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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.*
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.*
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