No Good || Open ||

It had been two weeks since the Minister of Magic had announced the new statutes that were clearly aimed at breaking down the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1689, not to mention ostracizing muggle-born wizards and witches, making them easy targets for Death Eaters and bigots. Every day, Alastor was seeing more and more shining silver M’s, marking people needlessly as they just tried to go about their lives, and every day he witnessed more and more occurrences of extremist hate focused on fine wizarding folk simply because of their parentage. It was disgusting. It was even more disgusting that the Order had yet to address the newly enacted laws. Alastor trusted Dumbledore as much as he could trust anyone, but the old coot was either so riled up about it all that he couldn’t control himself long enough to host a meeting and develop an effective plan to counter the obvious political corruption, or he was taking a rather lackadaisical attitude to what essentially was the beginnings of a second holocaust.

Patrolling the streets of Diagon Alley on a Saturday was normally considered the easy shift, but the attacks on muggleborn-owned shops was making even wizarding safe havens like this one not so safe. It seemed a quiet enough day today, that is, until a rush of people and screams began emitting from a dark turn that led into Knockturn Alley. As wizarding citizens ran away from the sounds of dueling blasts and shattering glass, Alastor ran towards them, drawing his wand and gripping it tightly as his huge frame squeezed down the tiny walkway, his large feet barely fitting on the stone steps as he took them two at a time. A gnarled wizard hobbled past him and up the steps, giving Alastor a clear view of the back of a cloaked figure with wand drawn, and a bit further up was Dormiens. Moody sent a stunning spell at the cloaked figure, hitting him in the leg and causing him to topple.

Knocking a stunned man out was highly unethical, but then so was ordering perfectly innocent muggle-borns to wear armbands like giant targets for their harassers. Alastor was fine to turn a blind eye to anything they needed, so long as it meant inching them ever closer to a sane wizarding world once more. This racist pureblood supremacy dragon dung was infuriating, and honestly in made Moody’s blood boil. If there wasn’t the chance that he’d be found out, he’d slip these two gits right into an empty cell in Azkaban without so much as a trial, and “forget” to tell anyone they were there.

Dormiens told him to search the Death Eater. Alastor didn’t need to be told twice. Sticking his large hands into the pockets of the man’s robes, he found very little of interest. A few knuts, balls of lint, and a scrap of parchment that looked like it had once been a price sticker. Alastor moved to the inner pockets. Here he found a wand, which was peculiar as the man had another wand held loosely in his unconscious hand. It wasn’t readily clear who the wand belonged to, but Moody assumed it was obtained under less than upstanding means. Finally, Alastor pulled the silvery mask away from the Death Eater’s face. “Recognize this one?” Aly asked casually as D approached. He looked over her shoulder as he stood to his full height as she named the Death Eater she’d unmasked as Crumpleback. “Fuckin’ cunt,” he snarled in the Ministry man’s direction. He turned back to Dormiens and the Death Eater who’s face was unfamiliar to the seasoned Auror. Not a Ministry worker and not one of the many seedy wizards who used the MLE jails like a revolving door. “He had this on him.” Alastor displayed the spare wand in the palm of his strong hand.