Patrol

Cobalt had to admit that the blue robes? Yeah he wasn't looking too good in his auror blues he didn't think. Hence why he had dumped everything in the locker room before pinning his badge to the inside lapel of his black overcoat.

Now he was warmer, much more graceful without the flowing robes and he felt a lot better about patrolling through this god-forsaken alley.

He'd spent more than enough time in the alley both in his last job and as a teenager who would do anything for a leg-up in the Slytherin house. Of course it was incredibly useful in both regards but he still didn't care much for the place at all. He was licensed to break some skulls if the beggars down there didn't break up their illegal gambling, smuggling, whoring and whatever else was against the laws of the Ministry.

He would show them the badge to give them the chance to stop... after he'd gotten in the first few shots first. Humming happily to himself, he twirled his wand in his hand idly,

"Hi ho... Hi ho... it's off to work I go..."

“I know how good you are, Giovanni,” wheedled the simpering witch, “but I don’t think you’re good enough – certainly not for my master.”

Seizing out his hand, Stewart Harding caught the insolent witch by the throat and drew her up close to him in the dim light of the dingy ruin in beside Borgin and Burke’s. He affirmed his grip on her neck and wondered absently to himself whether if he pressed much harder what would happen first: would she give in or would he kill her?

She stared without fear, besides that. He could feel her erratic heartbeat beneath his fingers, contrary to her hard eyes, and he smiled, his lips pulling up grimly over his whitened teeth. He looked oddly out of place here yet at the same time very, very much at home. He was, it seemed, his mother’s son after all.

“You need to rethink that, puttana,” he hissed, “because otherwise, your master will be docked one of his girls.”

His fingers tightened their grip as though to prove his point and Stewart arched an eyebrow curiously, teasingly, watching as the fear finally registered.

“That’s a girl,” he murmured, his sweet breath ghosting across her cheeks. “You know I mean it, don’t you?” He asked. “You tell your master to give me a price, then I might think about not killing you, hm?”

“You wouldn’t,” she gasped out, clearly well within the belief that her life was more valuable to the men she had concerned herself with than she actually was.

“Believe me, darling,” Stewart leaned in close. “I really would. Get me a price.”

Stewart threw her away from him and she stumbled away, half falling, half running in her effort to get away from him. He took a minute to fix his suit and then cast his eyes over to the painting he could not believe he had to fence on his own. He took a few breaths and steeled himself, waiting for her to return. She did in time enough and dumped a coin bag on the table next to the canvas.

“Five,” she uttered breathlessly, shying away from the light where the skin of her cheek had already begun to redden.

“Hundred?” He asked, stepping forward.

“Thousand,” she whispered, looking up at him, finding her courage. “Now take it and get out.”

Stewart smirked and pocketed the pouch, thanking her sardonically before departing from the house, stepping out once more into the street. He paused a little and looked around, spotting someone who was as out of place as him. An auror, it had to be – or some other Ministry runt.

Narrowing his eyes briefly, Stewart shoved his hands into his pockets and turned, endeavouring to take his leave quickly before the auror got interested.

Well now.

There seemed to have been a little bit of a scuffle in the house a bit ahead of him. He had had his suspicions when one of the beggars passing by had winced and looked at the building as the source of his discomfort. Cobalt didn't much care for wild goose-chases so to make sure he wasn't wasting his time he grabbed the passing begger by the collar and hoisted him up against the nearest wall.

The man had nearly soiled himself right there but he had managed to hold it in until after Cobalt had gotten the impression that there was some domestic violence going on in the house. Of course he didn't much care so he'd kicked the man aside.

But when someone who clearly didn't seem to fit with all the beggers and wasted lives down here exited the building, he was at least somewhat interested. The man had the air of someone who believed himself above such a place. Of course that raised the question as to why he was hear in the first place. And the man seemed to be making his way out of the alley with rather a lot of haste. Oh goodie!

It had been all of five days since Cobalt had had a chase scene, let alone what might turn into a battle.

Or maybe just a stimulating conversation.

Catching up to the man even as he tried to leave, Cobalt smirked a little bit and placed a hand on his shoulder,

"Mate!" he greeted the out-of place man with a dark grin, "Can I borrow a light? I've got some questions for you and they always go better when I have a cigarette."

A hand fell onto his shoulder and Stewart paused, a sigh suffering past his lips. He turned and out of the corner of his eye perceived the wizard who had stopped him. He was misplaced in such a place. There was only one kind of person who ventured this far in looking as this man did who wasn’t a resident or looking for mischief. He had something to do with law enforcement – Stewart was certain of it.

“I don’t carry lighters, mate,” Stewart replied stonily. “And I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

The art forger shrugged out from underneath the man’s hand and strode away, up the road. Stewart felt in the pocket of his trousers for his wand and glanced over his shoulder as he turned the corner, determined that he was not going to make an enemy of an auror today. He had worked to do – better things to do – and he wasn’t going to indulge it, either.

Oh this little so-and-so was going to be fun!

Cobalt was a bit bored today and he was definitely light on galleons right now. This 'upstanding young man' looked like he had at least some gold that might mysteriously go missing. Was it illegal? Yes. Could it lose Cobalt his job? Yes. Would it lose him his job? Nope.

Because this guy didn't look like the type to go crying to Aurors about his troubles, he looked like the type who would instead hire, or otherwise gather, up some 'friends' to get 'justice' for himself. He knew because he had the same look as the men who used to hire Cobalt as bodyguards.

"That's a shame." he answered with a small smirk, "I was hoping for a nice conversation too. After all, you left that building back there right? A... concerned citizen... advised me that there seemed to be some scuffle in there from what he saw."

And he was already rushing to leave!

Cobalt let the man round the corner and glanced up at the sky with a little smirk before palming his wand in his right hand and the hilt of his knife. Striding to catch up with the man, he turned the corner as his quarry was halfway down the next alley,

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to me?" he called out, "Talking is a much preferred alternative for most people and I really do need to know what's going on down here... makes my job so much easier if we can talk."

Stewart hated Aurors. With a burning passion. Most particularly he hated those with an over-inflated sense of their own importance. The one that seemed hell-bent on talking to him had been afflicted by this, himself, and if Stewart hadn’t been so irritated by him, perhaps he would have taken a moment to care. Alas, the irritation one out and the Harding man continued walking. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the purposely ‘imposing’ nature of the man. It was hardly Stewart’s idea of the way to deal with such things. Not only that but, clearly the man was too stupid to get the message – the Death Eater wasn’t going to do any talking in a hurry.

“Talk to yourself,” Stewart spat over his shoulder. “This isn’t your business.”

And it wasn’t. If the Aurors made one mistake then it was maintaining the belief that somehow their input was, first of all, valid and then, secondly, warranted in such a place as Knockturn Alley. They had their own way of doing things. Stewart himself was much more interested in committing a similar practise. In lieu of being arrested for something he didn’t want to own up to, of course, his hand went into his pocket and felt for the pouch which he emptied for the most part with a spell which would vanish the coins and send them to his apartment, leaving him with an amount – twenty or so galleons – which was natural for someone to be carrying.

“And believe me,” he added, turning briefly, coming to a stop at the top of the alley. “I don’t care to make your job easier.”