(matthew gray gubler | cis man | he/him ) — was that ALASTOR MOODY passing through diagon alley? yes, i think so… people around them say they remind them of brutish youth turning to anguished adulthood, battle scars that never heal, whiskey always at an arms length, an unwilling hero silent after war, watching from the corner of the room, intellect hidden behind few words, which i suppose seems to fit that GRYFFINDOR alumni. they’re actually pretty PERFERVID, PRODIGIOUS, and ENCUMBERED for a THIRTY-SIX year old, but i wonder if it serves them well when working as an AUROR. have you heard that rumor has it that PUREBLOOD is a MEMBER for THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX? i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. (
full name: Alastor Moody
nicknames: you cannot call him Al, he does not even like Paul Simon
birthday: December 20th, 1941
age: 36, surprised to be turning 37
accent: irish
sexuality: demisexual
relationship status: this man has not thought about relationships in at least five years because he’s probably traumatized himself
positive traits: Skillfull, resourceful, whip-smart
negative traits: aloof, mistrustful, macabre
patronus: non - corporeal
wand type: Maple wood with a dragon heartstring core, 13 ½ inches
He liked the facts. He knew the number of times he moved as a child (four), the number of windows he could escape through (five since the sixth had bars in front of it), and the exact number of dark wizards his parents had put away by the time they retired (a total of sixty three between the two of them). He knew how old his parents were when he was born (both quite close to sixty which he never liked admitting), and could estimate how old they’d be when they’d die and by what hand.
He knew other numbers, the number of kills each of those sixty three criminals had under their robes and how many years each were sentenced to in Azkaban - he wished them all were there for life.
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Alastor Moody was by no means a strange child by the standards in which he was raised. The oldest boy, he was setting the model for all the Moody’s coming after him (the number was two), but he was looking up to the guise of two of the greatest known Aurors in his very own History of Magic first year textbook. He was a decently smart boy who turned into a creative youth, usually well respected in the general public. And yet in his dorm, his roommates knew him to be a quiet, slightly morbid fellow. Alastor’s eyes always fell towards the papers in the morning, taking guesses at how situations went down, tragic or heroic. Often times, in follow up, he’d be proven right.
As the years went on, friends would often find him missing for the circle, absent from the party. It would usually be the next day that they’d find a slightly disheveled boy with drool dripping on the pages of an old book full of defensive spells. They’d laugh, and he’d laugh along as if this wasn’t actually all very serious stuff.
Good marks as expected, and Mum and Dad were proud to see another generation step into the shoes of protecting the innocent. Training in particular was interesting for him, another cycle of hearing familiar names and close calls. He kept all those very close to his heart, which he assumed may soon need to shrink if his stomach was to continue trying to jump into his throat.
But the field - that place was different. It was like all of those facts about old cases, missions, and numbers were just secondary to instinct. They were always in the back of his mind, but on the hunt was when his mind was clearest. Living in the work felt safer than sleeping in his own bed. Out there he knew the motions, had the best ideas, and felt security in seeing some heavy-eyed bitter bastard get whatever good was left sucked out of them while they rotted in the dampness of Azkaban.
His career started at a quiet time, but the idea of peace itself was almost unsettling. Born into the end of one war, he just always assumed he’d be there to see the next. The nineteen seventies roll around and new whispers start. He was just back from an international operation which had left him alone in Siberia for about two weeks, and the air in London was comparatively cold.
It’s nearly the end of the decade now, mid-career and Alastor has about as many names under his belt than his parents did at retirement. Perhaps the world was just getting worse. So he began to work on the things that he knew would best be useful for his team, his colleagues, and ‘friends.’ Evenings spent reviewing cases older than he, finding similarities, and seeing what tools really could be at their disposal. He could give up parts of himself to see that happen. He’s quite sure of his own power and dedication.
Alastor Moody always had his eye on certain individuals, certain faces that reminded him of pictures in the books, knowledge of spells he would rather not utter. This could either be another career making moment or his demise.
FACTS
- This boy is a little inventor. He’s using the magic behind sneakoscopes to develop his magical eye. It’s based right now on discovering untruths, but a eye for lying isn’t anything special in his field. It needs to be better.
- He may have wanted to be in Ravenclaw, but family history says Gryffindor. So Gryffindor it was.
- He has most crimes from the department committed to memory, going back to his own grandfather’s cases.
- As a kid he could morbidly tell you how a chase went down, how many dead, etc. it was just the way things were to him.
- He does not like when people enter a room without introducing themselves first.
Wanted Connections
- High key my main idea for the relatives of his parents arrests to be someone in close proximity. It gives him reasons to be paraoid (which he looks for lets be real). Maybe they actually do want revenge?
- Also somebody he could not arrest at the time, but who he highly suspects of dark magic.
- Once upon a time he may have had a special person. But who could deal with this guy for more than five minutes?
- I WANT SIBLINGS. A MOODY FAMILY.
- more to come when i think of it thanks,
