Interesting Times

Interesting Times

by Lyta Padfoot

It was wrong. Aurors were supposed to fight against the Dark Arts, not employ them. Oh, it was legal these days, but was it right?

On the other hand, was it worse to let a potential means of thwarting the Death Eaters slip away? The Imperious Curse could bring vital leads. The Cruciatus Curse could break a memory charm or convince a suspect to talk. No wizard could block the Killing Curse and sometimes they needed such a weapon in a fight.

Even after he cast his first Unforgivable Curse against a suspect, Frank Longbottom did not know if using the Unforgivables was right.

He knew all about the curses, of course. He had first seen them used on a Puffskein as a young Auror trainee. He had witnessed a colleague who failed to get out of the way scream and writhe under the Cruciatus. He had seen the still aftermath of the Killing Curse often enough.

Now he had used the Cruciatus Curse himself. A word, a simple movement of his wand, and his will melded together to cause unspeakable agony for another human being. It frightened him: to cast the curse one had to want to cause unimaginable pain. It meant tapping into that well of darkness that existed within every human being. Afterward he felt as though he traded a piece of his soul for the few scraps of information they gathered from the suspect. Was it worth opening it?

After work, he returned to his small flat and rummaged about in the narrow cupboard where he stowed alcohol. Frank was not much of a drinker, but after his day, he felt he had a right to a little forgetfulness. Unfortunately, the only thing available was an ancient bottle of Schnapps he had bought for his last girlfriend. He did not feel like going out so it would have to do.

He had been on his way to a splendid hangover when Alice Belby turned up. Frank had a shrewd suspicion Dumbledore sent her to check up on him.

"Wotcha Frank," Alice greeted him.

"I'm soused," Frank informed Alice as he let her into his flat.

"I can see that," she said, as she looked him over. She hung up her grey travelling cloak on one of the broomstick-shaped coat hooks by the door.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. They were both Aurors, but there were many Aurors these days. At Hogwarts, they were parts of different circles, their paths never intersecting until joining the Order of the Phoenix. Somewhere along the line, they had become friends of a sort. If Frank were being honest with himself, his feelings for Alice ran very deep.

"I came on a bet," Alice said flippantly. "Rumour has it you're colour blind and tasteless. After seeing your flat, I can confirm that the rumour is true."

She cast an amused glance at the painting of Kneazles playing Quidditch. The tabby Chaser meowed back at her.

Frank scowled. He had furnished his apartment with whatever second hand goods had been available quickly and cheaply. He did not want anything he might regret leaving. He might have to depart quickly. He would miss the plants in his window box; tending them soothed him, but plants were hearty creations intruders were likely to overlook. He might have lived with his parents, but Aurors were always in danger and he did not want them in any more danger than necessary.

Still, whenever he had anyone over - especially witches - he wished he had done a better job of furnishing the place. Maybe he ought to use a few decorative charms around the flat. Anything would be better than those tie-dyed beanbag chairs. He banished the empty take-away containers. At least it was somewhat clean by his standards, though his mother would certainly dispute the 'clean' description.

"Peach Schnapps," Alice took the liquor bottle from his hand and examined the label. "I would have thought you drank scotch or brandy myself."

He shrugged. "All I had and I didn't feel like going out. Off-license is closed now. Beggars cannot be choosers. Help yourself."

"Thank you." She took a drink from the bottle. "I prefer gin, but Schnapps is fine."

"I didn't think you drank." Frank grinned.

Alice smiled mysteriously. "There are many things you don't know about me."

That could have been the motto for the entire female gender. Remembering his duties as a host, Frank gestured to his couch. Alice walked over and seated herself and Frank sat down beside her. The couch was a pink and grey flowered monstrosity. He had found it abandoned on the curb by Muggles. It was comfortable though its occupants tended to sink slowly toward the middle.

"Why are you here, Alice?" he asked. Alice was not the sort of witch to turn up at a wizard's flat at half past midnight. Well, she was, but she was usually there to carry out an arrest. Casual appearances, those she did not do. "The truth."

"I remember the first time I used an Unforgivable," Frank noticed Alice's brown eyes locked on the battered kitchen table. Frank supposed it was a safe enough thing to look at. "You're lucky your first was the Cruciatus. I used the Killing Curse."

Frank startled. He could not imagine Alice Belby of all people using that curse. Cool, sensible, Alice who always discouraged other Aurors from using the Unforgivables. "What? Who?"

He could only just hear her reply. "Rigel Lestrange."

Frank recognized the name. Rigel Lestrange had been responsible for at least twelve murders. Familiar with Lestrange's file, Frank could understand why she cursed him and Alice's regret: the man had been a widower with two grown sons, now orphans. At least his curse ended with the victim alive and gasping on the floor. A change of clothes and a few minutes with a healer mended his physical injuries. Death was permanent.

Alice continued. "I hated myself. He had two boys, the older one, Rodolphus, married not long ago. I read about the wedding in the Prophet."

Frank wondered if he should put his arm around her. Would that be comforting or condescending?

Alice wiped furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her robes. "They teach us how to perform the curses, but they don't teach us to live with doing them."

"No," Frank said bitterly. He took another drink. "No, they don't." He got up and wandered into his tiny kitchen. He located two reasonably clean glasses and set them out on the old trunk he used as a coffee table. Alice poured some of the liquor into each glass. There was no toast. As he raised the glass to his lips, Frank had a vague recollection of someone telling him about an odd drinking toast: 'may you live in interesting times'. He would never wish that on anyone.

Alice moved to refill her glass. Frank suddenly noticed how close she was sitting. Was it the dip in the couch or...

Had to be the couch. Belby was not interested in him. Or was she? Being an Auror was terribly lonely.

"Alice," Frank asked for the third time. "Why are you here?"

She looked up at him. He noticed for the first time the dark shadows under her eyes. She was tired. They all were tired. Too much death. Had it only been five years since they sat through their N.E.W.T.S.? He remembered the impromptu waltz he and Amelia Bones shared in the Entrance Hall to celebrate the end of exams. Amelia had not minded that he stepped on her feet at least a dozen times. Life seemed so bright and promising then and death still had romance.

Alice stared into her glass as though it held the answer to one of life's greatest mysteries. "Capper died two days after he used an Unforgivable."

"I know." The job of tracking down those responsible had fallen to Frank.

Alice shook her head softly. He knew she was remembering that botched raid. "On parchment it was an ambush, but I was there. He didn't even try to defend himself."

"You think Capper wanted to die."

Alice shrugged. "It's not unheard of. Probably thought it'd be easier for his family than suicide."

It frightened Frank to realize he understood Capper. He hoped it was the alcohol. It lowered his guard, which was why he never drank at the pub anymore. Too vulnerable.

"I'm not going to hurt myself," Frank declared firmly. Was he trying to convince Alice - or himself? Since he became an Auror his life had become so complicated.

"I'm tired of loosing colleagues. I hate having to attend the funerals."

"I'll try to keep you from having to attend another funeral," Frank said dryly.

Even though she was almost leaning on him, Alice seemed so distant. "They're all the same these days. I can hardly separate them in my mind any more."

Frank nodded. He felt that way himself. Just the other day he had been unable to recall if it were Hopkirk or Towler they buried in Hogsmeade. "They blur together after a while."

"We're very drunk now," Alice noted. The last time they were drunk together was in the summer after their sixth year. Someone had a birthday party. She had giggled then and offered him blowing gum.

"Yes."

Alice leaned back, resting her head on the top of the couch. She stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling for a long moment. With her focus elsewhere, Frank was free to study her unnoticed. Her round face was thinner these days and there was a silver strand among her dark locks. He had found his first grey hair the previous year.

"Do you ever wonder what we're fighting for?" she asked.

"The future," Frank said. It sounded hollow, like something out of a Ministry press release. He tried again. "To stop people from suffering."

"We cause suffering too." Alice had changed from a giggly girl to a philosophical drunk.

"Not as much as they do." Frank said. It was true but it was also a lie. He had seen what worry over his safety was doing to his parents. His formidable mother had stopped asking him about work. She just did not want to know. They discussed the weather and the trivial goings on of the family. Frank wondered if he ought to mention Alice the next time he went home. His mother would smile behind her teacup, certain that he had a girlfriend despite his protestations to the contrary.

"I'm sorry," Alice apologized, setting her empty glass down. "I tend to be a little strange when I'm drunk."

"I've been known to recite soliloquies while wearing a lampshade after drinking. Don't ask."

Alice smiled. She had a charming smile that brought out the dimples in her cheeks. "I wasn't going to. Besides," she teased. "I've seen you drunk before."

"Do you ever think about the end?" he asked.

Alice stiffened beside him. "Death? No, it's too depressing."

He shook his head. "No, the war ending."

"Sometimes I don't think it ever will."

"But if- when it does, what will you do?

"I hadn't given it much thought these days. Research. Perhaps find a husband. I've always wanted children."

"Research? What kind of research."

"I always wanted to study protective charms in depth. Maybe write a book. In school that was all I wanted of life. Now...," she wet her lips with her tongue. "I think I'd like more. Someone to go home to. Someone to share my thoughts with. Someone to be there when I wake up in the middle of the night."

"Sounds lovely," he said sincerely.

Alice waggled a finger at him. "Ha! You're just thinking about that last bit."

Frank snorted. "Attractive witch obliquely referring to sex. What am I suppose to think? Have pity on me Alice, I'm only male."

"Attractive?" Alice queried.

Frank ducked his head to hide his blush. "Yes."

"Oh." Evidently, it had not occurred to her that he saw her as anything other than a fellow Auror and Order member. Frank wondered why. Surely, she knew she was the cleverest and prettiest witch in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?

They sat side by side on Frank's hideous couch. It was not an uncomfortable silence. It was the sort of moment that could lead to a multitude of things, pregnant with possibility. Frank supposed he could say something. He liked Alice an awful lot, even respected her. None of the things he had used with previous girlfriends seemed right. In a moment of clarity, he realized that while he did not love Alice, he might someday, and not the silly, flowery love of a sixteen-year-old boy.

If only he did not bungle things.

Alice broke the silence. "What about you? What will you do?"

"I'd like a family too. I'd like to continue as an Auror, but be concerned with petty things: school kids dabbling in love potions and the like."

"It would be nice for things like that to be the greatest concern," she agreed.

Frank closed his eyes. He could almost imagine it. "No murders. No tortures. No orphaned children. No dark mark. Heaven."

"Its late," Alice said suddenly.

"You can stay here if you want," Frank offered. "I'll sleep on the couch."

Alice paused. Frank could tell she was considering his offer.

"No, I'd best be going back to my flat. What if something comes up?"

It was a valid reason. He had been summoned to the aftermath of an attack. However, Frank suspected that if she stayed they would both wind up in his bed and not be sleeping. In the morning they would look at their actions with disgust and embarrassment and whatever might have been between them would stay firmly in the realm of possibility. They were both drunk, tired, and feeling sorry for themselves.

Frank walked her to the door and helped her on with her cloak. He was still a gentleman of sorts, after all.

When Alice left, Frank had the odd feeling he had passed some sort of test. He finished the rest of his drink and decided to go to bed. The past twenty-four hours had been a bucking broomstick of emotion ranging from amusement to horror and self-loathing.

"Women," he informed the painted Kneazles. "A mystery for the ages."