with the only other occupant of the room. Ainsley made herself straighten up, take a deep breath, and say firmly, “Evans. Lily Evans. She’s been taken in by the M.L.E.P. for questioning. The Prophet is taking the position that….well.” She winced, looked down at the bedraggled newspaper in her hand, and up again. “It’s not great,” she admitted unhappily.

An understatement if ever there was one – but then, the only stories the Prophet had ever published in the Order’s favor had probably been by accident.

With the door locked behind him, Frank retreated further into the Potter home. Having lived in a place so similar himself, he still saw the Potter Estate as a house rather than a headquarters. It just seemed a little ridiculous that James chose not to really use it as one—though Frank would rather hold that opinion of him than to admit that perhaps a flat of his own with Alice would have been preferable than living in his childhood home.

Something thudded not too far from him; he quickly hopped from the sitting room to where Ainsley Abbott choking on soot. Frank leaned down and reached for her arm to help her up as she sputtered something about the Prophet—not that she needed it. He stepped back as she managed to stand on her own. “That doesn’t—sound good—questioning about what, the fountain? What position? Did she tell them anything?”

tw: death   yeah no shit sherlock

“Do it.”

“No.”

Date: November 24, 1981 Location: Classified (abandoned building overlooking an assumed Death Eater safe house) @ainsleyabbott​

These ‘missions’ felt like nothing sometimes. When James had joined the Order, he had pictured ducking hexes and catching Death Eaters every other day. Not sitting around in a Muggle construction site that would be eventually turned into high-class flats for rich Muggles. He was thankful for magic - after all, they wouldn’t be able to catch them up here. Though the banging around on the lower floors was getting awfully annoying.

They weren’t here for the new flats - the building just gave a nice overlook to what they were actually looking for. It was rumored that a Death Eater meeting point was often held across the way. But the Death Eaters surely had spells to keep people out and to stop wandering eyes from looking. So it was rather useless, sitting here and trying to catch a shift of a robe or a wand.

Still, James stayed positive, even though he was bored. They had to do these sort of jobs in order to make real change happen at some point. He just sort of wished he wasn’t one who had been assigned. Wasn’t that what his position in the inner-circle was for? So he didn’t have to take the shit jobs like this? 

He shifted, bending his knee so he could rest his elbow on it, holding up one of the new sets of Omnioculars to his eyes. They were a brand new product that had just been released, though the features were laggy and sometimes unreliable. Still, James had gotten twelve new sets for the Order to use on missions. To no thanks from anyone, of course. It was an expectation he would just give up his money these days, it seemed.

“Still nothing,” he said to Ainsley, leaning back to try the replay feature. It was choppy, moving slowly. “You see anything?”