Characters: Alastor Moody & Melisande Yaxley Date: Friday 11th July, 1958 Setting: Wizengamot -> Muggle Pub Content: Language Summary: Their first meeting Status: Complete
It was bollocks. The whole fucking case was bollocks--and he had said as much in the office, in the staff-room and in the foyer outside the Wizengamot. There was no such thing as reasonable force when arresting Dark wizards. Why was he the only one to see that? His job was to help rid the world of these dark bastards, one way or another, and if he needed to break a few bones to get that done then so what? While the Aurors were off shuffling their paperwork and joining the dots together, he was on the streets bringing these guys in.
He hadn’t bothered to show up to any of the pre-meetings regarding his case. He had scribbled down a rough account of the events: Duelled. Knocked him out. Now that was vague. Pollux Rosier had spent several weeks in St. Mungo’s due to his injuries: head trauma, broken bones, and a rather nasty hex that had left him with severe burns. The latter, Moody insisted, had been self-inflicted because he did not use dark magic to get the job done. Rosier was a cunning prick and had clearly seen that he was going into the Ministry regardless, so why not add some injuries that would lessen his sentence--or get him off altogether?
The head trauma and broken bones were all Moody… and there may have been a few extra broken ribs from a swift kick when the man was down that most would have deemed unnecessary. But fuck if he cared. It was a high adrenaline job with your life on the line. So what if his temper had gotten the better of him when he saw that damn hex crusting up his skin! So fucking what.
The only good thing about the court case was his current view. Melisande Yaxley. He didn’t know anything about her other than what was presented before him: blonde and easy on the eye. But hell, he wasn’t quite prepared for how she would carry herself in court and as soon as her first few lines were out, a smirk was planted on his features before he fixed his attention on Rosier.
Alastor Moody was the Hit Wizard no one wanted to represent. He had a history of going a little too far when he made arrests, which was fine -- dark wizards could be quite the wriggly creatures, as she well knew. Chances were, if Moody could ever act the least bit sorry afterwards, his… preference for violent arrests could be excused. But no, he was unrepentant to the last.
Melisande Yaxley had drawn the short straw today, but really, she didn't mind. Unlike most to her colleagues in the law department of the Ministry, she saw Moody as a challenge. The man was very good at what he did, and with his big mouth about disliking Dark wizards, the verdict was a foregone conclusion. His notes were utterly rubbish, a throwback to a student skipping out on homework. They gave her nothing to work with, and she resolved to take him to task afterwards for not helping her.
Rosier’s barrister finished pleading the plight of the poor, battered Dark wizard and sat down. He flashed a smug smile her way; she and Anton went far back. They'd had a rivalry at Hogwarts, and he still enjoyed trying to one up her.
Trying the operative word.
Melisande stood up gracefully, her face a calm mask, hiding the enjoyment she felt. This was going to be fun “Honorable wizards, there is no case here, and you know it. Mr Rosier sentenced himself when he attacked Hit Wizard Alastor Moody. Any actions of Mr Moody after that are justifiable as self defense.”
Having done her research on the panel, she paused in front of one judge she knew to be sympathetic to Moody. “Mr Rosier also has a history of using Dark Magic to lessen his sentence, as his records show. It is not inconceivable that he hexed himself as a way to weasel out of just punishment.”
Melisande turned to her client and saw Moody was smirking, as if he was having the time of his life here. Damn him. “Mr Moody did what he needed to do to bring Mr Rosier to justice without anyone else being injured. He should not be punished for fulfilling his job duties.”
The smirk remained on his features as Melisande took the stand. He noticed how several of the judges in the stand straightened their back to take note. For someone who was still a fledgling in her career, she had still forged a path for herself in a very male dominated profession. Moody had to admire that, but that didn’t mean he was about to make her job any easier. As she turned to finish, meeting his eye, he gave her a sardonic, solemn nod.
“My record speaks for itself,” he said as he looked to the Minister. There was an audible sigh of frustration from several people in the audience. “I won’t apologise for bringing in a man like that--” He jerked his head towards Rosier.
His wand had already been checked. There had been no evidence of that spell, but even Moody knew there were several in the department that had been thrown out for having a duplicate. Rosier’s wand had conveniently been snapped in the process, thus making it impossible to check what magic had been used last.
He looked back to Melisande, “Do I need to go on or are you going to finish this up?”
When Alastor opened his mouth and interrupted Melisande’s smooth defense, she had to check her urge to choke the damn man. He had a reputation for more reasons than one, this being a prime example of him never knowing how to keep his damn mouth shut. But her irritation didn’t show on her face; no, she was too good for that, and honestly, too used to dealing with idiotic men to let it show on her features just how angry she was. Still, it was a good thing her wand was in her office, because otherwise she might have sent some magic his way.
“Thank you, Mr Moody,” she answered smoothly, voice calm. “The reminder of your record is appreciated.” Melisande looked at the audience, catching the eyes of those who had sighed or made noises of displeasure at Moody’s interruption, trying to calm them a slight bow of her head.
“I will also remind the Wizengamot that Mr Moody’s wand has been examined for evidence of the Dark magic, with the result coming up negative. So.” She held her hands up like a scale of justice. “We have a known Dark wizard versus a Hit Wizard with a stellar arrest record.”
“I know you will take the right course of action, Wizengamot judges. Thank you.”
Moody didn’t know what it meant to keep his mouth shut. He had never had that skill. At Hogwarts, he likely had more detentions than anyone in his year--and it wasn’t for senseless violence or trouble. He found himself in the middle of conflicts without really meaning to be, and after a while it became a habit. Despite his gruff nature, he felt his moral compass (while crooked) was still relatively on the mark. No-one in that court could argue with Rosier’s record even if they had a problem with the rough Hit.
As she finished, he gave her another solemn nod of thanks as the court began to mutter amongst itself. Crouch was high up in the stands, gaze intent on him. The two men were not always on the same page but there was a respect there. So much so that the man persisted in trying to get him to move towards the Auror department--something that Moody flat-out refused.
It took the court several minutes before it fell to silence and the question was asked. Only a handful of hands were raised to convict him. The rest were irritated but stayed firmly within their robes. The gabble came down, the case was done and Rosier was dragged down to the cells. The court began to empty and Moody was on his way towards the woman who had saved his job.
“I’ll make sure I request you the next time this happens,” Moody said. “You get to the point quicker than Finch and you look better from behind.”
Melisande kept careful note of which wizards raised their hands, because she knew without a doubt she would be defending Alastor Moody again in the future. Trouble followed the man around; it was a simply a matter of when rather than if. So if she knew which judges went against him now, she could work on relationships with them, so they might go his way in the future. She wasn’t above a little flattery behind the scenes if it meant a better outcome for her clients. That was the way politics worked, and she had no problems taking advantage of that. (And no problems using her gender and appearance if it helped, for that matter. Whatever it took.)
The verdict came in Moody’s favor, as she had known it would. The only outward sign of her pleasure was a gracious smile as the wizards on the panel filed out; it wouldn’t do to appear too smug. She did let a little “I win this win” creep into her expression when she glanced over at Rosier’s barrister, who wasn’t looking as smug as he had earlier.
Then Moody had to come over and spoil the moment, because of course.
“The next time this happens, you don’t have a choice. No one else wants to represent you, Mr Moody.” Melisande stood and looked up at him, not letting the difference in their heights get to her in the slightest. “Think you can keep your mouth shut if I wear a skirt? Perhaps you can imagine what I look like and embellish your jock talk. It’s a lot easier to defend you when you’re quiet.”
“Bollocks. Finch likes the publicity,” Moody said. “At least my name gets some pull.” Yeah, his track record had made him a name in the press and department. In the beginning, barristers had flocked to support his case as a way to get their name out of there. There were still a few who would have given him a shot, but considering his attitude in court, most decided to give him a wide berth.
“Why do I need to make your job easier? No court in this land is going to put someone behind bars with my record--and you fucking know it or you wouldn’t have turned up. If they want to drag me in here like some criminal, then I’ll do what I want,” Moody said. “By all means, give the skirt a go. Depending how short it is, I might be silenced for a few minutes. No promises.”
“Finch is a month away from a nervous breakdown or going into private practice,” she countered. “The pull of your name is less effective than it used to be.” Hence her drawing the short straw this morning. Somehow Melisande had escaped having to rescue the Ministry’s bad boy, but now that she had taken her turn, Moody was a welcome challenge. Something other than the usual cases. Not that she would admit that to him. He would probably lap it up like the damn Cheshire cat, pleased to have another of the Ministry’s barristers in awe of him.
“The court has been letting you off for now. That could change in the future, depending on who makes up future panels. All you need is wizards who dislike you, or who have been paid to dislike you, to judge you in the future. Then your record won’t matter one bit, because if there’s something else you’re good at, it’s making enemies.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she kept her eyes on his. “You need someone to give you counsel, Mr Moody. A big mouth and a stellar record won’t keep you out of trouble forever.”
What she said wasn’t new information to him. The problem was that he had enough faith in his abilities to do his job as he pleased. Arrogance, definitely, but it wasn’t entirely unfounded. The problem with Alastor was that he could not ‘play the game’. He couldn’t get into people’s good graces to advance his career, and he certainly couldn’t cut anyone any slack. He wasn’t opposed to bending the laws to meet an agenda for the common good, but he would never bend it to avoid justice. He was… difficult yet his sense of honour and personal code was embedded in all of his actions.
“You offering?” he said, eyes roaming down her frame obviously. “I take my counsel with a good dose of whiskey. Makes it more manageable.”
Melisande’s answer slid out before she knew it. “Possibly.” She never could resist a challenge, which was a flaw in her nature. In return to his blatant scoping her out, she returned the favor, letting her eyes linger on his abdomen, where she suspected a very nice body was hidden beneath his clothing.
“I prefer top-shelf whiskey to the rotgut I’m sure you drink,” she quipped. Sweeping the last of her papers into her briefcase, she turned to the room’s exit. “But can you remember advice given to you when you’re drinking? I don’t like to repeat myself, Mr Moody.”
Well, she wasn’t what he was used to. Women could get so… uppity. Or they giggled. And Moody could not handle a giggler, even if they were easy on the eye. His secretary fell into that category. A good rack but as dim as a post. Moody liked a challenge, too, and was all too happy to let her gaze wander over his frame.
“Rotgut has its uses,” he lied. He was actually a fan of the high shelf, too, but he was happy to let the misconception pass. “I reckon you’ll like repeating yourself with me,” he added, that trademark smirk to his lips. “But don’t worry, I’m a quick study. Ask Rosier.”
Melisande shook her head. “He’s a little hard to get to right now, so I’ll have to take your word for it.” She would like repeating herself with him? There wasn’t a hippogriff’s chance in the sun of that.
“Well then. Let’s see how quick of a study you are. I have the afternoon off, perk of representing you.” That was another reason many had flocked to Moody’s defense in the early days, before he was in court nearly every week or so it seemed. It turned out a few hours off helped when the chance to put one’s name out there wasn’t as shiny as it once had been. And, of course, a few drinks in the afternoon made up for the frustration of dealing with the damn man.
She’d just seen firsthand how frustrating she could be, and now she was offering to go out for drinks with him? Clearly she was bored and needed to find a hobby. Perhaps Alastor Moody would be it?
“Or do you have to get back to hauling in Dark wizards?”
At her agreement, the smirk widened just a touch but he didn’t push his luck. There was something enticing about her. She held her own while still leaving a possibility open. He liked that. Rather than rub her face in his perceived win, he simply answered, “I think I’ve done enough good for the day.”
He motioned for her to leave first (not because of some gentlemanly trait but because her arse really was something to appreciate), and with that he followed her out of court. “There’s a dive not far from here. Muggle, but it has a decent selection.” The truth was that Moody often preferred Muggle places. Sometimes he just wanted a moment away from it--a moment away from the notoriety and job. A moment to think.
“You’re not a sloppy drunk, right? Because you start sobbing on my shoulder and you can shove your counsel right up your robes,” he added as they made their way towards the Floo Network.
“Lead the way to the Muggle dive,” Melisande replied, nose wrinkling a tiny bit at the word “Muggle.” She wasn’t as outwardly prejudiced as many purebloods, but her family was, so she’d heard a lot growing up, and then at school. But at least at a Muggle bar, there would be no wizards to see her lose her composure and slap Moody right across his smirking face, his damn good looking smirking face.
“Why on earth would I sob when I’m with you?” Melisande resumed their conversation once they were on the street. She matched Moody’s stride despite her heels, unwilling for even the semblance of being subservient by following in his wake. “Are you implying that your dashing good looks and bad reputation will reduce me to a crying shell of a woman? Because if that’s what you thought, we wouldn’t be going for whiskey and counsel in the first place.”
As promised, the bar wasn’t far. Melisande was grateful she hadn’t worn robes today, because that would have looked very out of place and fantastical amongst the Muggles. “Or are you implying I can’t hold my liquor?”
While Alastor had his many character faults, he thought he was a rather decent judge of character. That wrinkle at the word Muggle was duly noted, not a flicker of anything on his features as he continued towards the Floo. Plenty of people were still prejudiced. He wasn’t one of them. If she truly was, he reasoned, her reaction would have been worse. Still, he liked to know what he was dealing with and putting someone out of their comfort zone was the quickest way of doing that.
“I’m just saying that women can’t handle their booze,” Moody said without a hint of amusement. “They’re either sobbing or sloppy, so we’ll see which category you fall in.” For some reason, he had the sneaking suspicion she would fall into neither, but he didn’t mind riling her a touch. “I’m implying that women can’t hold their liquor. You hiding something under those robes I need to know about?”
He took a sharp left, keeping the pace brisk and enjoying how she refused to fall back. Definitely competitive.
Melisande’s eyebrow rose at the intended dig. “And here I thought you were some celebrated Hit Wizard, yet if that’s the categories you have for women, you’re a piss poor judge of character.” Happily she would show him there, something which hadn’t mattered a moment ago but was now suddenly important. If she was going to be digging his behind out of trouble for the foreseeable future, he needed to respect her. So that when she needed him to shut up for real, he would do it and ask questions later. “Let me guess. You like your women decorative and simpering.”
“If that’s what you thought, you wouldn’t be boasting about shagging me in the locker rooms, Moody,” she said calmly. Oh yes, she’d heard about that and had waited for the right moment to bring it up. The comments didn’t bother her; she knew what men talked about when they were alone, and even when they weren’t. But it was always enjoyable to bring it out and own such talk in front of them. So many men thought women couldn’t handle that sort of thing with their delicate ears.
“Sobbing women are easier to get into bed,” Moody stated. “Sometimes a challenge is not what I’m after.” He shot her a smirk. Sometimes he just wanted an easy fuck. That certainly wouldn’t be her, but she offered other levels of satisfaction.
“Decorative?” he barked a laugh at the phrase. “Yeah. Decorative.”
And at that his face broke out into a smile. No condescension. Just simple amusement. “I may have made a comment about wanting to shag you. Is this where you get pissed off? I’ve sat through enough fucking equality workshops to know it’s bollocks. Women want equal rights when it bloody suits,” he said as he pushed the door open to the pub. “You’re not one of them are you? Because if you are, I reckon we skip the drinks and I go back to Finch.”
“If I were pissed, I’d have trounced you from Hit Wizard to paper pusher.” Melisande waltzed through the pub door, determined to act like she wasn’t uncomfortable to be here. She couldn’t actually remember going to a Muggle pub before, but if there was anyone to break that particular cherry with, it was Alastor Moody. He could spot trouble an inch or mile away. “I’ve heard how much you enjoy paperwork.”
When they were seated at the bar, a whiskey neat with a splash of water in front of her, Melisande turned to Moody. “I know you’ve noticed, but let me state the obvious for you, because you seem to be obtuse about certain things. Even without the aid of a family jewel measuring stick, I’m making my own reputation in the Ministry. I respect people because of their skills, not their genders.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “For example, I respect you because you are a good Hit Wizard, even if I might regret saying that later, when I’m trying to get you off again for excessive force and you decide to helpfully remind everyone how good you are.” Melisande knocked back some of her drink at that, because there would undoubtedly be a next time, and soon. Even if Moody listened to anything she told him, it would take time to sink through that thick skull of his. “I don’t respect you simply because you happen to be male.”
“If you maybe wanted to shag me,” Melisande continued, face composed despite the subject matter, “perhaps you should tell me directly.” Now she gave Moody her second best smug smirk. “But maybe I’m too much for you to handle, since I’m not a sobbing drunk and therefore easier to get into bed.”
“I have a secretary for that,” Alastor replied. No, he did not do paperwork. And yes, it had gotten him into shit in the past. Now they didn’t even to bother to ask him for it because it never ended well.
He took a swig from the glass, eyeing her over the rim at her next comment. “I respect people because of their skills,” he agreed. “Doesn’t mean I can’t comment on the body those skills reside in.” He’d met plenty of amazing female Hits--and Aurors. The problem came when those same amazing Hits wanted to be treated just like the men and then threw a fit when they got their wish. He had once had an argument over the fact that he had not held a door open for a fellow female colleague. He reminded her that the door didn’t swing both fucking ways, love.
“After that performance, I’d definitely shag you,” he said as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “Always did like a challenge,” he added before placing the glass to the table. “Don’t reckon you could handle me, love.”
“Comment all you like.” Melisande looked sideways at Moody, who was still a little taller than her even when they were sitting. “As long as you don’t get out of sorts when I comment on yours in return.” Her eyes moved slowly over him again, as if she were blatantly imagining what sort of body he had beneath his clothing. She was sure he was fit and attractive, but the problem was Moody probably thought he was Merlin’s gift to women.
“As I’ve only how good you think you are, and not how good you actually are, I’ll pass,” she shot back, voice sweet as Honeyduke’s chocolate. “Based on the experience you’ve admitted to me, I don’t reckon you could handle me, love.”
When the bartender came to check on them, she motioned for him to leave the bottle, the gesture happily the same as in a wizarding pub. Melisande topped off her glass and Moody’s and gestured with the bottle, “Ready to listen yet, or does your brain need more help first?”
He held his arms out either side. “Comment away. Undress me if you like.” Her attitude was… refreshing. He had always appreciated characters who spoke their mind. Too few people did that within politics and it was the one thing he hated (perhaps because he was never very good at playing the game).
His grin widened. “Fair enough,” he said, raising his glass to her. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” This game was far from over. It was evident in the glint in his eye. The challenge would remain even as she moved the conversation towards the reason for their little social outing. Or at least, the reason she was telling herself she was there. His only response was to ease himself back into his chair and wait like the ever patient pupil.
Clinking her glass against Moody’s, Melisande set the bottle down. “You can try all you like. We’ll see how far you get.” It was obvious the somewhat flirtatious banter between them wasn’t over, and while it wasn’t the sort of talk she would have with a normal--or any--client, Melisande was enjoying it against Moody. But he was going to have to try a lot harder for their game to become anything more than that.
Turning sideways so she faced him, Melisande started ticking points off on her fingers. “If you continually fall into the pattern of roughing up suspects and then not helping one iota by acting smug and running your mouth, the suspects’ barristers are going to use that against you. They try now, when they have no other options, but it’s going to be easier and easier for them to use that defense. I know you’ll find it difficult to believe, but you don’t always have to bash their skulls in to arrest them.”
“How would you feel if you roughed up a murderer and he got off because of your treatment? Good barristers know how to use any technicalities or loopholes they can. It’s obvious you don’t agree with the politics of the DMLE, and that’s fine. But you need to play along sometimes, when it matters.”
Oh, he knew how to read people and right then he could see that flirtation as clear as day. It was one of the reasons why he was good at his job (and riling people). He was observant and aware of his surroundings even if he was still somewhat of a young buck in all of this. He had made mistakes in the line of duty, of course, but his victories far outnumbered the earlier cock-ups.
“I’d get him behind bars one way or another,” he said as he lowered the glass. He pondered it a touch more, swishing the whiskey around the small tumbler. “I don’t play the game, Melisandre. Never have and never will.” The glass stilled in his hand as he set his eyes on hers. “Pencil pushers have no place in law enforcement. They make think there’s a fucking guide on how to bring in a Dark witch or wizard, but there isn’t.”
“You’re just going to have to get better at jumping through loopholes,” he concluded. Because he wasn’t changing for no-one.
Melisande bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back at Moody. She couldn’t tell if he was being extra infuriating on purpose, or that was just how he was. “I can acknowledge there’s no right or wrong way to do it,” she allowed, gears clicking in her head as she tried to find an explanation that he would at least consider. “But consider that Dark wizards talk too, and you’re making yourself predictable.”
She snorted in disbelief at that last bit. “I’m as good at that as you are at creating situations for why loopholes are necessary.” Slamming back her full glass, Melisande swallowed the whiskey as it it was water, nary a peep passing her lips at the burn. “How about this--the more time you waste having to re arrest individuals who are freed or given shorter sentences because you like to bash skulls in, the less time you have to catch others. Have you considered that?”
“Predictable? Because that shit cursed himself?” he barked out a laugh. He leaned forward. “I couldn’t give two shits what they say about me--Dark wizards or the fucking Wizengamot. Until they find someone who can get the same arrests as me, I’m safe. The day that happens, I’m done anyway.” Because Alastor Moody could not deal with not being the best. As soon as the age took him, as soon as his body failed him, then that was the end of his career. He knew that--all Hits did. There was no room for a Hit Wizard who wasn’t at his peak… which was why so many ended up as Aurors.
He flashed her a smile. “I’d say that would make us the perfect team,” utterly amused at how the glass hit the table with such passion. He considered her point again, before shrugging. “While I appreciate--” he grinned so widely then he was sure she would slap him “--the vote of confidence, I’m not a One Man Army. There are other Hits.”
“You might think they’re idiots, but they aren’t. Not all of them.” Many tended to take a simplistic view of good versus bad, but Melisande didn’t. She had grown up seeing a little, and knew that was the barest tip of what could be done once one abandoned laws and care. “You’re predictable because you like extra force every time you apprehend someone, even if they’ve used Nox the wrong way in your eyes.”
Her arguments were getting a little sloppy, but that wasn’t from the booze. No, it was Moody, and when he implied she thought he was the best Hit ever, her hand nearly came off the table, so strong was the urge to smack that shiteating grin off his face. She squeezed her empty glass instead, hard, and leaned closer to him before she could stop that movement. “You act like you’re a one man army. All I’m saying, and this is apparently more than you can understand--would it be so hard to at least keep your trap shut in court? Let’s start there.”
“I know they’re not idiots,” he countered, expression showing a touch of seriousness. “I don’t take the use of Dark magic lightly. That’s why I do what I do.” He lowered his glass. “We’re always on the back foot, you know that right? They have a whole range of weapons at their disposal that they don’t care about using, and we’re fighting Avada Kedavras with Stupefy.” His view on the Unforgivables was… changing. At the beginning of his career, he shot down any suggestion that they could be of use. Five years in the field taught him that too many lives were lost and perhaps there could be some benefit of law enforcement using them.
“Nothing screams excessive force like a killing curse,” he added before taking another swig of whiskey. Really, he was a kitten in comparison to those spells. A fucking kitten.
His eyes shot to her hand that raised just a fraction… Oh Merlin, he was asking for it. He was getting under her skin! And it felt good--more than was probably acceptable. She was losing the argument, taking it down to a simple request for him to be decent in court.
“Let me take you out for dinner and I’ll see what I can do,” he said, motioning to the barman for another drink. “We’ll split the bill. Of course.”
“I do know that, actually.” Melisande didn’t know all the details the Hits and Aurors were privy to, but she kept up with the scuttlebutt well enough. All knowledge was worth having, because you never knew how the smallest piece could be used. “On that note, I’m sure punching is an adequate deterrent for the Killing Curse.” She was getting too hung up on his tendency towards roughing up suspects, but where else to start with Moody? It was clear not a single word she said was getting through to him. He obviously didn’t care and had no desire to change.
Not that he needed to change a lot. A little … smoothing would go a long way with someone so rough and cocky and proud. If she could do that much, her own reputation would go through the roof, as no one else had been able to get him to behave.
”Of course,” she said, perfectly mimicking his tone. Dinner with Moody was edging into the realm of inappropriate, but who cared? As infuriating as he was in the hour she’d spent with him, Melisande was having a better time than she’d had in … longer than she cared to remember. She intimidated a lot of men, but Moody was a different beast.
The bartender, seeing Moody’s gesture, thankfully came to refill both of their glasses. She resolved to take this one a little slower, remembering his comments about sloppy and sobbing drinkers. “Fine. I’ll go out with you to dinner. As long as you don’t plan on plopping roadkill on a plate and claiming you cooked.” Melisande smirked at Moody and sat back, crossing one leg over the other. “I heard you have better game than that, Mr Moody, but after what you've said, I can't be sure.”
“You’ve not seen me punch,” he said before downing the whiskey. He was already topping up the glass with the bottle that had been plonked on the table.
“Do I look like the cooking sort?” he scoffed. “I know a place. You’ll fit right in.” Muggle, obviously, and a dive but he wanted to see how she coped. He needed to know just how far that nose-wrinkle went… Because as much as he enjoyed the banter and would shag her regardless, there was little point having some represent him who would end up on the opposite side. People thought he was narrow-minded, but he always had that in the back of his mind. Some point, there would be a war.
He eased back into his chair after finding himself getting drawn towards her. “So,” he said. “Yaxley. Bet there’s a few skeletons there.”
”Lovely.” From the pleased look on his face, she could tell he had something in mind, but whatever. Whatever Alastor Moody wanted to throw at her, Melisande could handle. It was suddenly important to her that he not find her lacking or weak. Perhaps if he respected her, he would listen.
His question about her last name was evidence of that. “Yes. Yaxley.” Her fingers traced around the rim of her glass as she debated how much to say. Her family wasn't as well known as say, the Blacks or Malfoys, but they were known enough. Her brother would be trouble someday, but… “Good luck finding mine. I buried them deep,” she quipped. “No doubt you have assumptions about me from the name, but it commands a little respect.”
Melisande knew what Moody was really asking though, and gave him a bite. “I've been considering representing wizards on the side in Muggle courts, when they run afoul of the law. Better for everyone that way, if they don't consider magicking themselves out of problems.”
He was trying to rile her--trying to see how she responded to assumptions on her character.
“I don’t make assumptions,” Moody replied. “Gets you killed.” They made you take your eye off the main goal. You got caught up in your own sense of justice. People probably thought that summed Moody up pretty well, but people forgot that he was a Pureblood. His family was scattered with purist pricks and equally mundane wizards. He knew plenty of Purebloods who were decent folks--with names that suggested otherwise.
He shrugged. “Maybe with some folk,” he said. But a name really held no weight with him. In the world of law and order, a name meant too much. She knew that. Everyone fucking knew that.
And then she sent him a curveball. No, he wasn’t expecting that and it was clear with the soft frown to his features. It was gone when he lifted the whiskey glass to his lips. “You should bring that up with Crouch,” he said in all seriousness. “He’s after some initiatives to strengthen the ties between wizarding and magical law enforcement.”
“With some folk that relate to getting your arse off the hook, so I wouldn’t go digging too far. If you get bored, that is,” Melisande shot back. It was true enough. Some of the judges in the Wizengamot respected her merely because of her father’s work there, and while it wasn’t the ideal way, to be respected… some of those crusty old wizards only respected men and that was it. She used what she could get.
The other side certainly did.
A frown briefly touched Moody’s face, gone so quickly that if she hadn’t been looking, she wouldn’t have believed it. Ah hah. Caught him with something unexpected. “I might. It’s an idea for now, but once I get an idea in my head,” Melisande shrugged, “I usually follow through with it.”
“Of course, I would have to be less busy than I am now.” She motioned at him with her whiskey. “Considering I’m your new savior, that might be difficult.”
"Ah, good point," he smirked over his glass. "I'm shooting myself in the foot there." He downed the final glass in one go. His arms crossed over his chest.
"It's a good idea, though," Alastor added, and that was all he added to the subject. The rest of the conversation continued with yet more banter and flirtation before he received a message to leave, a soft simmering Patronus coming to the bar front (charmed for his eyes only).
"It's been a pleasure, Mel. Until dinner," and he made a point of putting a few galleons to the table (half, mind you) before heading out.