#drweek1

@swearwolfremus

Alice could have gone home after work, but that would have meant facing Frank and she couldn’t do that right now -- not with her nerves singing the way they were. He would be able to tell and, worse, he would want to help. To reassure her, to make her feel better, to offer comfort. And if he did that, she might scream.

Not wanting to scream at her new husband for things that weren’t his fault, Alice had instead elected to swing by Headquarters for the Order on her way home; perhaps there would be something there that needed doing and at the least, she could feel perfectly justified in getting home late with that excuse even if all she ended up doing was drinking tea in the back room by herself.

A cup of tea was probably exactly what she needed just now, in fact. Alice hung her cloak on the crowded rack of hooks inside the front door (never an indication of how many of her fellow members were in the building; they kept so many spare cloaks hanging there just in case someone needed to grab one that it was always crowded even when the place was empty), kicked slush off her boots, and strode quickly down the chilly hallway to the study. It was a good place for making a cup of tea, with lots of old chairs and a fireplace large enough for floo travel. (The kitchen would never do; Alice could hardly bring herself to set foot in a kitchen, knowing as she did that no respectable witch would ever be caught dead in a proper house’s kitchen which was the undisputed domain of the elves!) She wasn’t the only one to think so, which was why said fireplace held the permanent addition of a kettle with a wire rack to swing it in over the flames.

Alice was halfway across the room before she realized that it wasn’t empty; when she saw who else was in there, she stopped dead. Her eyes went wide and her shoulders tensed, making her bad arm twinge, as she stared at Remus Lupin -- the werewolf -- bent over the kettle. If she had only crept inside quietly, she might have turned and slipped out again with him none the wiser, but Alice was sure that he had heard her arrive; if she wanted to leave she would need an excuse, and what excuse could she offer? Less than a year ago the two of them had been cheerfully trading tea tips and preferences, comparing favorite blends and arguing over appropriate flavorings. Less than a year ago, Alice would have been delighted to join him for a cuppa, finding Remus to be surprisingly adept and well-schooled in the art of drinking tea properly. Less than a year ago, she had thought he was human. Now...

Now she plastered a smile onto her face, took a deep breath, and said in a hearty voice, designed to hide her discomfort, “You wouldn’t happen to have enough water in there for two, would you?” Part of her hoped he would say no; part of her hoped he wouldn’t.

“But--but I don’t understand.” Dedalus had said that morning, standing flabbergasted in Gringot’s Lobby. “I am cooperating with you. Why on earth would you control my assets?” 

What he didn’t ask, and what he worried over later, was is this for my family, too?

He thought of it later, opening and closing his Daily Prophet at a cafe. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. He counted six times. Sometimes that made him feel better but it didn’t today: today the headline stayed the same and he still didn’t have any answers. The day before he had visited Saint Mungo’s but already he could feel his test tighten and little jolts of--it was pain, wasn’t it?--run along his arms like an electric current. 

“It’ll be fine.” He said to himself, to whomever might be sitting near by. “No reason to be nervous. They’d certainly...” He very nearly caught himself on the last words and so he coughed delicately and soothed the fake with a cup of tea. He hadn’t been out of the house without his favorite pair of green velvet gloves since he got his own letter summoning him. He would have felt silly wearing yellow and those damned green gloves if they didn’t make him feel better. “Well, it’d be inhumane to leave mother without the funds for a proper supper, surely.”

@tenderperennial

To say that Alice was irritated would be making an understatement of enormous proportions. Alice was seething...and there was nothing she could do about it. She had been given orders, and she would follow them; she wasn’t in a position to buck or balk right now, not with her own interview on the matter of her suspected involvement with the Order of the Phoenix looming on the horizon.

At least it gets you away from your desk, Alice told herself in what was meant to be a soothing thought.

She wasn’t soothed; she was an Auror for Merlin’s sake, and here she was being sent to babysit some Muggle! This was a task for the most junior members of the MLEP, not an accomplished Auror like Alice Ros--Longbottom! But it was her task, and with her wand-arm all but useless and her loyalty in doubt, it was probably the best she could hope for. Perhaps things would change after the inquest was over...but for the moment, she needed to be on her best behavior, so she picked up her pace and strode through the doors to the little lobby in front of the lifts.

She had planned to get there before the Muggle, but only barely; while Alice was in no hurry to spend more time at the cage of her desk she also had no desire to waste any more of her time on this farce than necessary, but as it turned out she was waiting for several minutes before the doors of the lift rattled open and disgorged Petunia Evans and her two-agent escort. “What took you so long?” Alice snapped, glaring at the agents; one of them shook his head tiredly while the other just smirked at Alice and rolled her eyes toward the Muggle. They barely waited for the woman to step out of the lift before they pounded the lift button and were whisked away.

Alice turned her attention to the Muggle and the smile she had attempted to force almost withered on her face. The woman was dressed much like she had been the first time Alice had seen her outside the Wizengamot over the summer, although with obvious adjustments made to account for the chill December weather; that she had made no other adjustments to tailor her garb to something more suitable to the environment of the Ministry offended Alice, and it was all she could do to unwrinkle her nose and bare her teeth in a chilly smile.

“Welcome to the Ministry, Miss Evans,” Alice said briskly. She didn’t bother holding out a hand to shake; even if her wand-arm had been fully functional instead of limp and twitching and tucked in tight against her side, she didn’t expect Muggles to be up on social niceties like handshakes, and offering one would probably only confuse the woman. “My name is Alice Longbottom and I will be your escort while you are on the premises.” She wasn’t sure if Lily’s sister would remember her or not; she knew that Muggles were not very bright and forgot things easily, which at least meant that Alice probably didn’t need to worry about Petunia Evans repeating anything her sister might have let-slip about knowing Alice better than she had a right to. It also meant that the next few hours were going to be unimaginably tedious.

Of course Alice did. Alice saw absolutely everything. Especially a witch wearing a pure-blood half-mourning two eons out of style for her age. Dedalus clicked his tongue, bowing his head conspiratorially against Alice’s ear, “How much would you like to bet she’s borrowed that from her mother-in-law.” Probably not a good bet, all considered--but a bet was a great way to ignore the tightness in his chest. Or maybe a wager was a better way to put it. Alice had been a Rosier, after all. 

“She’ll be in fits when her husband dies, simply tragic.” Dedalus spoke ever more quickly, waving a biscuit around before depositing it into Alice’s hand. “All up until his younger brother turns out to be...so, well...”

Qᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴɪɴɢ ᴏғ Dᴇᴅᴀʟᴜs Dɪɢɢʟᴇ | DECEMBER 11

The following is a transcript with some internal description of Dedalus Diggle’s questioning. Please note, anything that is not dialog would not be known unless observed to some degree by the questioner.

Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the illicit organization referred to as The Order of the Phoenix?

I once was part of the children's magical choir. It was very exciting but I found that I was never very good at the order part of it. You see, at the time, I would get nervous. Silly, of course. Who was going to judge an eight year old singing Carols? Yet, there I was. Dressed in the smartest little robes, a perfect little bow at my neck... lit the mistletoe right on fire. Caused the little ones to scream--a terrible sound! And, well, as you know the...uh, fireworks?

Well, yes. So Order I simply cannot abide. And although my clothing is bright do you really feel its like a Phoenix? No? I thought perhaps not.

So you have not been known to frequent any of the locals known to be breeding grounds such as the Hogshead?

Well, perhaps. I mean, don’t all adults that eventually visit Hogsmead end up at Hogshead? But the rest--oh, no, never. Far too grimy.

So you admit you know of places The Order of The Phoenix meets in?

Well, I do if you mean a location most go at some point in the midst of adulthood--or almost adulthood. Don’t you think?

As for the grime...where else would an illicit club meet? Certainly not a fine teashop. Maybe in between a great robe fitting? No. No, certainly not. Grime means nothing but that I can suppose they meet in dirty places.

If we pull spells from your wand, there would be none involved in bloodshed or other illegal spells?

Oh most certainly not. Some fireworks, of course. ...I...I am fairly certain I called a pair of underpants to my hand this morning. That is horribly embarrassing but if you must see what magic I’ve used you’ll unfortunately see a little ... well, not illegal but embarrassing fair.  Please don’t hold it against me, I did need my pants.

Have you ever been a party to the murder or the harm of other magical citizens?

Me? Murder? Harm? I mean, perhaps I have said a rather devastating statement or two... there was something about a woman in a half-mourning robe that was simply dreadful...

Where were you on March 3rd, 1979?

March 3rd? I honestly ...well, I suppose I was at work. Or if not there I have a tea shop I frequent. It is quite lovely, just a little off of Diagon Alley? During March they started to have fresh flowers in the windows and it was simply delightful. Nothing better than a warm pot of tea with flowers. (Not include: Dedalus is trying his best not to name anyone)

Where were you on July 9th, 1979?

Oh, summer! I do so love summer. Unfortunately i do remember where i was then. I had an appointment at Saint Mungo’s and it was just so very...well, I’m sure you can get my documentation if you so desire. But sufficed to say I left quite disappointed.

You have a sister, no doubt, and a mother. Did you ever ask if one of them were part of the... Order of the Phoenix? Or perhaps they were more Death Eaters. With their masks, who could tell?

No, never.

I heard your mother provided funds to The so-called Order of the Phoenix, is this true?

(A scoff) Certainly not.

Well, certainly you must have heard of such a rumor even if you say you were not part of the Order of the Phoenix. When you visited her, then, weren't you curious? [ pause] If somebody told me my mother was a radical, I'd send an owl and say, 'Mother, is this true?

I did not hear it because it is nothing that would have occurred. My mother has had the same social community for decades and unless you are suggesting rebellious groups are recruiting cookies and flower arrangements... please do not drag my mother into this.

Truthfully you have what appears to be one of the longest records primed for a radical we’ve had here.  

Is that true? (delight!) I do so love coveting an air of ... excitement! But, really, what are your measures? Are you counting the fireworks? Because I can’t imagine that fireworks are particularly radical or else you’d be counting several child’s birthday parties attendees, parents, and, of course, children. And if it is my robes, well, I am not the only one with an appreciation for colors. You might look for a better tailor, you know.

Do you know Dorothy?

You’re not talking about my mother again, are you? (sly smile) Oh of course. Friend of Dorothy, then, is it? Taking queues from across the pond? Very well. Isn’t everyone a little friendly with Dorothy, dove? I would think so in this day and age--but as most people’s parents say... you shouldn’t flaunt it or say it out right.

Last, you understand Mr. Diggle that we are taking into account your possessions during this inquest. Do you have any dark artifacts in your home?

...n-no I don’t. (the only time that Dedalus is overtly and instantly unsettled)