#flongbottom

Dated: 9 April, 1979 Location: Various

5am.

An alarm bell sounded from the end of a wand, Barty silencing it after a beat with a short wave. Tremblay Manor was quiet, the only interruption the steady singing of a bird outside. The sun was still sleeping as Barty made his way to the pitch, body moving automatically, each movement filled not with passion but instead structure and order as he began to run. When he showered he didn’t shy away from the icy stream of water, allowing it to numb his skin.  

6am.

Sitting at his desk by a window with a strong cup of coffee in hand, the sun began to rise in the window. It was beautiful but Barty didn’t notice. On the desk were several orderly stacks of notes and at the front of the spotless surface an organized itinerary for his day, each hour carefully noted and accounted for. To the side, an ancient tomb older than the rest lay open, borrowed earlier that week from the library that Marceaux had showed him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a spider, spindly legs making their way across the windowsill. With a flick of his wand the creature froze and then began to contort in pain, each movement at the whim of the wizard. He took another sip of coffee, enjoying the game for another few seconds before growing bored. The spider didn’t move again.

8am.

Barty walked into the Great Hall just as mail was beginning to be delivered. He didn’t raise his eyes or look for his owl— he wasn’t expecting anything from home. Instead he passed by the Slytherin table first to drop off a book that Narcissa had left at the Manor the other evening, lingering just long enough to earn a sharp glance from Rosalind that he matched with a quip. When he returned to the opposite side of the hall he took a seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table alone, notes for tomorrow’s debate in hand. His lips moved silently over the argument, meal in front of him barely touched. When a group of students from Slug Club passed they called out his name and Barty lifted his chin with a short wave, manifesting a smile on his lips like a clown with a paintbrush. Fucking idiots.

9am.

Charms: Advanced Behavioral Charms. Barty sat at the front of the classroom. He knew the spells they were covering but his hand took notes automatically, brow narrowed in concentration. He rolled his eyes at the sound of a witch murmuring to another classmate about their plans for that night, eyes lifting expectantly as if waiting for the professor to call them out. He gripped his quill in muted annoyance. Of course Flitwick didn’t notice. He imagined squeezing her throat until she stopped and this brought the first genuine smile of the day to his lips.

11am.

Defensive Magic: Curses, Jinxes, & Hexes. Barty turned to his partner, forcing himself to remain silent as he watched the wizard’s sloppy wand-work. The man continued to ramble on lightheartedly about the last Puddlemere match and Barty laughed as if it came easily to him. The wizard’s mother worked alongside his father in the Council of Magical Law and he felt the weight of those invisible eyes heavy on the back of his neck. Barty adjusted his grip on his wand, using the quick movement to silently adjust the incorrect marks on the paper they were set to turn in together. Better.

1pm.

While the school rushed to the Great Hall for their lunch hour, Barty waited outside of Flitwick’s office with a mock schedule in hand for his proposed courses the following year. In his mind the meeting was merely a formality, more for the professor’s sake than his own. Barty had planned out the majority of his three years at Hogwarts while he was still at Cambridge. He remembered sitting next to Pandora in the study at his home, mapping out each year while she played piano, light and sweet. It felt like a lifetime ago.

2pm.

Barty found Frank Longbottom in the library with a fabricated expression of friendly surprise. He knew he would be here: he had memorized the other wizard’s schedule carefully. Positioning himself at the former Head Boy’s side, Barty began to work on an essay, not unusual for the pair. When he shared his pot of ink with the older wizard he offered a smile that he had seen the wizard give him hundreds of times before. It was carefully rehearsed and unassuming, nearly perfect by now. He felt a muted swell of satisfaction and continued on with his work, idly wondering what it would take to strip the other man of that grin. 

3pm.

Charms Club. Barty had long-since bored of the club and Gawain Robards’ voice. As a second year now they had taken to pairing him with some of the newer members and his patience was steadily growing thin. He was better than this club— better than this school. His knee bounced in his seat and he counted the seconds as they dragged on. 

4pm.

Dressed neatly in his uniform Barty stood at the edge of the pitch, watching as his team members slowly arrived. Hollie was late – again. There was a weight to his limbs that he refused to acknowledge. Eyes narrowed he scanned the group of girls, counting that they were all in attendance before raising his voice. Practice always started with a measured number of stretches. He wouldn’t risk any injuries if he could help it. There was nothing that would throw them off from their path to the Quidditch Cup faster than being down a member and losing wasn’t an option. 

6pm.

Barty stilled as he passed by Wimbourne House on his way home, eyes lifting to the top of the hill by habit now. He wondered if Vivian was inside, glancing to the window as if waiting to see her silhouette there. Barty’s gaze dropped as the Head Girl existed the house instead and the wizard quickly plastered on the same false smile from before with a short wave. It came with more difficulty this time. 

7pm.

Dinner with the Warlocks Junior Chapter. He had begun to wonder if Lucius’ hair products had started to effect his brain. An older wizard turned to Barty with a question and his smile lifted before stilling just as quickly on his face. A request for his father. Of course. His jaw hardened and he continued on unaffected. Allowing to drift his gaze across the table in search for a distraction he locked eyes with Aiden, holding the glance for a beat too long for anyone who might have been looking. Later, maybe. 

9pm. 

Glancing to his side at the groups of students talking in hushed voices, Remus bit down on his lip, trying to silence an overwhelming wave of anxiety at the whispered words. Behind him, someone laughed off thoughts of murder while another droned on about the match. Despite it all, Remus couldn’t stir the feeling that something was very wrong, the sensation sitting in his stomach like a heavy stone. Quiet, Remus was cautious as he approached an older student. “Is everyone okay?”

As Barty navigated the narrow library shelves, his eyes couldn’t help but stray towards the numerous students spread out across the normally quiet space. Last minute preparations for exams, that much was obvious. Barty resisted the urge to roll his eyes, eager for the rush of the new year to ease over and for things to get back to order in the castle. He would reward himself with a visit to the room Marceaux showed him before break again later, eager to explore further. Gaze falling on a familiar face that happened to have a spare seat at his side, the wizard pushed down any impatience in face of the opportunity, clearing his expression as he selected his book and crossed the short distance.

“Hey, Frank.” Barty started, pulling his lips into a small smile. “This seat taken?”

“So, what do you think?”

Remus often struggles to find self-assurance in his actions, so there are quite a few things that could cause him to question himself. The insecurities that were forged in his childhood have caused him to second guess himself constantly as an adult in most every aspect of his life, from friendships to work, and most recently, the war.

The promise she made to her grandmother wouldn't leave her alone and though it was only a few days after Christmas, Amelia knew she needed to ask someone about her grandfather's case before she lost her nerve. Alastor was out of the question, she never intended to speak to that man unless it was absolutely necessary. Alice was almost as off limits as Moody, but Frank...he'd sent her a Christmas gift unprovoked. There was a chance, however slim it might be, that he could be willing to help her. 

Honestly, the prospect of asking him for his assistance filled her with dread. It wasn't that she thought Frank Longbottom was an unforgiving bastard, it was more that didn't feel she'd earned forgiveness. Yes, she'd been right about an Auror beating an civilian and she'd been right about the fact that the attack was unprovoked. She had been wrong, however, about the motivation and she'd been a complete bitch in going after the department as a whole. It would have been much more comfortable for her if she never had to see any of them again, even though it would mean she'd lose friends. In her experience, few (if any) friends stuck around over the long haul anyway.

But she promised. And family was more important than pride. She had been right, but over all, she was still wrong. The ends didn't justify the means and she never should have allowed herself to get so carried away. 

Sighing to herself, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment across her desk and began to pen a quick note. 

Frank,

I hope you had a good holiday. I'm sorry to bother you, and please feel free to tell me to piss off, but I promised my Grandmother that I would at least ask after my Grandfather's case. I know your office has been swamped lately, but if there's been any progress at all that you can share without compromising the case, well, I'd appreciate it. If you're willing to discuss it, we can meet for coffee or something. If not, I completely understand and don't blame you. 

Let me know,

Amelia

Once Igor left, Amelia had spent the rest of the day conducting interviews she now knew to be pointless. Mostly it gave her something to do while she tried to come up with a plan to handle this situation. Igor had neglected to press charges and had never formally named Frank as his attacker, she still had no evidence but for once she was glad of that fact. Amelia was telling the truth when she insisted that her goal wasn't to ruin anyone's career. Justice was, and always had been, the goal of this investigation. 

She left the office without speaking to Frank, still not entirely sure what she was going to do. He was working nights anyway, so if she came back early she could catch him at the end of his shift. A good nights sleep would undoubtedly help her decide how to handle things. 

The morning dawned and she still had no real answers, but she knew she needed to speak to Frank - his reactions would determine hers as much as anything else. She dressed hurriedly and apparated back to the Ministry, going back to "her" interrogation room and setting her things down before calling for Frank. 

"Mr. Longbottom," she said, catching his eye and waving him forward, "You're up next, please."