An Unwelcome Inquiry

A small pot of water sat over a flame on the stove, almost to the point of boiling. Irene stood nearby, close enough to monitor her lunch preparations but paying more attention to the view outside of her window than the bubbles forming in the water. The majority of residents in the small Scottish town which she resided stayed year round, though the harsh winter wind that came off of the water was more than enough to drive people inside. The streets were all but empty and Irene could just see the choppy waves out in the bay. This was the first Saturday in what felt like months that she had taken off of work, opting to take care of some housework rather than stay in the office.

The cabinets were neatly stocked, enchanted flowers sat in a vase on the table, and the small pile of mail that had accumulated was waiting to be opened in a designated basket. The perfect tidiness of the place was less obsessive compulsive and more just a deep craving for some order in her life. Granted, Irene had always been a neat girl, keeping everything for her room to her Hogwarts trunk in relatively good condition but there had also been some room for making a mess and leaving it until later. Now the seaside home was in nearly pristine condition, perpetually ready for the guests that she didn't expect to come.

Irene didn't mind living alone. Between her neighbors and colleges at work she never felt isolated and the silence could prove quite comforting when she needed time alone with her thoughts. It was simply a change for her and, reasonably, she needed a little more time to get used to it.

The pot made a spitting sound and Irene turned away from the window to tend to her meal, dumping pasta into the boiling water and stirring with a wooden spoon. Maybe it was a bit foolish to be dressed in heels when cooking in her own home but after months of work it appeared that Irene had forgotten how to be comfortable. Sweatpants and t-shirts occupied the very back of her closet and were all but forgotten about. Irene finished the pasta and dolled out a small serving for herself, putting the rest away in the fridge for dinner tonight. She ate her meal in peace at the small table that occupied most of the kitchen space. As she ate she unfurled the morning's Daily Prophet and began scanning for the ironies, the harmless fibs, and the downright lies.

The newspaper had become a slightly dark joke to Irene lately as stories of treacherous werewolves splattered across the headlines. She recognized too many of the names - half she knew through the Magical Creatures Department of the Ministry and half had been personal friends of Rufus. Some of the Minsitry diagnosis was fair - a reasonable number of family friends were psychotic murderous wolves - but the rest were more or less decent human beings. Well, not humans. But for all intents and purposes. All Irene could do was sit and watch, waiting for the moment where she might prove herself useful.

The small, smooth white grains of sand filtered past his toes, lodging in his nails every time his feet sunk through another inch of beach, but he could hardly begrudge them; not when the sand so gloriously slid over and cooled his bare feet that way. Fred was hardly a lover of nature- that sort of thing was for people prone to gazing and then deriving all sorts of poncey philosophical thoughts, like Albus for instance- but he savoured the sensations like anyone else. The spray of sea water flecking droplets across his arms, the smell of salt in the air, the wind ripping past his hair.

Fred tilted his head back, tossing his hair back and forth in the breeze, just as wild and unwieldy as its owner, then run thick fingers through it, pulling out tangles. He turned and started walking away from the shore- the perfect picture, with jeans folded up to the knees, sleeves pulled to the elbows, jacket flung carelessly over one shoulder, sun kissing his back.

By the time he was in front of the requisite house, his clothes were just within the semblance of order, light in his eyes dwindling just the bit. Time for work. This was quite possibly the part that he hated mo-......the only thing he hated about being an Unspeakable. The very fact that he was one, and not allowed to disclose the knowledge. Unspeakables had to have a pretend job, that they used as an excuse for popping in and out of the Ministry. The repercussions of which were, of course, that they were most of the time assigned a fake post in Law Enforcement. Which meant that sometimes Fred had to come out and do grunt work like this to keep the pretense going, instead of holing himself away in the Dept of Mysteries studying the magical puzzle cube, or whiling time away in videogames and workouts.

The door was slightly ajar, in the air of one who likes letting air into their rooms, and has no expectations of visitors whatsoever. Fred budged the door open, and it swung out, creaking slightly. Half wondering at the utter lack of security with the air of a wards expert, he advanced into the living room with slow steps, stopping the moment he caught sight of the woman at the table, reading the newspaper.

Seven. His mind supplied.

"Erhm...Mrs....Miss Norwood?" He called out to the woman, probably a good many years older than him. Then, with hardly any preamble. "The door was open. I'm here from the Ministry, here to make some enquiries about.....your husband and son."

Way to getting to the point, yes. He did mention hating this part of his job.