Who: Frank and Alice Longbottom When: Today Where: The Ministry, then London What: Frank to the rescue? Rating/Status: TBD - possible violence / Closed
While Frank found making out shift assignments to be hopelessly boring, it did have the benefit of allowing him to know precisely where his wife was supposed to be whenever she was on the job. Usually, this was a relief; Frank knew when she would return and what she was doing, and really, it cut down on the worrying quite a bit.
Except on days like today, when Alice was spending her morning spying on a Death Eater, somewhere in the bowels of London, and still had not returned.
“I’m not worried,” Frank declared to his empty office. Doyle poked his head out of his cuckoo clock and gave an encouraging trill. “And neither are you,” he scolded the bird. “Not worried at all. So she’s a little… a lot late, she probably stopped for lunch! Yes, she’s eating right now and everything is brilliant, and Argus Pyrites probably doesn’t have her stunned and lying at Voldemort’s feet while I’m talking to a wooden bird.” Doyle chirped, and Frank sighed.
“I just… have a feeling,” he muttered, scarcely louder than a whisper. “The sort of feeling you get right before a mission goes pear-shaped, you know?” Visions of past missions danced through his mind, memories of blood and death and misery, nightmares in waking time, and suddenly Frank had quite had it. He couldn’t stand another second of sitting, waiting around and hoping things would work out rather than taking a stand and getting things done on his own.
With quick, almost angry motions, he tossed his quill, letting it land in a splotch on the parchment before him, and stood. “Ah well, I can live with a bit of anger as long as she’s well enough to shout at me.” A quick glance at the shift schedule to remind him of where she was working, and he strode out of the office and onto Alice’s trail.