Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dunstan Trinity would never forget that day in the Spring of 1865. He would always remember the headline in the Daily Prophet that morning which had read:

SOUTH SURRENDERS IN AMERICAN MUGGLE WAR.

Muggle war?...Who cares? Dunstan had thought, spitting a wad of chewed tobacco to the ground beside him.

The young Ashwinder sat on a crumbling wall, browsing the paper, mainly for lack of anything better to do.

Dunstan had never been a big reader, nor fan of news or politics. He was a practical wizard, concerned with him and his alone. The Daily Prophet was just something to pass the time, and, eventually, to wipe his arse with. The paper wasn’t doing much to alleviate his boredom, however, so when a fellow Ashwinder spoke to him, Dunstan almost welcomed the interruption.

“Trinity. The boss wants to see you.”

Dunstan raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he groused. “What is it now?” The young wizard set the paper down, hopped down from the wall and brushed off his trousers. He took a moment to collect himself before heading with some trepidation towards the tent serving as headquarters. Getting called to Rookwood’s office was rarely a pleasant experience for him. It hadn’t been with Rookwood Senior, and it definitely wasn’t going to be now. Victor had seemingly had it in for him since the day he took charge.

Who does this kid think he is, bossing me around? He’s barely older than I am if at all…

Dunstan had been with the Rookwood Gang since he’d left Hogwarts in his sixth year. He'd known that he was just not suited to academic life – that he couldn’t look forward to a career in the Ministry or another respectable field like most of the others. But he’d always had a penchant for thievery, so putting his skills to use for the gang was like a fish taking to water. He actually took a perverse pride in having quickly earned the nickname “Sticky Fingers” amongst the rank and file.

Had this whole enterprise handed to him, he did. Had to work hard to get where I’m at.

As a member of the gang, Dunstan was guaranteed a roof (of sorts) over his head and food in his belly. The young wizard really couldn’t ask for much more. Life had not been kind to him, and he wasn’t going to be kind back.

But as soon as he stepped inside the tent, all of Dunstan's hubris went right out the window.  He gulped as he entered Rookwood’s office and found the gang leader facing away from him, puffing on his pipe furiously. If there’d been any doubt in his mind before, the wizard knew for certain that he was in trouble now.

After a few moments’ silence, Dunstan cleared his throat.

“Sir… You wanted to see me?”

Rookwood spun around in his chair, his handsome face schooled into a calm, collected expression, but Dunstan noticed a glint in the wizard’s ice blue eyes that sent shivers down his spine.

“Come in,” Victor motioned, rising slowly to approach the Ashwinder before circling him and looking him over appraisingly.

Shit.  I'm about to catch hell. 

Not much frightened Dunstan, a hardened criminal already despite his young age, but even he would have to admit that in that moment he had been genuinely afraid for his life.

“I’ve heard some disturbing rumors, Trinity. I hope you can assuage my feelings on the matter.”

Dunstan gulped, his heart beating out of his chest. It was taking every ounce of courage and control he possessed to avoid putting his nerves on display.

“Rumors, sir?”

The baby faced crime boss moved quickly, getting into the other wizard’s personal space, his sharp nose nearly brushing Dunstan’s skin as he whispered, almost seductively, “I think you know to what I’m referring, Trinity. Don’t play games with me. It won’t end well for you.”

Dunstan took a step back. “I.. Sir.. I’m sure I don’t,” he choked out.

Rookwood withdrew slightly. “Then.. allow me to remind you.” The wizard produced a jackknife emblazoned with a golden letter “R” on the handle and flipped it open in one smooth motion.

Dunstan would be sure when thinking back on the episode that if he’d have had a full bladder at the time he would certainly have pissed himself. But instead he just watched, his body tense, as the other wizard lifted the blade towards his neck, moving it up slowly, teasing the skin of his throat with the sharp edge.

"A certain shopkeeper in Hogsmeade,” Victor hissed, turning his head away slightly as if disinterested. “Quite the looker, I’m told.”

It dawned on Dunstan then. The pretty witch working at Gladrags. Dunstan had -  well - he had let her off easy on account of wanting to court her. How had Rookwood figured it out, though? Who had ratted on him? It had been a relatively small amount of money.  No one should have noticed.  Dunstan furrowed his brow in confusion, trying to put the pieces together.

“You have been neglecting your obligations to me, Trinity. And, in my books, that’s as good as theft.”

Sweat beading on his forehead, Dunstan was shamefully-quick to grovel. “I’m sorry, boss. It was an oversight. It won’t happen again.”

Rookwood took a step back and chuckled, twisting the tip of the knife playfully against the middle finger of his free hand. “An oversight, eh? Interesting choice of words...”

Before Dunstan knew what was happening, Victor was on him, and an intense shock wracked his entire body as if he had been hit with a bludger. There was a sickening pop and the wizard screamed in a manner doubtless unbecoming a grown man.   Rookwood pulled away from him, grinning maliciously, his bloodied knife now with… something… impaled on it. Something... pink?

The ordeal hadn’t lasted but a second, but what a second it had been.

Dunstan raised a trembling hand to his face, afraid of what he might find. Why was his face wet? Pulling his hand away, the Ashwinder looked down disbelievingly. Red. Blood. Lots of it.

“Now your roving eye will no longer come between me and my galleons, Trinity.”

His eye. Rookwood had taken his eye.

Gaping in horror, Dunstan looked up at Victor with his remaining eye. The other wizard’s grin broadened as he watched his Ashwinder realize exactly what Victor had just done to him.

Then abruptly, Rookwood’s smile dropped, his face becoming completely serious as he clapped a hand on Dunstan’s shaking shoulder, then jostled it as if greeting or consoling an old friend.

“Nothing a little Wiggenweld can’t fix,” he offered, turning back towards his desk. Victor raised his arm – and Dunstan’s eyeball – towards the ceiling.

“I’ll be keeping this.”

April 9^th, 1865: Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered to the Union Army and Dunstan “Sticky Fingers” Trinity earned his eyepatch.