*The last week hasn't been good. Frank has spent it trying to be supportive without saying the wrong thing, and not just with Alice. Fabian's been in a right state as well, which means Gideon's upset about Fabian, and Frank feels like a fulcrum trying to balance too many things at one time. Their birthday do was better - there was still the underlying knowledge that everything wasn't okay, but at least it felt more like normal. Still, on the whole, it's enough to make him understand why people take up smoking
( ... )
*It's automatic, he was raised to be polite, but he stops a bit short when he sees who it is. Of course. Alice Longbottom's husband, Francis or Ferdinand something, he can't quite remember. And he looks upset--that alone is enough to bring a smile to his face. It seems years ago that he was tailing Alice, and the distance is an entirely pleasant one. It would be more prudent to head straight back and not pick a fight, but he can't help himself, he looks so miserable and Evan has so longed to make the lot of them suffer.*
*Frank's aware that he's being baited. He's also aware that getting into a fight on a Muggle street in broad daylight is a bad idea. But Rosier's directly or indirectly caused too many problems lately, and if he can't get at Umbridge yet, well....*
*When he gets back to the office, Frank pauses before going to his desk. He's still reeling from the conversation with Rosier, half vindicated and half horrified, and his gaze darts among those most affected by Umbridge's atrocities and mismanagement. Alice's empty desk, Fabian - Gideon by necessary extension - Sirius. They need to know, but he also wants to be very careful how this gets out, and how far. Legally he has an obligation to go straight to Scrimgeour, but instinct says no.
Looking distracted and pensive, he moves between cubicles with only perfunctory answers to colleagues' greetings, and pauses to lean down and murmur in Gideon's ear on the way to his desk.*
I need to talk to you later. And Fabian and Sirius.
*He's forgotten, in all his thinking, Evan's blood smeared on his knuckles.*
*Gideon's still up to his ears in the Gump case, and the half-eaten remains of his lunch are shoved into a corner of his desk. At Frank's murmur he starts a bit, and he instantly notices the blood on the man's knuckles, but he barely reacts. He hates that the Department has to be like this, all secrecy and need-to-know and politics, but he's no fool. He keeps his voice low, casual.*
Oh, will you two come by the flat later? Fabian's insisting we get rid of the Firewhisky.
*Distracted or not, Frank's smile at that is real. Faint, but real. Fabian has gotten spectacularly drunk and then been spectacularly hungover far more often than usual lately.*
*Well, that's . . . weird. Both good and bad news. Since Umbridge isn't there, Sirius knocks off early--just after seven--and heads home to Remus, stopping on his way to pick up a bottle of each. He goes through the wards on the flat with a practiced ease, and closes them behind him after locking the door and setting down the bag with a bit of a rattle from the glass bottles inside.
He tries not to call too loud--he doesn't want to make the inevitable headache worse.*
*This is as bad as it gets. That's been Remus's mantra all day - the scant parts that he's been awake, anyway - this is as bad as it gets, and it's only going to get better from here. He's been going through this for fourteen years, but the day immediately after a full moon is still sheer misery. Exhausted and aching and nauseous, he's spent most of it in bed, dead asleep, trying not to roll over onto any bruises. (His shoulders, face, and hands caught the worst of it this month, as usual - he has a bad habit of lunging at walls and trying to dig through the floor when transformed.)
And the headache, as Sirius correctly assumes, is not inconsiderable. Remus had been half-asleep and half-debating whether he could keep down biscuits when he hears the door and Sirius's voice. He gingerly props himself up on his elbows, ribs protesting, and looks to the doorway. His voice is ragged and hoarse; howling will do that.*
*Sirius enters the bedroom and sits gingerly next to Remus, careful not to bounce. He reaches out and smooths a bit of Remus' hair that's sticking up. He almost asks how Remus is feeling, but Sirius knows how he's feeling--as best as someone can who hasn't been through it, anyway--so it's pointless to ask, and he doesn't do it.*
Umbridge was out sick.
*He leans forward to kiss his forehead very, very carefully, scrutinizing his face, as if he could read how well he is or isn't there. Sirius doesn't even want to propose going out to the twins', with how Remus looks just now.*
*He reaches out and catches his hand with a faint grimace; clavicles are reduced and detached in wolves, and there's some bone fusing that goes on in wrists. Everything hurts, but it's worse where bones disconnect or merge or change shape drastically - hence the headache.*
No. I'm alright. Good day for you, then, with her out?
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*It's automatic, he was raised to be polite, but he stops a bit short when he sees who it is. Of course. Alice Longbottom's husband, Francis or Ferdinand something, he can't quite remember. And he looks upset--that alone is enough to bring a smile to his face. It seems years ago that he was tailing Alice, and the distance is an entirely pleasant one. It would be more prudent to head straight back and not pick a fight, but he can't help himself, he looks so miserable and Evan has so longed to make the lot of them suffer.*
What's got you so down, Longbottom?
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Funny you, of all people, should ask.
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Me? I should hate to think I'm the author of all your miseries.
*His smirk betrays that he would like very, very much to think precisely that.*
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Looking distracted and pensive, he moves between cubicles with only perfunctory answers to colleagues' greetings, and pauses to lean down and murmur in Gideon's ear on the way to his desk.*
I need to talk to you later. And Fabian and Sirius.
*He's forgotten, in all his thinking, Evan's blood smeared on his knuckles.*
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Oh, will you two come by the flat later? Fabian's insisting we get rid of the Firewhisky.
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I'm sure he is. We'll be there.
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Might have to be a bit late, Frank.
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He tries not to call too loud--he doesn't want to make the inevitable headache worse.*
Remus?
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And the headache, as Sirius correctly assumes, is not inconsiderable. Remus had been half-asleep and half-debating whether he could keep down biscuits when he hears the door and Sirius's voice. He gingerly props himself up on his elbows, ribs protesting, and looks to the doorway. His voice is ragged and hoarse; howling will do that.*
You're early.
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Umbridge was out sick.
*He leans forward to kiss his forehead very, very carefully, scrutinizing his face, as if he could read how well he is or isn't there. Sirius doesn't even want to propose going out to the twins', with how Remus looks just now.*
Anything I can get for you?
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*He reaches out and catches his hand with a faint grimace; clavicles are reduced and detached in wolves, and there's some bone fusing that goes on in wrists. Everything hurts, but it's worse where bones disconnect or merge or change shape drastically - hence the headache.*
No. I'm alright. Good day for you, then, with her out?
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