Bothersome day ((Jack))

[madeye]

Alastor stood on the high balcony and observed the new young aurors training below. These were dark times. Very dark and very dangerous. But with every passing year the young ones seemed to get younger and younger. Moody grunted in annoyance and turned away from the display before him. The people down there had barely had time to grow up. Yet these children were supposed to go out in a year and face full-grown Death Eaters who had been practicing all their years. And Death eaters didn’t give the kids time to fumble through spells. No they would go straight for the killing spell. Maybe torture a bit before if the Death Eater wanted to have some fun first. The numerous scars on his face deepened glumly as Alastor left the balcony his wooden leg clinking loudly at every other step. He was starting to feel old. Old and battered. Even his wooden leg was feeling more painful today than usually.

Grunting at an old mate who passed him Alastor didn’t stop to speak with anyone. Fudge was an idiot. Silence from Voldemort never signalized anything good. They hadn’t gotten Potter this time. Even if the trick had been good. But they had one of the Patil girls and Alastor very seriously doubted the Death Eaters had been happy about this twist of things. With every passing day the chances of finding the girl alive lessened. Not that Alastor himself held any more hope to find her alive. Yet only time would tell for sure. Alastor grunted and signed himself out of the office for today. There was nothing here to be done today. He could rather go and make visit some of his private informants. Both of his eyes glaring at a young official who was blocking the doorway Alastor was glad to see the young man moving on quickly. It was pleasing to see that he still could make his point clear without words.

Stepping into the apparition ward in the Ministry building Alastor continued walking across the room. His wooden leg clinkced loudly as he carried his weight to his own leg and there never was an other clink as Alastor was now standing inside Hogsmeade village. Alastor pulled his old cloak closer around himself the dull material making him appear pleasing unnoticeable until you really looked at the face of the old auror. The magical eye left no doubts to his identity yet Alastor didn’t worry about the fact for long. His long years on duty had taught him how to not be noticed unless he wished to be. His head bent even as it did little to protect his face from the harsh wind that seemed to cut through flesh and bone alike. Measured steps took Alastor to the back entrance to a store where he spoke briefly to the grand-motherly woman. Thanking the woman Alastor moved on in a few moments going to see an old comrade who also supplied Alastor with the blue liquid that kept his eye clean and working. Yet he heard no new scarps of information from here that would have made his nose itch.

Curling and uncurling his fingers to make sure his fingers could competently grasp his wand at the slightest suggestion to an attack. His eyes moving around him in all directions Alastor limped his way to Three Broomsticks. His leg was troubling him a little today so sitting down in the warmth of madam Rosmerta’s pub might do him some good. The pub was half-empty which was good. Less people and less directions form where to expect an attack from. Alastor grunted in reply as Rosmerta scurried over to greet him and seated himself with his back to the wall in a corner while Rosmerta herself went to prepare a dinner for him free of all cruets as those could easily be used to hide evidence of poison. His magical eye none the less keeping his attention in the kitchen Alastor took the flask from his hip and took a sip while his other eye fervently scanned the room his finger holding his wand under his cloak that he hadn’t taken off.

[Jack Rendel S5]

Jack meandered around Hogsmeade with no particular destination in mind. His feet seemed to have a mind on where to go, and seeing this, Jack just let them take him places. He ventured to Zonko's first. The store had never really appealed to him. Jack wasn't much of a jokester. The only thing he enjoyed was the fireworks, which seemed to always cheer him on dreary days. The bright lights and loud explosions, you couldn't beat it. Jack had nothing better to do today then browse the shop. Although he appeared very transfixed, his eyes wondered aimlessly. There was no point in this. At all. So he left. The whole thing seemed rather amusing. Jack was in a light mood today. He couldn't figure out why. Well maybe it was because he had caught up with his sleep finally, and his homework was finished. There were no worries for him at all. Strolling casually down the streets, Jack found himself near the Shrieking Shack. Again.

There was something weird about the place, something so strange Jack felt he had to go see it. It wasn't at all pretty looking, and he had heard the tales of the place being hunted by ghosts and what not. Maybe that was why Jack was so attracted to it. Ghosts had always fascinated Jack. From the first time he saw them, he always wondered why some ghosts stayed behind and others didn't. What were ghosts made of? Why was it so cold when they passed through you? Well, Jack knew the answer of that. Death was cold. With clammy fingers and freezing breath... Jack shivered. Dementors seemed to fit rather well. He had luckily missed out on the dementors that one year when Black escaped. Thank goodness. Jack might as well have been terrified to go to school. Which was impossible. Jack found his way back to the middle of the village, not wanting to stare at the shack any longer.

Maybe memories were bad things to have. If you forgot everything, wouldn't that be like restarting all over again the next day? Having a free will. Heck, your attitude might even change as well. The thought was enjoyable to Jack. He didn't like keeping memories. Memories were bad, bad, bad. They kept you awake at night, or made you who you were in just minutes. Although Jack never complained to anyone, his head was about to bust with too much memories. Some were good but most were, well, bad. He shrugged, as if that could push away all his bothersome thoughts. Forget it. He paused in front of the Three Broomsticks. He disliked the pub. Lots of different people went there, including mudbloods and the sort. Plus other people Jack loathed, equaling dislike for the whole thing. It was too crowded. Rubbing shoulders with people like that just sent shivers down Jack's spine.

He entered the Three Broomsticks and carefully looked around. Surprise surprise, it wasn't that crowded. Of course it could have been better. It could always be better. Jack rubbed his hands together. Blasted cold. When he had created enough friction to be satisfied, Jack walked around the pub. No one he knew was inside. Ah, too bad. He would have liked some respectable company today. "Butterbeer." Jack told Rosmerta, leaning against the counter. When it arrived, he paid up and took it with him. The way the pub was set up forced Jack to either go up one side or up the other, going past all the booths and chairs. With a sigh, he began his journey, carefully putting his change in his pants pocket when suddenly his knee collided with a table. Bloody hell! Pain shot through his leg and Jack, without noticing that he had done it, dropped his butterbeer. It fell on the table he had ran into with a loud clunk, the glass shattering everywhere. The whole mess got on Jack's shoes and he only had eyes for them, not the person who had been sitting at the table. "My shoes. Just great." Jack muttered, clearly annoyed as he finally looked up at the person who's table he had ran into. The butterbeer was sprayed all over the table, and some of it may have fallen on the man, Jack didn't know. The only thing Jack had eyes for was the man's magical eye, which clearly showed his identity.

[madeye]

His food was finished quickly enough without Alastor’s eye never wavering from the kitchen where it was prepared. He trusted Rosmerta but only to one point. Someone could always be drinking polyjuice potion to pretend to be her and slip poison in. Alastor gripped his wand stronger at the memory his normal eye swirling between the half-empty pub-room in an expectation for an attack. He would never again be caught with his guard down. He had given up a good fight when he had been taken. But Alastor would rather die than be taken a prisoner for the second time. He was getting too old to play spies and live in the constant threat as he infiltrated enemy lines. He’d leave those to younger ones who were anxious of getting a chance to prove themselves. Even if most of them were far from ready for the real task to face the evils of this world. Kids weren’t ready to face the evils of Death Eaters on a battlefield where they often became only playtoys. Even Sirius had been no better letting his feelings get the best of him in the Department of Mysteries. Foolish boy only looking for a laugh.

Alastor grunted in response as Rosmerta herself brought him the food he had ordered his magical eye already whizzing around with an almost maniacal desire to find someone setting up a trap. As if sensing the old aurors mood Rosmerta didn’t stay around for long opting to move back to care for the rest of her costumers instead. Alastor raised the plate and sniffed the food there cautiously. He hadn’t seen anyone drip poison in it but he wouldn’t take the smallest risk of not knowing for certain. Alastor eyed the food just as a boy ran into his table. Alastor’s wand was pointed at his throat in a moment but he didn’t utter a spell. Not yet. Maybe it was one of those Hogwarts students who foolishly thought that they could make a difference alone. The concern he showed about his shoes showed that he was a Slytherin. Which made it all the easier for a Death Eater to be disguised as him.

The bottle of “butterbeer” he had dropped had splashed around. It hadn’t fallen on Alastor but his food was covered with it. A careful plan to feed him poison? It might be. Even if the spy censor he had in his pocket wasn’t whistling loudly. But Alastor would not be taking any chances in eating the food. The boy had now taken to staring at him as Alastor’s beady black eyes was narrowed and staring at him while the electric blue started turning in his head once more. “Constant vigilance!” Alastor roared out at the boy his quietly throbbing leg and his empty stomach giving his voice an added cut. “You don’t go running into tables unless the table attacks you! You don’t provoke a fight!” Alastor glared at the boy as he barked these orders out at him as if he was talking with an auror trainee slowly lowering his wand from the boys throat and leaving it on the table his right hand still resting on the wand. With his left Alastor found the silver flask and took a gulp of drink from it while still glaring suspiciously at the boy.

[Jack Rendel S5]

"Pro..." Jack hesitated. Moody had been his professor in his first year. Not exactly the best teacher to start off with, but still, he had grown used to the 'Professor' part. And even then, wasn't there a scam behind it all? Something rather theoretical. Again, the whole scheme involved the Boy Who Would Not Die, as Mary put it. Mr. Moody was just too comical to even be considered. And Moody just seemed to frank. Jack decided that if the time arose to use names, he would decide quickly and smoothly. Being in indecision certainly was not good for your status. But right now Jack was not about to be friendly toward "Mr. Moody," as he seemed rather hostile at the moment. With a wand at his throat, introductions seemed unnecessary. Whenever a wand was at his throat, or pointed at him in a deadly manner, fear always crept into Jack. Like poison seeping through the body, his knees always grew trembly and his breathing sharp and unsteady. Jack wasn't a hero, nor was he a coward. Just a normal person with common fears of death and what not. He wasn't a hero like Potter. A good thing, pretty much.

"The table..." Jack muttered, clearly annoyed. What the heck was he talking about? Oh yes, Jack running into the table. The only thing he could clearly think about right now was that a wand was no longer on his throat. Although Moody made it clear that he was still ready to use it. "Yes. Of course." Jack said, a smirk rising to his face. It was hard not to be sarcastic to this fully grown senile man. It was quite possible he would be cursed into oblivion if he said anything aggressive or just a sarcastic remark. You never know with a nutty guy like Mad-Eye Moody. The rumors about him weren't as many now, but Jack still heard a few, especially about his old teaching days. Unique as he was, though, Jack felt very out-of-whack with this guy around, although his words did make Jack want to laugh. Senile wasn't enough to describe it.

"I do hope the table won't attack me, sir. But if it does, I'll make sure to take note of it." He just then noticed that the butterbeer had gotten on the man's food. What a waste, that. Jack's shoes were even worse off. They cost far more then the soggy stuff Mad-Eye now got to eat. With his smirk still evident to ward off his snickers, Jack managed to remain cool and looked around at the mess. "I do apologize for the mess I created." He took his eyes off the magical eye rather forcefully. Jack remembered in his first year it had rather astonished him to see it, and scared him too. "Surely I can help you clean it up?" Jack raised an eyebrow, watching Moody take a swig of his flask drink. Interesting. Jack shifted his weight impatiently. Moody was much more trained in magic then Jack, and was an adult, but it was still hard to contain Jack's attitude. Leaving his statement as a question - you never knew what would be taken offensively or not - Jack decidedly stared at his very unclean shoes with disappointment.

[madeye]

Alastor corked his bottle once again and let placed it back to it’s general location at his belt his magical eye whirling around in his head once again. He had already scanned the boy and he didn’t appear to carry any weapon besides his wand. Then again there would be no need for any other weapon but a wand. Maybe it would have been smarter if the boy was a Death Eater in disguise to carry some weapon. Or maybe it was a clever ruse to try to divide his attention. Alastor didn’t know. But he was damned sure that he wouldn’t be taken alive ever again. But there was a good chance this was just a boy.
Alastor grunted in annoyance his beady black eye narrowed as he kept a close eye on the boy. He seemed to be worried about his shoes. That and the almost arrogant way of saying sir to him pointed rather clearly that the boy was a Slytherin. Which brought up yet two options. Either it meant that Death Eaters could play this boy easier. Or that this guy was too vain to let himself be used like that. Slytherins were a sly and cunning folk after all.

“Slytherin brat as you are you should be able to afford new shoes.” Alastor grunted out as he observed the boy his mind quickly trying to guess all the possible of ways of this being a trap. If you had lived as long as Alastor and had had to deal with the lowlifes for the bigger part of your life you didn’t have naïve faith in people’s innocence and goodness of heart.
“How do you expect to clean this up? You aren’t old enough to use magic outside Hogwarts. And I doubt a little spoiled kid was ever forced to use a mop.” Alastor said as he nodded to Rosmerta who had came bustling over and left after a moment again taking the plate with the soggy food with her.

[Jack Rendel S5]

Buy new shoes? Perhaps. Jack stared down at the shoes with a raised eyebrow. Maybe not such a bad idea. He had many pairs of shoes at his manor, so many he had lost count. Some didn't fit anymore, of course, but he still had them. As a boy, Father had liked to play a pretend game with Jack. They would each pretend to be someone else by switching into different clothes, different shoes, putting on glasses, wearing jewelery - whatever. It had been a fun game, until Jack found out where Father had learned to do it so well. By then, it had become clear of what Father had done for a living before his wife had a child. The game never again was fun, not that they played it. Jack shrugged carelessly.

"I suppose so." The idea didn't flit through Jack's mind long with flattery. Had Mad-Eye no idea how much these shoes cost? "Slytherin brat?" Jack asked, feigning a look of innocence and confusion. "Why, how could that be possible?" He smirked, looking down at his shoes precariously and not with delight. Although his shoes were not the reason he was still standing here; interest for the man was binding him to the spot. Curiosity, more like. What was he doing in Hogsmeade? Was he on some sort of business, or was he....? Jack didn't let himself pause to think about these things; thinking always gave him a rather vacant look, and he couldn't possibly look to doing that with Moody sitting close by. His shoe-lace was untied. Yes, by all means, how could that have happened? With a sigh, Jack sat down on the opposite chair.

"You were right though." Jack said, avoiding looking at the magical eye. Watching it move around always gave him a queasy feeling. "I'm a Slytherin. A fourth year. Not too sure about the brat part, however. Did I make a bad impression?" If only Jack had been older. A fourteen year old speaking to a man who could be around fifty did not look right, nor was it a comfortable situation to be with. He couldn't speak his mind, and he most certainly could not act like himself. Pulling his foot so that it was on the chair next to him, Jack leaned forward and quickly laced up his sticky shoes, not looking up to watch Rosmerta clean off the now soggy food and ignored the rather annoying comment on cleaning and magic. Again, age seemed to be the matter here.

"Have you caught the trail yet?" Jack asked, surprising even himself by speaking his thoughts aloud. "The girl's, I mean. What's her name.... Patil? I heard her parents moved her twin out of Hogwarts...." Jack waved over an aid of Rosmerta's and ordered a butterbeer. After losing his first one, a second one seemed even more delicious. He chanced a look up at Moody, just to see what emotions were showing on his scarred face.

[madeye]

Moody grunted at the innocent act the boy was trying to pull. He had seen it before. Grown up Death Eaters and other scum as there was never a lack of criminals in this world would pat their hair, look downwards, shuffle their feed and look generally sheepish. Say they didn’t do it or didn’t know what they were doing in court while there were countless eye-witnesses who had seen them torture and kill with laughter sounding from their lips. Maybe blame their life-style on their parents and a difficult child-hood. Oh Alastor had seen it more than once and this boy wasn’t coming close to the perfection of such an act. At least not yet even if he did appear to have potential. Alastor watched wordlessly as the boy sat down his magical eye making a circle around the whole house to make sure no one was up to any funny business.

„You kids alwyas have your opinions about everything. And you Slytherins don’t act so tame. So what prompts your character? The lack of companions behind your back? The crowd here right now? Why won’t you tell me what kidn of an impression you made.“ Alastor grunted his magical eye settling on the boys feet that were pulled up on a chair as Alastor looked through the table. Other people sat there. You could make a Slytherin speak politely and nicely. But could you ever rid one of it’s arrogance? Moody didn’t reach for his wand. He preferred fair play when possible and so far the boy had given no indication that he was someone else. He was arrogant and mildly irritating but nothing Alastor couldn’t ignore or brush aside. SO he would give the boy he benefit of a doubt. Both his eyes stopping on his face for a moment Alastor shifted himself and with a sharp kick pushed the chari away from under the boy’s feet.

„And what makes you so important you don’t have to know the names of your school-mates?“ Alastor had growled the question out with his mind already at other matters. The kidnapping of the Patil girl was unfortunate. Dumbledore had ccertainly done all that oculd be done after it but who would have thought of such an occasion that someone might have cursed Trelawney’s possessions. It was obvious to who the Death Eaters wanted to get. But Potter wasn’t ready yet and the world needed him alive so maybe luck had still been on their side this time. This casualty merely stung more painfully than others would. Alastor caught the look at his face and his fish opened in soundless laughter the cut upper lip making his mouth appear a bit like a bottomless black hole. He knew the game of controlling his facial muscles better than just anyone on the street. He had been on the game too long to not know them so Alastor merely replied in a monotone voice quoting precisely what the Ministry’s press official had said in the interview for the Daily Prophet.
„The search is still going on, the Ministry is working on the top of it’s abilities and a solution will be reached.“