Even the Most Unlikely by Wenlock
Summary: We fear most that which we don’t understand. Dorcas Meadowes is a journalist, devoted to telling the truth about You-Know-Who.

We fear least that which we have defeated. Alastor Moody is an Auror, fighting to end the war.

Their hearts are full - full of courage and steely resolve to win the war, with no room, they think, for anything else.
But they don’t know that even the most unlikely people can find love.

Warning: You might recall that Dorcas Meadowes was in the original Order of the Phoenix, and that Voldemort killed her personally. If you’re looking for an overwhelmingly happy love story, I’m sorry to say that you won’t find it here.
Categories: Other Pairing Characters: None
Warnings: Character Death
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 2 Completed: No Word count: 2245 Read: 1314 Published: 04/18/15 Updated: 06/08/15

1. Chapter 1 by Wenlock

2. Chapter 2 by Wenlock

Chapter 1 by Wenlock
Author's Notes:
I wasn't sure whether or not to add the substance abuse tag, but in the end I decided against it.
There is drinking, yes, but they are adults and avoid getting plastered.
You-Know-Who: Massive Hypocrite?
Written by Dorcas Meadowes

Editor’s note: We in the journalism community were shocked at the death of one of our own, the outspoken Dorcas Meadowes. We have come to the conclusion that the most fitting tribute we can give her is to publish her last editorial posthumously. Please note that she expresses opinions we do not agree with, states facts we have not checked, and uses words we do not usually print. That being said, we present to you the swan song of our esteemed colleague, Dorcas Meadowes.

–Bleeding cowards!” shouted Alasor, –She had more courage in her left eyebrow than the rest of that lot combined!” He poured himself another glass of scotch. –Does it even count as a swan song, if it was the reason she was killed?,” he remarked to the empty room and turned back to the paper.

Sixteen years ago, I married a Muggle. My mother objected, of course, but I didn’t care. We were happy. He worked for the railway and I was a gossip columnist for Witch Weekly. Fourteen years ago, we had a beautiful little girl. She was born with her father’s hair and lovely baby blue eyes. She was an absolute delight, and we loved her dearly.

His eyes flicked to the photo of Dorcas that accompanied her article. Though they were newsprint grey and flat on the page, her eyes danced with life, just like they did when she had an new idea. Sometimes they were still and calm, as she watched the waves from the porch of her cottage and thought about what to write next. Her eyes were still and calm at the funeral, too. But there, all life, all intelligence, was gone.

Eleven years ago, I came home from work on a stormy Tuesday afternoon. As I walked up the hill toward my house, I noticed an odd green mist. In the air hung a symbol I had never seen before, though we all know to dread it now. I quickened my pace, worried that my daughter would be frightened. Usually, when I came home, I was greeted with a kiss from my husband and a hug from my daughter. That day, I opened the door to their bodies. They were the first of many victims of the wizard who styles himself Lord Voldemort. They were murdered to punish me for ‘tainting pure blood.’ That logic is, of course, a load of horse s***. (Editor’s note: We run a family paper, after all.)

Alastor Moody rolled his eyes at the editor’s note and went to take another drink. His glass was empty. He went to to refill it, but changed his mind and took a swig straight from the bottle instead. He was grateful for the numbness that was slowly overtaking him. It was better not to feel at all than to be overwhelmed with pain. Pain and... guilt.

... For a complete enumeration of the faults in the philosophies of He-Whose-Name-My-Editor-Won’t-Let-Me-Print, please obtain a copy of my pamphlet, Falsities and Fallacies: Flaws in the Blood Purity Arguments.

At first, she was just a voice of reason in the papers. For years, she was the only one to talk realistically about the disappearances and threats. The other writers didn’t want to be fear mongers, and filled their stories with drivel about the latest security measures. At least for Alastor, their platitudes were anything but reassuring. But Dorcas mixed her brutal honesty with a cocktail of hope and determination that would have made Winston Churchill himself proud. That is, if he was still alive.

That's all old news, though. The Dark Lord so revered by his followers as the perfect example that magic is might, is not the shining pillar of blood purity he claims to be. He is, in fact, a half-blood. (Editor's note: Dorcas did not submit her sources for this claim, so it is the opinion of the Daily Prophet that this is, at best, conjecture.)

Alastor, correctly guessing that Wilfred Weatherby was behind the Editor’s Notes, choked on a laugh, indignant at Prophet’s choice. Dorcas had occasionally played a drinking game on Friday nights, reading Weatherby's latest editorial in the Evening Prophet. "I take a swallow of beer every time Witless Willy castrates himself with his own pen," she had explained, –and I usually finish the bottle before I’m all the way through his article.

This memory prompted another. One night, when Alastor was assigned to protect her, she talked him into to joining her for the game. After setting the appropriate wards and preparing a Sober-Up potion (in case he needed to quickly return to fighting condition), he reluctantly agreed.

With the war on Voldemort in full force, Dorcas drank more frequently and had less time for errands than in years prior. As such, her liquor supply was running low. Dorcas was unwilling to let her efforts in convincing the gruff Auror to drink with her go to waste, so she conducted a more thorough search. When this proved unfruitful, she pulled out her wand and said, –Accio alcohol.” A dusty bottle of absinthe came flying out of the pantry. She shrugged and grabbed a pair of shot glasses. –It was been a particularly difficult week at work, so I don’t mind drinking something a bit stronger than usual.” she had explained. He cast poison detection charms on the bottle and the glasses, which made her laugh.

She read the editorial aloud. Weatherby began waxing poetic about the need to befriend the goblins and she poured their first shot.

After their second shot, he asked her to put it away. Not only was it disgusting, but it was incredibly strong. They finished the game with his evening hip flask. After the two shots of absinthe, he found that he didn’t mind letting her drink straight from the flask. In fact, his heart beat a little faster as he watched her lips touch the spot where his had been just a moment prior.

As the drinks took effect, he found himself laughing in a most undignified manner at her increasingly slurred criticisms of her colleague.

Then, the alcohol took control of his tongue and he found himself uttering the words which he had been thinking for months but couldn't say while sober.
–I love you,” he remarked, timidly.

The noise of boisterous youths walking past his window brought Alastor back to the present. He glanced back at the paper in his hands, looking for his place. Then he put the paper down.

His memories were a far better tribute to her than anything the Daily Prophet could print.
End Notes:
This was originally intended as a one-shot, but it was also originally intended to be shorter. This seemed like a natural chapter break to me.

PS, I would love to find a beta for this story. Please PM me on the boards if you'd be willing.
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Chapter 2 by Wenlock
Author's Notes:
Well, this chapter is a bit less serious than the previous one. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!
Chapter 2

Moody chuckled to himself as he recalled the events of the following week.

On Monday evening, an anonymous letter to the editor was printed in the Prophet. It read:

To the editor,

I wish to extend my gratitude to Wilfred Weatherby for his excellent article on goblin relations published on Friday. Thanks to his remarkable writing style and an old bottle of absinthe, I’m now in a relationship with a ruggedly handsome Auror.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Not lonely anymore.

Dorcas had sent it in for a joke, of course, and she and Alastor had a nice chuckle over Weatherby’s pompous reply.

Moody did not expect anyone else to read the letter, but the gossip-loving secretary in the Auror office picked that day of all days to read the paper cover-to-cover. She brought a copy to work and asked a couple of her friends if they knew the identity of the ‘ruggedly handsome Auror’ in question.

By lunchtime, the younger Aurors had heard about the mystery and were gathered at a table in the Ministry cafeteria discussing possible candidates. Moody was eating with them, but he kept quiet.

They quickly ruled out most of the older men in the office, as most of them were married. Andrew Davis reasoned, –Not saying anyone wouldn’t go behind his wife’s back, but it’s not something to write the paper about.”

–But what about Smith and Pringle?” asked Frank Longbottom, referencing the two unmarried Senior Aurors.

–Smith’s been in St. Mungo’s for a week,” Alice Campbell reminded them.

Davis said, –Oh a hospital romance. Just picture it - he’s bored out of his mind and a hot nurse comes in - –

Campbell cut him off. –He’s unconscious.”

–Oooo kinky!” Davis exclaimed.

Jake Whyn, who was sitting next to Davis on the cafeteria bench, playfully shoved him. Unfortunately this caused Davis to spill his drink, which effectively ended their conversation.

Later, Moody overheard them (minus Campbell, who was taking part in a raid on a potioneer suspected of selling controlled substances on the black market) discussing the mystery some more in the breakroom

–It’s not Pringle. I asked him about the article, and it was news to him. He always strokes his beard when he’s lying, so I know he was telling the truth,” Longbottom recounted.

Whyn said, –And Davis and I have been watching the older blokes. None of them appear to have recently started philandering.”

–At least not with absinthe-swilling, newspaper-writing lonely old ladies,” Davis amended.

Moody suppressed a chuckle at this.

–This is frustrating,” said Davis. –It’s the biggest office mystery since that day back in August when Moody came in covered in purple lipstick and missing part of his ear.”

–And I at least had the decency to fill you in about the hag in question after they re-attached my ear,” Moody spoke up. He wondered what they would do if they realized he was behind this mystery as well. Deciding it would be more fun to tell Dorcas about if they remained clueless, he added, –Remember your training. When you’ve eliminated all the likely possibilities, try the unlikely ones.”

–But that just leaves us,” said Davis.

–And Campbell,” Whyn added.

–She’s a lot of things,” Frank Longbottom remarked, –but no one would call her ‘ruggedly handsome.’”

–True,” said Davis. –Guess that rules you out too, Whyn. You’re more of the baby-faced cutie type.”

Whyn rolled his eyes. He was the rookie, but he was doing so well in the program that he was only vulnerable to teasing about his youthful looks. Said teasing happened so often that even Whyn was getting bored of it.

Davis continued, –Well, it’s not me - I don’t do relationships. And we know it’s not Longbottom, since he fancies -”

Longbottom loudly shushed him.

–What?” said Davis. –It’s not like she can hear you; she’s out on a raid in Diagon Alley.”

Moody gestured to Davis and Whyn. –You two, back to work. Longbottom and I need to have a little chat.”

Feeling much less gruff than usual, Moody poured the young man a cup of tea and gestured that he sit down at the empty table in the break room.

–I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Longbottom protested. –I haven’t even told Alice how I feel.”

–Best keep it that way. Don’t let -” Moody stopped. He was going to say ‘Don’t let a silly thing like romance ruin your career,’ but he thought of the flying feeling he got when he looked into Dorcas’ bright eyes and he couldn’t bring himself to call romance ‘silly.’ Instead, he launched into a long winded story about how a relationship between two Aurors had started a long chain of events that resulted in the assassination of the Minister of Magic in 1876. He ended the story by thumping the table emphatically and not quite shouting, –Constant vigilance!”

Of course, this made him feel like a hypocrite, because his favorite phrase came from an editorial Dorcas had written years ago.

–Just be careful,” Moody muttered, and walked out.

***********

–This is getting out of hand,” Dorcas told Alastor at an Order meeting on Tuesday. She gestured to the corner where Sirius Black was sitting with his friends.

Black was reading Friday’s paper. –That’s a unique approach,” Alastor remarked. –Quite intelligent, in fact, to return to the original cause. Wonder where he got the paper.”

–Probably his rubbish bin,” Dorcas guessed. –Look, it’s torn and covered in food. Oh, he’s looking up. Shhhh!”

Luckily, Black didn’t turn their direction, but instead said to his friends, –This has to be a joke. Weatherby’s article is about as romantic as a Transfiguration essay.”

At which comment, James Potter winked at his red-haired girlfriend and she blushed.

Their small, timid friend said, –I don’t want to know!”

Black, on the other hand, looked rather eager to hear the tale.

So the letter to the editor was eclipsed by more pressing gossip.

********
The Order meeting on Friday was at Dorcas’ house. Sirius Black and his scarred friend arrived early, having just finished an assignment.

Black told his friend, –And when his hood slipped, I was sure it was Reg. I can’t believe Mother would make him join! I need a drink.”

And with that, he went straight for the liquor cabinet. Dorcas still hadn’t restocked, and Black pulled out the bottle of absinthe. He guffawed and said, –It can’t be.” He looked at Dorcas, standing next to Moody, then back at the bottle and let out his characteristic hearty laugh.
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