[identity profile] frankly-bamf.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] bait_backup
*There is protocol that precludes Aurors working cases where there is a conflict of interests. It's a protocol that's routinely ignored. Sirius brought in Bellatrix and Alice interrogated her; days earlier, Frank went to the twins' flat within minutes of being told what'd happened. (He can't call it 'the crime scene' the way it says in the files, because to him it isn't another crime scene, it's Gideon's study where his best friends were murdered. It's where he stood there shaking and sick and looked at what was left of the two men who'd been the nearest he had to brothers, where he read the message scrawled on the wall, and where something broke that there aren't words for.) 

He shouldn't have been allowed through the door at all. Everyone, everyone knows how close he and the Prewett twins were, that they were practically family, but Frank had been so shattered that no one had even had the heart to try turning him away. And so he'd stood there just outside the study and looked, and taken in that message on the wall, and then shut out everything that isn't directly related to the case. He hasn't played with Neville in days, he's still barely talking, isn't sleeping, and while he's never been all that much of a drinker, he's passed out at his desk twice this week with a bottle near at hand and the case files open in front of him. This, the case, is all he can do. There isn't an off-switch, not for this. Not with Gid and Fabian gone. And not when he knows exactly who did it. 

Initially the plan - before things had gone past the point of caring about plans - had been to wait until there was proof, do it right, take Rosier in on the up and up and be sure that it didn't turn into a repeat of Sirius's mistake. That had been the plan. All in all things are not going according to that plan, because even if he can't bring him in yet, Frank can't stand the sour twist in his stomach every time he thinks about Rosier and Bellatrix and whoever else did it walking around breathing while his best friends rot in the ground. He's got to do something, and so that's what he's doing. 

The newlywed Rosier's loft is dark and silent, the wards bypassed with Ministry authority that was garnered with called-in favors and a few bargains made and possibly a threat or two. In an overpriced chair in the shadowed corner of the living room Frank sits, not so much patient as he is so purely focused that it doesn't matter if he's been here minutes or hours, waiting for Evan Rosier to get home.*

Date: 2011-11-22 08:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*It wasn't a very good opera but that had almost made it more fun. They could murmur snide things about it in the privacy of their box, and at intermission and afterwards. There was a lot of swanning around in front of polite wizarding society in their best clothes, her painted-on gown of bright blue a familiar and pointed message to anyone who'd ever corresponded with the Rosiers. Of course everyone had made much of them, the sharp and attractive newlyweds with just a bit of scandal attached, and Amrita had blossomed under all the attention, been gratified to note that she was the prettiest girl in the room or very nearly. And of course there was a lot of champagne--and then a bit more champagne, and a bit more, and a clever cocktail with what looked like little pearls in, and by then they were too drunk to Apparate and things had gotten very silly in the Muggle taxi and then even sillier in the lift and now she's all muffled giggles, trying to get into the flat. But she can't seem to manage it all, the key with the left hand, right palm to the door, not with all that silliness, and she's flushed and muttering in only partially-feigned frustration.*

--stop it you're horrible--cack-handed apasavya Evan-babu I can never do it--

Date: 2011-11-22 08:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
Oh, fine then, let me--

*He slips his hand in under hers and twists the lock, and the door swings open silently into the darkened apartment. He had matched her, drink for drink, and while he's not quite entirely as wobbly as she is, he still isn't entirely sober, and walking into the flat is a relief. He steps in, sweeping her along with him and into his arms and not even bothering with the light, kicking the door shut behind them with recently-shined shoe.*

Am I going to have to pour you into bed, little monster?

Date: 2011-11-22 08:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*The flat is dark, and she is distracted--thoroughly distracted--with the ungentle business of peeling his jacket off like a candy bar wrapper. It ends up crumpled by the door, and as he walks her into the living room they leave it behind.*



Date: 2011-11-22 08:53 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*He was loosening his own tie, but now he reaches for the back of her neck, where the buttons begin, and speedily--as if he's practiced--begins undoing them.*

Date: 2011-11-22 09:01 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*Amrita's wobbling a bit still, but in a way that has very little to do with the alcohol, and saying the sort of explicit and unashamed things you say when your husband is directly behind you and in the process of undressing you. But the words stop in her throat and she freezes, cold and stiff and absolutely unresponsive, because she's opened her eyes and there's a man in the chair almost directly in front of her, sitting and waiting in the shadows of the flat.*

Date: 2011-11-22 09:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*Evan follows her gaze and, worse, recognizes the man sitting there. He stops, then steps forward, around, in front of his wife, as if to protect her from him with his body. It's not as if he has any other weapons; his wand and his knife are both discarded with his jacket in the hall. They might as well be in Moscow. He only just manages to keep his voice light and conversational.*

Hello, Frank. What brings you to our home?

Date: 2011-11-22 09:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*There's a moment of confusion, and once he recalls the words--Bella's words, if truth be known--he has to suppress a laugh. Laughing would be like asking for the Killing Curse there and then, though, and Evan is not that much of a fool.*

This seems remarkably unlike an arrest for you to be here on Ministry business. I would think your lot would want this to be nice and public for something like that. Lots of drama and unflattering photographs of me being handcuffed. Which means you're here for yourself. Have I got that right?

Date: 2011-11-22 09:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*Standing there stock-still, Amrita is very cognizant of her breathing: heavy still, from before, in-out, in-out, rather loud and much too fast. Evan's in front of her but she's tall enough to see the man--Frank--over his shoulder and when she hears the name Alice, she doesn't faint. That would be absurd, something out of a novel. She just sort of whooshes into a sitting position on the floor, landing ungracefully square on her behind with only a very small tinkle of jewelry.*

Date: 2011-11-24 05:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*He jerks and almost turns to help his wife up, but turning his back on Frank is as good as suicide, and he struggles to return to a neutral position.*

I actually haven't the faintest.

Date: 2011-12-05 10:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*Evan never played quiddich, but he's gone stone cold sober through the course of this conversation, and adrenalin makes up for what his reflexes lack: he jerks to the left as the curse sails just barely past him, remembering the tiny brick house of a woman Beatriz Banton screeching, if someone is trying to curse you and you've got nothing, you have to pick, right or left--you can't just stand there like a damn cow and get hit--it rips the arm of the suit and scrapes the skin, but it doesn't seem to have done much else, and Evan clears his throat before trusting his voice not to squeak.*

So you'll kill us in our home? Is that really what you've become, now? An executioner?

Date: 2011-12-06 10:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*The curse doesn’t hit Evan, not really, and something shatters behind them where it ricochets but Amrita is too paralyzed to flinch or scream or do anything at all but sit there and stare up at the two of them.

The Auror isn’t listening to what Evan’s saying--or maybe he's listening the way she is, listening close enough to hear the fear under the careful words. It doesn’t matter: he’s going to kill Evan and then he’s going to kill her, a flash of green light for each of them and that is all. But somewhere, underneath the blank no-takebacks horror of that realization, beneath the part of her that’s still frozen on the floor, a small and haughty voice says: I didn’t sing to a tree for four hours to watch Evan die without even a jacket on.

And then: Well, I have my wand in my pocket.*

Date: 2012-01-01 06:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*Evan ignores the question entirely. The fact that he asks it--and answers it himself, and so accurately--is not something he needs concern himself with just now.*

Oh, certainly, cling to whatever titles let you sleep at night, Frank. Do you intend to torture information out of me, or simply make an end? I'm sure I could tell you things you'd like to hear, if you have the stomach to do what is required. My left arm is the place to start, it was just recently shattered and will take a knife splendidly.

Date: 2012-01-02 06:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*Evan does the only thing he can think of, which is to drop to the floor. He's been doing this since childhood: Father gets into a disagreement with the goblins, and then suddenly wands are out, and Evan is nine and has nothing to defend himself with, and Beatriz drilled it so firmly into his skull that it's still reflex. He's not as nimble or small as he was at nine, but the reflex serves him, and he skitters back toward his wife, seizing her arm.*


Date: 2012-01-03 12:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*It's ludicrous, the idea of her facing an Auror, impossible. But there's a bookcase just behind Frank, a massive Vladivostock thing loaded with old volumes and curios, and Amrita can face down a bookshelf.

Her wand is out and in her hand, the blasting curse hits the bookshelf, and it's suddenly chaos. There's a tremendous crash, and books and curios everywhere--glass breaks, delicate statuettes shatter, a silver disk hits the floor and rings like a gong, scattering spinning points of light in all directions--but it's enough. Deliberation, destination, whatever-it-is, and she's grabbed Evan and Side-Alonged them: away, anywhere, to the first and only safe place she could think of in that split second.

She's sitting on the wet cobblestones outside the Leaky Cauldron in her fine blue gown, her left hand tight around her husband's wrist.*
Edited Date: 2012-01-12 01:20 am (UTC)

Date: 2012-01-13 03:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*The cobblestones are wet and Evan has managed to crack his head quite hard on them as he Apparates, and there's at least a full minute where he is certain he is dead. The pain in his skull throbs, and the wet rain soaking the back of his head must be blood from the place where Frank Longbottom blew a hole clear through it. But there's a burning sensation in his lungs, and when he lets out the breath he's been holding, it comes out as a hysterical scream of laughter. His free hand scrabbles at his face--no hole, not even blood, just some rain--and he pushes himself up to find the wife who must be at the other end of the hand encircling his wrist.*

Date: 2012-01-15 02:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gummymummy.livejournal.com
*When the Patronus wakes her, Alice is paralysed. She feels like she knows the address, but not what Frank is doing there. A year ago she would have run off without a second thought, but now, especially with the Prewetts dead, she's terrified to leave Neville. If she leaves him alone, it could be a trap; if she takes him with her, it could be a trap; and if she leaves him with someone else, that could be a trap...

But his voice echoes in her head...hurry.

It makes her bolt for Neville's bedroom and - without even trying to keep him asleep - grab him and Disapparate to Scotland. The time it takes Uncle Algie to open the door feels like years, and as soon as he has Neville, Alice Apparates to the address.

It's clearly not a trap - at least, not one meant for her - maybe it was one for Frank. Anger takes over as crystal shatters underfoot and she realises this is the address from Amrita's file.

What the fuck, Frank?!
Edited Date: 2012-01-15 03:22 am (UTC)

Date: 2012-01-16 01:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gummymummy.livejournal.com
*He's clearly concussed, or cursed, or in some way brain damaged, not that that wasn't obvious by him being here in the first place. As she goes to drag him up though, she realises Frank is seriously injured. And she doesn't have her kit.*


*Alice takes it all in, but already knows she'll have to go to 'Dromeda. Grudgingly she leans down to gently help him up.*

Can you stand?

Date: 2012-01-14 12:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*Amrita, for her part, is only sitting stiffly there, fingers white-knuckled around her wand and his wrist. Her voice is small, distant.*

We seem--we seem to be all right. I wish you wouldn't laugh, my dress is all wet. Where-

*But then she looks over her shoulder at the familiar facade of the Leaky Cauldron, at the yellow lights in the upstairs windows and the murmur of patrons inside, and unceremoniously bursts into tears.*

Date: 2012-01-14 05:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dapperdeath.livejournal.com
*That stops his laughter quick enough. He gets to his feet, lifting her along after him.*

Oh, darling, don't, everything is perfectly all right. But we can't stop here, it's too public--

*There's already at least one person peering out the window of the Leaky itself, let alone others looking on; their appearance, and Evan's screech, drew attention.*

We have to get to my mother's. She'll know what to do.

Date: 2012-01-14 08:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cellarandmoon.livejournal.com
*It could be worse; she's at least got enough presence of mind to keep her voice down.*

It's not perfectly all right, he's in our home and he almost killed you and you don't even have your wand and he's in our home--


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