Round 6 of The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Prompt: Noir
Additional Prompts: "Set Fire to the Rain", Trap
A/N: Unfortunately, this was a rush job. The competition's getting put on the back-burner as school, band, and (American) football season are getting started. I'm actually amazed I got it done this early. Thank God for three-day weekends.
An Auror's Sting
It was a rainy evening in London, and almost last call at the Leaky Cauldron. A witch sat at a table alone. Her robes were wrapped tightly around her upper body, but split down the side to reveal her crossed, curvy legs. She was smoking a pipe that lit up her heavily made-up face. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun, and she occasionally patted at it with heavily manicured nails that resembled cat claws more than anything else.
The door to the pub opened, and in stepped a wizard wearing a long dark trench coat. The butt of his wand was plainly visible in a sheath strapped to his right leg. He was a man who looked like he'd come off worse in a Bludger or a Dragon or both. His face was covered in scars ranging from cuts and burns to curses. His long hair, which had once been jet black, was prematurely graying. His eyes bore a haunted look, as if he'd done more god-awful things than most men his age had even seen. Everything about him told every patron at the bar to think twice before getting on his case. His name was Alastor Moody.
The leggy blonde met his eye and she nodded slightly. As he walked over, his trench coat dripped rainwater in his wake. The barkeeper made a face as he witnessed the spill. Moody cleared his throat as he settled at the table with the witch. "Don't mind that, Tom. I'll clear that up before I go."
He turned in his seat to meet the witch's gaze. "I suppose I should've suggested subtlety when I asked for you to meet me," she said. "If the word 'Auror', wasn't the first thing to cross these drunkards minds when you walked in, I'll eat my own stocking."
"You're not wearing stockings," Moody growled. "And subtlety's not really my style."
The woman gave him a cheeky look and set her pipe down on the table. "I suppose not. Can I get you a drink, Mr...?"
"I prefer my own when I'm on the job," said Moody. He unhooked a silver flask from his belt and took a drink.
"I suppose you do have a clear head?" asked the woman.
Moody offered her the flask. "Try it for yourself." The woman took it from him and sipped at it. She coughed fitfully and thrust it back at him. "What is that swill?" she asked.
"It's rum laced with coffee," explained Moody, taking his flask back. "The coffee keeps me sober. But you didn't ask to meet with an Auror only to discuss his choice of beverage."
The woman didn't smile, but leaned in close over the table, shifting in the robes to reveal more of her legs. Moody's eyes glanced down, but only for a second.
"I believe my husband's involved with the Death Eaters," she whispered.
"You said as much in your letter," said Moody. "Do you have any evidence?"
"No," said the woman. "But I hear him talking in the fireplace at night. I hear things- certain phrases. 'The Dark Lord.' 'Purity of blood.' 'The noble fight.' It's enough to worry any housewife who likes to keep her nose clean."
Moody nodded slowly as she spoke. She told her story like she was shameful. Maybe she was hoping this meeting would sweep the matter under the rug and she could have a nice settlement in the divorce and never have to see her criminal husband rotting away with the Dementors.
"Well?" she asked. "What can you do about it?"
Moody didn't answer right away. "Have you ever heard of Evelyn Wainwright?"
The woman didn't answer.
"She's a Muggle girl," Moody continued. "Discovered dead in her home a couple of days ago. No sign of forced entry on the house. However, she was taken advantage of sexually and then killed with a killing curse."
The woman swallowed hard. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. "The Muggle police are calling it a suicide," said Moody. "Drug overdose. That's something like potions for Muggles."
The woman still didn't say anything. "I keep track of all the Muggle deaths," said Moody. "Good thing too. I have her picture." He reached into his pocket and held up a newspaper clipping. It was Evelyn Wainwright's obituary. The woman in the photo was the mirror image of the witch sitting across from Moody.
"You're right," she said. "I'm not some poor housewife."
The bar fell quiet, and her patrons stood up. Even Tom had his wand out. "These aren't ordinary wizards," said the woman. She scooted her chair out from under the table and stood up. She started circling around Moody like a lioness about to pounce on her prey.
Moody didn't move a muscle. The hairs on the back of his neck were on edge.
"This isn't a private meeting to inform on a Death Eater."
Moody grinned. "That's not rainwater."
In an second, he seized the witch's pipe, still smoking on the table and threw it behind him. It landed in the liquid Moody had trailed in. In an instant, bright green flames lit up the bar and the disguised Death Eaters shielded their eyes against the brilliant light. Moody took the time to slide off his chair and seize the woman's jaw in his hands. With a quick motion of his hands, he slipped a vial up to her lips and force fed her a potion. Coughing and sputtering, the leggy blond began to transform. Her blond hair turned suddenly black and curly, and her eyes and lips all expanded to make her even more beautiful. Moody held her in front of him as a human shield while the other Death Eaters blinked to regain their eyesight.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Lestrange," Moody whispered in the woman's ear.
She struggled against his grip, but he held her tight. "Who else do we have here, then?" Moody asked. "Rosier? Carrow? Lestrange? Karkaroff?" The Death Eaters all exchanged nervous glances.
"Alastor," said Tom, stumbling behind him. "The Imperius, I-"
"Just stay behind me, Tom," Moody said, not taking his eyes off the four death eaters.
Bellatrix let out a high laugh. "Oh, Moody. You forget... how could the Imperius have come undone?"
No sooner had Bellatrix said it than Moody felt the tip of a wand against the back of his head.
"Stand down, Moody," came a cold, contained voice.
Moody let out a growl. "Severus Snape. Why aren't I surprised?"
"Release Bellatrix now," said Snape. The last of Tom's physical appearance melted away, and there stood the greasy-haired Death Eater.
"What then?" asked Moody. "I'm already dead, am I not? I release her, you kill me."
"You know, I feel like Rosier is more the killing type than me," said Snape.
"Excellent," said Moody. "Kingsley. Him first." Then he threw Bellatrix aside and shot a shield spell.
The door blew open as Kingsley kicked it in. It hit the wall like thunder, masking Kingsley's stunning spell. Another Auror- Dawlish- materialized from underneath an invisibility cloak behind the bar and shot a spell at Karkaroff.
The Death Eaters, not the sorts to fight against three Aurors this early on in the war, each Disapparated quickly, all except for Karkaroff, still recovering from Dawlish's spell.
"One?" growled Moody in frustration. "This entire operation all for one measly Death Eater?"
"Better in Azkaban than out in the streets," said Moody, as Dawlish rushed forward to restrain Karkaroff. "Get him the hell out of here."
Moody and Kingsley watched them leave, Karkaroff sputtering excuses.
"Where's Tom?" asked Moody.
"He's safe in a room upstairs. I think they were thinking of moving into the Leaky Cauldron permanently. Wanted to keep him around for the Polyjuice Potion."
Moody snorted. "Not bloody likely."
Kingsley tucked his wand into his jeans and turned to follow Dawlish and Karkaroff out. Before he reached the door, he turned and said, "Why did you keep your back to Snape? That whole time?"
Moody shrugged. "Testing a theory. Consider it a favor to Dumbledore."
Shaking his head, Kingsley left the inn, closing the door behind him.
Moody waved his wand a bit and the chairs and tables all straightened themselves out. The burn from the "rainwater" he'd tracked in disappeared and Moody poured himself a drink.
Karkaroff was behind bars. After months of searching, the most obvious assassination attempt in the world had landed one sick son-of-a-bitch in jail. It was the first time Moody had been singled out by the Death Eaters. Maybe on Voldemort's orders himself. "Well," said Moody, downing his drink. "At least I know I'm one damn good Auror."