Rock em sock em challenge, HPFC. prompts: (character) Edgar Bones, (word) fleeting, (genre) crime
There's something poetic about doing this.
He imagines his sister would absolutely kill him if she found out, which is why he wears a mask and leaves his wand tucked into his boot despite his promise to leave it in the sleeve band thing she'd bought him.
The bell rings and the door swings open.
He tries desperately not to think about the cruelty of what he's doing.
"Can I help you?" the woman asks, bored, but that is replaced by wariness when she meets his eyes. She's a Muggle, defenseless against him. But he's desperate and has no options left.
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and after a moment he tears the mask from his face; he knows the danger but can't bring himself to care.
"My family will die," he says bluntly. "I've got five kids and a wife and there's no telling how much time we've got left."
If the woman looked wary before, she looks downright unnerved now. Her eyes widen and her jaw tightens. "...I'm not sure what you want from me," she says carefully, slowly.
He shakes his head, collapsing against the counter. "I was going to kill you," he confesses. He hears her sharp intake of breath. "The things in these cases are worth thousands." He glances behind him to the glittering diamonds and shining pearls, at the gold plated bracelets and pure silver necklaces. The brooches inlaid with emeralds and sapphires.
"But I can't," he says after a tense moment. "I'm a lot of things but I'm no killer."
Not of innocents, anyway. He's sure the werewolf that he slaughtered the other night would argue otherwise.
In his darkest nights he's dreamed of the money he could get, enough to get his wife and kids out of the country so they don't die, too. He's had fleeting thoughts of the robbery he's trying to pull off now. He knows full well that with his obvious ties to the Order no witch or wizard in their right mind would hire him, petrified for their own lives. He's losing money and he's losing it fast.
He starts when he feels a brush against his arm. The woman looks scared but resolute. "What's your name?" she asks.
It's probably the dumbest thing he's ever done but his guilt forces him into honesty. "Edgar Bones."
She nods, slowly. "Gwen," she introduces. She looks at the case. Lips thin, she opens it up and pulls out a single hairclip, glittering in the light and in the shape of a phoenix. "It's worth over two thousand on its own," she says, almost conversational. "Go."
Gwen hands it to him and his hands shake as he takes it. She jerks her head to the door and watches as he turns and flees, heart in his throat.