January 1979
The Three Broomsticks had been radically transformed.
Altered by an undetectable extension charm, the interior stretched as large as a theatre. A stage rose up from where the fireplace normally nestled squat and cheery, a dance floor big enough to fit a crowd of thundering trolls had been conjured where spindly tables had been only hours earlier, and the bar was now outfitted to accommodate a few hundred people which was lucky since it seemed like the entire wizarding world was congregated there.
The crowd was an eclectic mix of Muggle and wizarding fashion. The younger ones, mostly the half bloods and the Muggleborns, sported flared trousers underneath leather cloaks in various shades of brown; robust moustaches like taxidermied animals were accompanied by the absurd adoption of sunglasses indoors despite it being nearly nine o'clock in the evening. The Purebloods and the traditionalists, however, clung obstinately to their Regency-esque mutton chops and jewel toned robes so that spots of the audience shimmered like a niffler's den. Their pointed hats were cocked defiantly; they wouldn't be caught dead wearing mustard, or worse— paisley.
Pipe weed smoke hung thick and cloying in the air as the crowd surged towards the bar to purchase last minute Butterbeers and Firewhiskeys before the band took to the stage. A huge banner hung behind the drum kit where worlds curled in smokey tendrils: DEMENTOR'S KISS.
In hindsight, it was a terrible idea. Alice had no idea who in the Ministry had authorised the gig. The last thing they needed was to serve the entire wizarding community on a platter to You-Know-Who who could apparate in at any moment with an army of Death Eaters and wipe them all out. Which was why she and a team of lower grade Aurors had been posted in the first place. Someone in the office had had the good sense to acknowledge the inherent dangers of something as simple as a concert. But such were the times.
"Fortescue! Hey— Fortescue!"
Sirius Black sidled up by her side wearing an alarming outfit: his long shirt was unbuttoned right up to his navel and tucked into dangerously tight flare pants. Most of the younger wizards in the room had copied his haircut, a shag with a heavy fringe. He could have passed as the lead from that Muggle band— what was his name again? Rick Dagger?
Sirius had two flagons of mead in his hands and extended one to her which sloshed dangerously.
"Good to see you've taken my advice and given yourself the night off," he announced by way of greeting.
Alice laughed but shook her head as the support act took to the stage. "You know I'm working."
Leaning his elbows lazily against the bar, he adopted a tone of voice like she was a particularly obedient dog. "And what a good job you're doing too!"
She ignored him, instead scanning the audience for signs of anything suspicious but it was hard to see with the jostling of crowds on either side of them.. The support act, a group of particularly bored looking wizards, announced glumly that they were the Cheering Charm Division and that they couldn't wait to rock everybody's world tonight.
"I see your boyfriend's here too," said Sirius, looking innocently at her as the Cheering Charm Division started what sounded like a sped up funeral march. She noticed he was now taking one sip from each flagon, kind of like an inebriated relay.
"Frank's not my boyfriend, Sirius."
He shrugged. "And my mother loves Muggleborns." He straightened up as a couple struggled out of the crowd towards them. The witch's long red hair blazed against a green poncho dress and the wizard, who was ruffling his black mullet in a way that made it look like he was doing it absent-mindedly (which he wasn't), was looked harried. Lily Evans enveloped Alice in a bone-crushing hug and James Potter swiftly kissed her cheek before snatching up one of the flagons from Sirius and taking a swig, ignoring his protests.
"That band is terrible," he gasped before downing the rest in one gulp. "I wish The Boggarts had never disbanded. Worst thing that's happened since the rise of You-Know-Who if you ask me."
"Probably worse," sighed Sirius.
"Frank's here," mouthed Lily and pulled Alice aside so they could talk.
"And so is my boss," Alice pointed out, jerking her head towards the corner where Colm Blackwood stood silently surveying the gig. She had no desire to compromise her career and make a fool of herself in the process. And besides, contrary to popular opinion, being from Gryffindor didn't make you automatically reckless and stupid. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of raucous giggling and she looked over to see James and Sirius order a round of Shrivelfig liqueur shots before using their wands to set the top of the liquid on fire. They took turns trying to down it without singeing their moustaches and beards with varying success.
Scratch that. It didn't make everyone automatically reckless and stupid. Just some.
"He's kind of good looking— in an emaciated sort of way, though," said Lily thoughtfully, eyeing Blackwood's full head of dark hair which caused a spluttering outraged sound from the direction of James who was choking on his Shrivelfig liqueur. "Oh shut up," she snapped whilst Sirius pounded James on the back. The Cheering Charm Division were pressing valiantly on, the lead singer screwing his eyes shut as though he were in a bad dream and wailed,
Possessed by an Inferi that burns from inside
Cry like a banshee, though these years make me older
With children my time is so wastefully spent
A burden to keep, though their inner alchemy
Accept that we've been Cursed an unlucky deal
But the crowd either weren't listening or didn't care and were now chatting happily amongst themselves. Alice wondered if they'd be better off in a graveyard.
"Where's Dorcas?" she asked, raising her voice over the cacophony of sadness.
"Where do you think?" came Sirius' sardonic reply, and sure enough, Alice peered through the throngs of people to see a tall Black witch engaging in a rather energetic display of what looked like interpretive dance: Dorcas Meadowes had attracted a crowd of concerned yet entranced spectators who had gathered around her to watch. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew stood nearby. Remus was tapping one foot in time with the music, which was a feat in itself, whereas Peter was sort of hopping from one foot to the other as though someone had put hot coals in his shoes.
Alice heard the sounds of sniggering and turned to see James surreptitiously pointing his wand in the direction of Peter. When he caught sight of Alice's blazing stare, he flicked it quickly and stowed it in his trouser pocket.
"Where do you suppose she gets all that energy from?" Lily asked, evidently missing James' little prank. The crowd had stopped chattering to watch Dorcas who appeared to be trying to attract a very pretty witch with a sort of peacock-style mating dance. The lead singer of the Cheering Charm Division opened his eyes, evidently annoyed now, before making an irritated sound in the back of his throat, bursting,
"Well if no one is going to bloody listen!" and stalked off. He was followed by the rest of the band who awkwardly let their instruments clatter to the ground and then followed suit. The crowd didn't show any signs of noticing or caring, although James cheered, whistling through his teeth.
"About time!" Sirius roared as Dorcas strode over, her skin flushed as she hugged Alice hello. If Sirius and James were bad together, then Sirius and Dorcas were positively lethal— it was as though, when in proximity to one another, they lost all capacity for rational thought and shared a single brain cell.
Her hair was braided close to her scalp which ended in beads somewhere around the small of her back and her flared jeans and purple dusted eyelids made her look like something straight out of a magazine
"Wailing Division throwing a tanty and leaving really ruined the whole moment," she sniffed, before looking wistfully over her shoulder at the witch in question who was now being led to the bar by another.
"Maybe it's because she's more interested in confident wizards?" Sirius suggested.
"You mean if she's interested in white haughty gits who like sniffing their own farts?" she replied sweetly which sent Sirius into such a fit of laughter that he didn't straighten for several minutes.
Alice suddenly felt a pair of eyes on the back of her head before someone tapped her shoulder. It was Johanna Shacklebolt, her mouth set in a grimace.
"Blackwood wants a word with you." She felt her round face flush as the older Auror squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Good luck," she whispered and walked away.
"I'll see you all later. Duty calls," Alice muttered whilst James and Sirius booed loud enough for Blackwood to hear. Dorcas and Lily pecked her on the cheek before she left them all standing at the bar, silently joining the wizard in the shadows near the back of the Three Broomsticks.
Blackwood was dressed more traditionally than most of the other Aurors. His robes, black and gunmetal grey, climbed up his long neck giving him a stiff appearance. His eyes were too bright like fenced sapphires from Knocturn Alley, and his arms were folded under his robes where, she knew, he was clutching his elm wood wand. If he registered her presence, he didn't show it. They stood in silence for several minutes. Then he surprised her by speaking.
"Do you happen to own a different thesaurus to the rest of the wizarding world, Fortescue?" He was a Dubliner, his accent as sharp as broken glass.
Her mind went blank. "Sir?"
"Well it's just that in mine, for example, synonyms for work include: responsibility, duty, vigilance..." His eyes slid to hers. "Not slacking off at the bar."
She wanted to insist that she hadn't, that she had been scanning the crowd for minute, subtle shifts in behaviour, or at least tried to, but to anyone watching her chat and laugh with her friends, it would have looked very much like, well— slacking off at the bar. She felt shame surge through her like a Muggle power plant but was spared replying when there was a sudden hush across the room and a voice boomed magically from the wings,
"THE THREE BROOMSTICKS IS PROUD TO PRESENT TO YOU TONIGHT, DEMENTOR'S KISS, THE DRAGON'S TEA ALBUM—" The voice broke off as the crowd thundered like a hippogriff stampede with much whooping and hollering. A wizard near the stage replete with the signature Dementor's Kiss face paint shouted hysterically whether the lead bassist would sign his wand.
"ER— NO," said the dismembered voice before continuing. "BEFORE WE INVITE THEM TO THE STAGE, THE THREE BROOMSTICKS WOULD LIKE TO TAKE A MOMENT TO THANK OUR SPONSORS: SPRINTWITCHES SPORTING NEEDS, BRYANT YOWIE AND SONS, GLADRAGS WIZARDWEAR— NO, HE WON'T SIGN YOUR— D. ICK GNATS, DERVISH AND BANGES, ISAIAH WILLOWS, THE ENTIRE BISCUS FAMILY AND ZONKO'S JOKE SHOP WHO, I AM TOLD WILL BE SELLING EXCLUSIVE DEMENTOR'S KISS ENCHANTED BOBBLE HEADS UNTIL STOCKS RUN OUT."
"Sir, I—"
But the crowd cut her off, screaming and chanting the lead singers name. Blackwood didn't move. She tried again.
"Sir, I'm sorry—"
"If the Ministry needed useless Aurors, we might as well have employed trolls."
She felt winded. She was a goldfish in a tank, gaping and voiceless. She made an excuse to leave instead under the guise of checking the perimeter of the pub. Blackwood silently let her go, his blue-grey eyes trailing her as she left. When she burst out of the warm pub onto the snow-slicked street, she gasped, but not from the cold. Under the buttery yellow awning lamps she slammed her back up against the facade and held her face in her hands. She heard Dementor's Kiss take to the stage. From the roar of the crowd they were going absolutely ballistic.
She'd been an Auror for five months now. She had signed up immediately after receiving her NEWT results: Outstanding in everything save Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy which received Exceeds Expectations. The entry into the Ministry was easy enough since they were desperate for witches and wizards to contribute to the war effort although she was secretly pleased when she was hired as a Grade I Auror, the Muggle equivalent of a Constable, instead of an Auror Cadet, as many other graduate Hogwarts students were.
She'd soared through training, impressing her instructors who had noted that she was 'quiet, but exceptionally clever,' before they placed her under the care of Blackwood as her supervising officer. And what was her great and noble contribution to the cause she'd agreed to give her life if necessary? Absolutely nothing. She had never seen nor touched a case of her own, let alone participate in fieldwork except for tonight which only doubled her mortification that the one chance she'd had to impress him was now gurgling down the drain.
Blackwood was a Grade II, still only an Inspector officially, but he'd risen quickly through the ranks and informally outstripped her a fair bit. His opinion in the office mattered. He directly reported to Barty Crouch.
He also thought that she was a complete and total idiot.
"Alice?"
She looked up. Frank Longbottom was standing in front of her. He was wearing a sensible brown suit under a long travelling cloak and his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets to avoid the biting cold which was now working its way into her joints. His moustache was thick and dark like his hair which curled ever so slightly to his shoulders. She felt a pink flush creep up her neck like a vine as the crowd thundered in the pub.
"Hey!" she said a little too brightly. "I didn't know you were working tonight."
He stared at her. "Alice, your eyes are wet."
"Oh," she said stupidly. "I have allergies."
He looked at her for a long moment, evidently deciding on something, before sighing and leaning up against the wall next to her. Dementor's Kiss had started playing. The music was muffled but she could still make out the lyrics:
Tonight
I wanna give it all to you
In the darkness
There's so much I wanna do
She stared stonily ahead. Frank broke the silence first.
"On my first day in the office," he began, "Someone played a prank on me. I was given a tip off that there was evidence of enemy infiltration in the men's toilets, the janitor was suspected to be a mole, and they needed someone to bring the culprit in. Some Grade Threes, real veterans, told me I should be the one to do it. I protested of course, I was just new but they insisted that if I brought this wizard in that Barty Crouch would look favourably on me— or some bullshit like that." He laughed but it sounded strained. "I wanted to do the right thing so desperately even though I knew deep down that something was off. I was naive. Why would Aurors stoop to something as childish as hazing?"
"What happened?"
"Well I did it of course. Apprehended him, dragged him up to Barty Crouch like an idiot." He sighed and rubbed his jaw. "Turns out he was a Squib. Had been working for the Ministry since he was sixteen, too. There was no tip off either." She winced and he nodded. "Yeah, it was bad. Barty Crouch had to smooth things over with the family. He was furious with me, of course. Said if I was stupid enough to believe everything my superiors said then I'd be as good as under the Imperius Curse already."
"Ouch."
"I think I went home with a bottle of Firewhiskey that night. Normally I stick to tea but sometimes you just need something a bit more—"
"Obliterating?"
He laughed. "Yeah. Something like that." The music throbbed with an elevated pulse and she strained her ears to listen.
I was made for charming you baby
You were made for charming me
And I can't get enough of you baby
Can you get enough of me?
Their breaths were coming out in puffs now and she wished she brought gloves. She blew on her fingers to warm them before Frank reached out and delicately touched her hand. "Here," he said, and murmured, "Calidus manus." Her hands immediately began to warm as though she were holding them in front of a crackling fire.
"Thanks," she said with a smile. She was relieved yet also embarrassed. Why hadn't she thought of that spell herself? She was going dotty.
There was suddenly a loud bang as a side door flung open— Alice and Frank had their wands out in a heartbeat ready to fight before Remus stumbled out holding onto a catatonic Peter.
"Lovely evening," he smiled at them, moustache bristling, before holding Peter's hair back as he violently spewed. Remus was patting him calmly on the back. "There there, get it all out." He wiped a stray fleck from his scarred cheek and then looked sadly at the bottom of his tartan pants which were now wet. Frank was whispering, "Evanesco," and vanishing the sick as it splattered on the pavement.
"So—sorry," Peter panted, his blonde feathered hair slicked against his pale face. "Don't—mean to—" and he proceeded to begin vomiting again. There was another loud bang as the side door was nearly ripped off its hinges; Sirius and James stumbled out looking puzzled.
"There's the wizard of the hour!" Sirius hooted, clapping Peter on the back who was now hiccuping. "Fancy another round?" James cackled gleefully. Peter turned an alarming shade of green as Remus began to protest that they really ought to be taking him home when James and Sirius grabbed both of them by the shoulders and frog-marched them back inside.
Frank and Alice eyed each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. The side door banged open again and Alice, still laughing, said exasperatedly, "What now?" when Blackwood stepped outside. Her fingers went cold despite Frank's charm. They stood to attention. He eyed them both lazily.
"Do remember to do your jobs once in a while, won't you?" He was pulling on gloves, his voice bored. "The Ministry has predicted that there is only a slim chance of an attack tonight. Our Sneakscopes and Foe Glasses are only showing low readings so I doubt we'll be seeing any Death Eaters unless, of course, they're die hard Dementor's Kiss fans." He checked his watch. "I'm trusting you to ensure that none of our illustrious patrons," and he slid his boot away from some vomit Frank hadn't managed to Vanish, "come to harm. I've called for an additional six Aurors, they'll be arriving any moment now."
Alice nodded. "Thank you, sir."
He snorted. "Not you, Fortescue. I was talking to Longbottom." He dropped his voice to a whisper as though she were a naughty child. "It's best not to speak when wizards are talking."
"Sir—" Frank started hotly but Blackwood cut him off.
"I have better things to do than listen to your knight in shining armour routine, Longbottom. Both of you, stay outside until the gig is over. Shacklebolt and her team are covering the interior. Any problems, don't contact me."
He disapparated. Alice couldn't look at Frank, she feared if she did she would burst into tears. She heard him move to look at her, open his mouth to say something but she cut him off gently, "It's fine, Frank."
"No it's not. You could report him to Crouch, I'm happy to be a witness. You don't deserve this."
But she couldn't reply. There was something worming in her gut, something acidic and primordial. A great basilisk eating her insides slowly, poisoning her bloodstream with the question: But what if she did deserve it?
Dementor's Kiss raged inside the pub, filling the lacuna left by her silence.
Oh, can't get enough
I can't get enough
I can't get enough
I can't get enough
