a soldier's build, a poet's eyes

heart, are you great enough for a love that never tires? O heart, are you great enough for love? --- alastor moody, 40, auror, ravenclaw, leader of the order of the phoenix, tired.

[madeyed-andmoody]

gidprxwett​:

“The cats shouldn’t be on the counters you’re right. They are really cute though and I have a soft spot for them. I don’t like to be the disciplinarian with them. That has to be your job because I would just let them do anything they wanted.” It truly was a problem. He had spent too much time spoiling the cats and now Pippin never listened to him.

“If you need some practice to dodge flying objects I can ask Frank to help you. I’ll tell him to come up with some kind of lesson plan. I can even help him. I could be one of the attackers and you just outrun and dodge everything I toss at you. We can get a whole task force assigned to that. It could be a lot of fun.”

Gideon felt himself calming after the concern he had felt for Alastor. He wanted to feel lighter and joking with him made Gideon feel better. He was still nervous about starting a relationship and he wanted to have fun with Moody as much as he could.

“I always think of the cottage as the most peaceful place. It feels the most home to me when we’re there with the kittens and just spending time together.” He didn’t know if he should share that with him but he was happy. He pushed away from Moody and reached out for his hand to pull him from his seat. “Let’s get out of here and go get the kittens. I’m sure they’ve made a mess for us.”

@gidprxwett​

Moody grins, briefly, when Gideon says he was right, because he was and he was glad that Gid had acknowledged that. Maybe it was his delirium or his pain or his tiredness, but it was almost...warming, in a way. It was also rather amusing that Gideon was speaking about the bloody cats as though they were people, children, really, and that Moody was the parent that had to scold them for everything bad they did. In a way, it was accurate, but not quite, and he chose not to dwell on the way his chest ached with the thought.

Instead, Alastor huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “No, no task force is going to be made up, Gideon. I’ll be fine. Just a few lucky hits, that was all it was.” And, really, that was all it was. He’d done more damage to any of them than they had done to him and his and that was all that mattered. More than mattered, in fact, because that was Alastor’s job every time he went out into the field: cause as much damage as possible so that no one else could hurt them again.

“That’s because it is peaceful,” he remarks, and nods again. He doesn’t know if he’s agreeing or if he’s just nodding ( or nodding off, more like ) but it makes sense. “And we can, in a minute. Just...gimme another minute to get sorted, yeah?”

[healerrosier]

madeyed-andmoody​:

Moody was, to be frank, rather irritated at Hestia. Her and Evan, but the latter, at least, had a reason. Rosier was a good healer. When Alastor had agreed to allow Hestia and James out into the field, to pick an assignment, he’d known it would be pilfering files from St. Mungo’s. However, they could have gotten that information from Rosier, if he’d have allowed it. Moody supposed, if he hadn’t, they could have tried regardless, but now they’d lost a healer.

Their best healer, and it had sent Moody into a mood black as pitch. Not just that, but multiple things now.

To see him in the makeshift Order infirmary, no longer nice and neat and tidy and, in fact, rather sad looking now, was surprising though not unwelcome. Alastor had never had an issue with Evan beyond the other man’s snit pre-mission. Now, though, Moody had to clean up the mess.

“No,” he says, the corner of his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “Because you won’t, since you’re protesting. Leaving notes for Emmeline?”

⟢

There was a feeling of guilt that accompanied the choice he made. Stepping back was necessary in a way since words hadn’t done enough in his opinion but there was no denying he didn’t appreciate needing to escalate things to that point. He had grown too used to being around the people that made up the Order.

“Rotten luck of having ordered new supplies prior to the last meeting,” Evan shrugged. “It was bringing the parcels here or staring at them each day until they broke my resolve. I had hoped to be quick enough to go unnoticed.” He could have entrusted Theo with bringing them in but the way the main storage cupboard was sorted had him wanting to be the one to make sure he hadn’t missed anything else.

“Leaving a message for Emmeline seems like a good idea though,” He added with a shake of his head. “At least to let her know I am not properly abandoning her.” Evan fell silent a moment, chuckling softly before he spoke again.

“Protesting as you put it,” He cracked a short lived smile. “I didn’t want to risk saying something I would regret.” Evan hadn’t wanted to test the waters of actions speaking louder than words either but the handful of attempts at making his disliking the way things were being communicated to him clear had fell flat. “That, and it means no longer having an excuse to further put off speaking to my parents.”

[madeyed-andmoody]

@healerrosier

More supplies for the illegal infirmary Rosier ran, staring at him until they broke his resolve and forced his hand. Somehow, Alastor didn't think he was kidding, but still found a hint of amusement in the statement - though, far be it from him to actually show that.

The man was worse than a child, holding grudges like he did. The single grudge Alastot Moody held in his life plagues him during his day-to-day profession; there was cause for it. But in a place where they needed to trust and to work with one another? There was certainly a lot of them, and not just Rosier.

"I don't think she would, but it may be best. So she knows where to out everything, at the least. You like everything just so, yeah?" It was just a statement, no animosity behind it. If Rosier wanted to leave them to their own devices because he thought it'd teach Hestia a lesson, then that was his decision.

He would be the one to live with the guilt if anyone died because he was gone.

"Perhaps place a missive in there for Snape, too. Just in case your protest stretches longer than you intend, on account of your conversation with your parents."

[gidprxwett]

madeyed-andmoody​:​

Alastor still had Gideon by the hand, which was fine. It let the thumb that wanted to sweep across the other wizard’s knuckles do just that, fingertips toying with Gideon’s as he tightened his hold in a brief squeeze. The door was locked behind them now, and the room was off to the side. They had a few moments to themself. Alastor was thankful for it, truth be told. He’d not had a moment’s rest since he’d been called out, and sitting here allowed him a moment to breath. 

To think about what he wanted to say, wanted to do, and how it had been bouncing around in his head the whole mission, even at the back of his mind.

A snort escaped at Gideon’s first question and he grins, a bit tired, but still teasing. “What? Don’t believe ‘m alright? Snape said I should be fine, so long as I take it easy once I’m home. And I’ve no intention to do anything else, seeing as I’ll have to be back here soon enough.” He had after mission reports to go over and a billion other things to take care of, discussions with other members included. But first –

Moody grabs the hand trying to check him over and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles carefully, still looking up into Gideon’s face from where he was seated. “Evan uses Severus when he’s able. He’s a qualified healer, saved my life before. If he says it’s alright, then I’ll believe him.” It was the simplest way to do this, truth be told. Evan was only one wix, he didn’t have time to see every single member when they were hurt. “If I wasn’t I’d stay,” he promised. “I’m a bit of a shite patient, but if it was an order, I’d follow it. I’m not in the habit of making my life more difficult when I’m injured, you know.” 

He tugs Gideon’s hands again, bringing him closer, head tilting further back to give him a searching look. Alastor finds worry there, just like he thought he would. He lets go of Gideon’s hands when the other wizard wraps them around his middle, surprising him with the hug, but accepting it. In fact, he leaned into it a bit, even, and that just about told the state he was in. 

Pausing for a beat, allowing his heart to trip over itself for even thinking the thought, Alastor reaches forward with a hand, cupping the back of Gideon’s head, and kisses the other man. 

It’s soft, hesitant, but a real kiss and he pulls away after a moment, the look in his eye both wary and sheepish all at the same time. Clearing his throat, Alastor looks away before glancing back at Gideon’s face again. “I should have done that before the mission,” he says, voice soft. “’m sorry I didn’t.”

Gideon used to be the kind of person to go against what the healers said. He always thought he was fine and that any wound was nothing to worry about. He had learned his lesson after returning from the cells of the death eaters. They hadn’t been concerned with how he and the others would heal. They had left them half healed, only caring that they didn’t die before they could torture them some more. He listened to the healers now though. He was overly cautious about his health and the health of those he cared for. 

Moody was so confident that he was fine and Gideon was sure that he was but he still felt anxious over his injuries. He wanted him safe and they were in the middle of a war. Those two things didn’t really go together. He had stayed out of relationships because of how dangerous their lives were but now he found that he was unable to ignore his feelings any longer. It made him want to run. To put distance between them but there was a part of him that didn’t think he was strong enough to walk away. He depended on Moody too much now to give him that sense of security that he hadn’t had since his return. 

“It isn’t that I don’t believe you. I just worry. You know how I am. I don’t even like when you get a paper cut. Remember when you got one and I freaked and made you wear a bandage on it for a whole night? You were so grumpy over it.” It had been pretty cute if he was honest but he didn’t think Moody would agree. That had been the moment Gideon had realized he was starting to like Moody as more than a friend. He had kept his distance for a few days after that to get himself together. He hadn’t had a crush on someone in a long time and he had stayed away to get his feelings under control. 

“I know Severus is qualified I just want an opinion from all of the healers about you. What if they don’t agree? Then you would have to go with the most conservative option.” He was teasing just a little as he smirked at the man. He knew Moody wouldn’t stay regardless of what he said now that he had been cleared by the healer. A blush crept over his face as Moody kissed his hand and he was getting ready to pull away when he was pulled in closer and brought in for a kiss. 

Shock left him tense and unmoving for half a second before his brain started working again and he started to kiss him back. The kiss didn’t last long but it had been a solid kiss and it left Gideon wanting to kiss the other man again. “I umm I you I I think you should do that a lot more often. “ He stammered over his words and his face turned bright red as he looked anywhere but at Moody. 

[madeyed-andmoody]

@gidprxwett

Before he had been captured, Moody remembered having to chide Gideon – and sometimes Fabian – into going to see the healers. He’d beg off, say he was fine, that he wasn’t that injured. Moody understood because he did the same things, on occasion, but that had changed. Now, Gideon had an anxiety to him that entirely changed his outlook on healing, on his life, and it was a noticeable change.

His reaction to Alastor’s injuries, for one. His own focus on his health, another. Moody did not mind it, could not, but he hadn’t had anyone truly worry about his well-being, not like this, in a long while. Not outwardly, anyway.

And here he was - with Alastor in a side room off the infirmary, leaning into a kiss that possibly could have been dangerous, possibly could have consequences, but which Alastor would think on later. For now, he sweeps a thumb over Gideon’s cheek and sighs through his nose, pulling back once the kiss is broken to lean his forehead into Gideon’s shoulder.

“Oh I remember,” he says, voice teasing even as he shakes his head, nose nudging at Gideon’s collar. “I wasn’t grumpy, and it was just a bloody cut. Wasn’t even there the next morning.” Alastor had known all too well that something had been going on but he’d had no bloody idea what. Maybe he should have known this was what it was.

Glancing up when Gideon starts stuttering, Moody smiles softly, hooking his chin between a thumb and forefinger. He shifts at the same time as he tilts Gideon’s face carefully, a soft brush of his mouth at the corner of Gideon’s lips before he straightens. “The most conservative option is sometimes not the right one,” he reminds the other wizard. “But, yes. I would agree with the healers.”

[gidprxwett]

“You most certainly were grumpy. You told me I was overreacting and you were acting all pouty. You reminded me of Pippin when he gets scolded. Remember when he was jumping around on your kitchen counters and you told him to get down? That’s how you looked when I made you bandage up your finger.”

Gideon had been extra clingy that day. It had been soon after his return and even though he knew Moody was perfectly fine he had still been unable to relax after seeing the other man get hurt. They were joking about it now but it had been a hard day for Gideon back then. He was happy that he was over small injuries like that now. He only bothered Moody about seeing a healer now when it was more serious.

“I’m glad you’re alright. I was afraid you would be hurt worse. You’re getting old you know. Not as fast as you used to be.” He spoke with an obvious teasing tone to his voice. A grin forming on his lips as he tried to lighten the dark mood that had started to take him over. “It’s alright though. You’re still fast enough to take on most people.”

He laid his head on Moody’s shoulder with a happy sigh as he moved in a bit closed to him. “We should take the kittens to the cottage tonight. I think some peace and quiet is exactly what we need and the kittens would have so much fun there together.”

[madeyed-andmoody]

@gidprxwett

Pippin, admittedly, was a cat. Or, well, a half-Kneazle. Alastor refused to admit he may or may not have feelings, like those of a human, particularly to Gideon. He didn't outright say this, of course, but he was certainly thinking it.

"Mm yes, yes. Fine. I was unhappy, but it was mainly because I hurt myself. Pippin nor Kelly should be on the bloody counters, though. Which was why they're scolded for it. I don't want fur in my bloody food," Alastor grumbles, resolutely assuming that he is not, in fact, doing that.

While they were joking about it now, Moody remembers that day incredibly differently. The stress was high, Gideon was a bit of a mess, and Moody hadn't quite figured out what could help him. It had been a learning curve, and one he was not fond of.

An offended noise escapes as he pulls back, a furrow digging out a crevice in his brow. "I will have you know I am perfectly fast enough, thank you. Bloody hunks of rubbish being lobbed at your head isn't something to train for. But I'm fine. Just a bit worse for wear, is all."

And he was. Fine, that is.

"You just want to go and you're using the cats as an excuse," he says, poking back at the other man, shifting a bit when Gideon lays his head on Moody's shoulder. "But you're right. Might be easier to sleep there."

[perniciouspotter]

madeyed-andmoody​:

“Because you’re you, lad,” he said, laughing, the fond moniker slipping lose before he stuffed it back into his mouth. He never knew how anyone would take to being called a lad or a lass. Certainly not when they were someone like James, occasionally hot-headed and always stubborn. It was an -ism Alastor usually reserved for family or those he knew wouldn’t take it poorly.

James twitched away from him and Alastor’s fingers instantly curled in towards his palm, a lump catching in his throat. His hand hovered for a moment over James’s wrist, knuckles out, before laying it carefully against the skin. He left it there for a moment, not squeezing, not stroking a thumb down the scar like he might have if James didn’t pull away. Just…a touch, simple and easy, before withdrawing altogether, hands going to his own robe pockets now.

The seemingly ever-present furrow was back now, but it was one made of consternation, forming as he listens to James talk. About his treatments, about Snape and Lily, about poisoning.

Before he could help himself, the corner of his mouth curls, and he tries to lighten the mood with, “Here lies James Potter, the twat, face down so the world can kiss his arse.” The fact was Alastor could imagine it, someone doing just that, a lighthearted moment for a somber affair. A hint of levity in an otherwise bleak conversation.

“Well. The hope is that he can get rid of the little buggers, yeah? That’s all your there for. You don’t have to snog him or give him a wank and tell ‘im he’s the gift to the wizarding world.” Alastor tilts his head to the side, glancing sidelong at James’s profile, the hands he gestured with but didn’t quite use.

There was something different there, a bit darker, more somber. Alastor’s James, yes, but…a bit broken, too. He’d mend. Moody knew he would, but it would take him time. It always did.

James eyed him as the affectionate nickname escaped and his lips pulled up ever-so-slightly at the corner. It was good to have his mentor back. Still… Alastor touched his wrist again and James tried not to stiffen. He didn’t want to. He wouldn’t have… before. He didn’t pull away, though, and that was about as much as he’d be able to give Moody right now.

James laughed as Moody continued the joke, half-expecting a lecture for being an asshole. He preferred this. Didn’t want to deal with the rest of it. He was allowed to be angry with Lily - with Severus, too - was he not? She’d ditched him a day after he’d gotten back and then he came to find she’d sidled up next to her former best friend who used to kill people just like her? Yeah, he was allowed to be an asshole, he thought.

“When I die tomorrow, please make sure that happens,” he agreed. The final prank. The last laugh. His lips curled again as Moody told him what he wouldn’t have to do to Snape. “Fucker wishes,” he said because Severus Snape was the last person on the bloody planet who James would ever give a snog, a wank, or a compliment to.

“I’m not convinced it’s gonna work anyway,” James said, softening his voice. Maybe that was the real reason he was worried for tomorrow - because, if Snape couldn’t do it, there went his last chance. He’d be stuck with a worthless wand hand forever. “Wankers did a real number on me.” He was talking about the Death Eaters, during his captivity, and he let out a little laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears.

[madeyed-andmoody]

@perniciouspotter

James flinched at the contact but he hasn't pulled away, stiffened but stayed where he was, and that was the only progress Alastor needed to see. It was small, absolutely a little bit tired, a little bit broken, but it was enough for now.

Merlin, it was good to hear him laugh, though, really laugh. The sound of it made the knot between Alastor's shoulders loosen, let them fall away from the tight line they'd stood in for months. Yes, seeing the other members had done wonders for his stress levels, too, but James had been the one...James had been the one he'd needed to bring home, to get home. If he hadn't, well, Moody didn't know how he would have been.

"I'm sure he does," he agrees, mischief lighting up his eyes before he shakes his head, a somberness flickering over his face again for just a moment. He hadn't wanted to ask this, hadn't want to make James feel -- "Do you want me to go with you? James, you're a big boy, I know that but -- if you need -- if you want -- I will."

Tripping over his own tongue had never been Moody's strong suit and he clears his throat after, bemused at his own nervousness. A small sigh escapes before he can contain it, and Moody laughs too, an echoing, aching hollow right there in the middle of his chest. James couldn't see it but, sometimes, he wished that he could, that he and the rest knew...

"It will," he says, short and confident and to the point. "But...if it doesn't, I'll fix it. We'll figure it out, yeah? 'Ve trained plenty of people who can't use a wand hand, or an eye, a leg. Jamie, it'll...you'll--" another sigh this time pinched off by a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "'M stubborn. You're stubborn. We'll figure it out."

That was a promise, and it was one he intended to keep.

[madeyed-andmoody]

speakablyundone​:

edgeofnicky​:

“Don’t frown at Barny the Fruitbat, you’ll make him sad.” Nicky pouted, as though the bat on the front of her shirt would see and take offense. The bat on the jumper stared out at the world with an unseeing, unknowing smile despite it. “I like to think of beaters as an extension of the team’s defense. Sure, the keeper’s doin’ their job, but the beaters are the ones buzzin’ around distracting the opposition so they can’t get maintain a solid offense. And the best offense is a good defense.” Nicky said with a sip of her drink.

She looked up with a delighted smile as the Auror set down his jacket. “Look what the kneazle dragged in!” She crowed, raising a hand and waving it to track someone down to get Moody a drink. “’Bout ye, Moody?”

She made a face as he brought up the Wanderers. “Abso-feckin’-lutely not. If I ever, and I do mean ever show up claiming to be a fan of the Wanderers, assume I’ve been cursed, or replaced by an imposter. Because the Nicky you all know and love would be feckin’ dead before she betrayed Barny the Fruitbat.”

@speakablyundone​

Before Robyn could point out that even the most exemplary defense couldn’t score any points, Alastor was settling into the seat across from her. Giving the older man a liquor warmed smile, she sniffed slightly as she corrected, “Grandfather,” as if that made any functional difference to his argument, but he should still get the points right. Killian Lynch didn’t care much for Quidditch, rejecting the family business out of some need to counterrebel against a world that had ejected him from their ranks.

“One has to be unhinged to cheer for the Wanderers,” she said simply; a level of unhinged even the chaotic Edgecomb couldn’t aspire too. Tradition or not, it took a special mindset to think waving cleavers around a crowded stadium as a way to cheer for your team was a good idea. “But at least they win, occasionally.” Which was more than the Canons could claim.

@madeyed-andmoody​

@edgeofnicky​, @speakablyundone​

“‘scuse me,” Moody says, a grin curling around the edges of his eyes and his mouth. “‘er granddaddy.” Because that makes a whole lot of a difference. But it was a matter of semantics, and Alastor knew that was the world Robyn lived in. Semantics. Data. For a witch, she was always, always thinking in numbers. 

Nicky waved someone down and Moody ordered a stout, the dark brew sounding just like what he needed. 

“Me? I was a bloody beater, Edgecombe. ‘Course I fink they’re th’ extension.” A wider twist to his grin exposes white teeth before Alastor mumbles his thanks to the waitress that brings him his drink. “’ow long yah been ‘ere?” 

[wrongdeor]

Something wasn’t right, was Moody’s first thought. Something wasn’t right because he’d just vast a quick-healing charm and the blood wasn’t stopping. But, no time to think of that now. He needed to apparate out. If he didn’t they’d –

Two things happened at once. Blood dripdripdripped off Moody’s arms, down his chest, as he stumbled backward. A hand grabbed roughly for his shoulder and then they were gone, the dizziness and the nauseous lurch of an unprepared apparition taking him by surprise. If he’d been of any around mind right now, Alastor would have snapped at the younger wix about being splinched.

Instead, Alastor Moody came out of the apparition and stumbled into an unfamiliar house (not the estate, the woods were wrong and the landing area was different, much like where one could be stretched too thin, like jam across too much toast) in an unfamiliar place (sounds were different, the birds and the creatures outside sounding off like scuttling little things instead of great, gallumping beasts of wizards and witches at all hours of the day and night) and slumped against the wall. When he slides down it, unable to follow behind Snape for fear of falling, there’s a streak of crimson.

“Well. Can’t say ’M all that comfortable,” he rasps out, a shaky laugh, fingers curling unsuccessfully around his bleeding wounds. “Picked up a curse, it seems.”

Severus looked back at the other man’s words. Crimson red painted the wall and dripped a puddle onto the wooden floor. He strode back, knelt beside Moody, and examined the injury that caused the bleeding. A long, crisp line cut from Moody’s chest up to his shoulder. An upward stroke, thinning towards the end, like the tip of a sword. Severus’ lips pressed into a flat, displeased line. ‘ What luck, ’ said Severus. ‘ Don’t pass out before I’m done with you. ’ 

Then Severus began to sing. The counter to Sectumsempra was something he’d mulled over between books on healing and phoenix tears, the incantation lilting with a soft melody as he passed his wand over the injury once, then again, then a third time. The wounds knit themselves together imperfectly, leaving a long scar behind. The dim white light faded from the tip of his wand as the last syllable did. 

He pressed the back of his hand against Moody’s forehead to check his temperature. ‘ Alright, up, ’ said Severus, shifting the other’s arm around his shoulders and hauling him to his feet. Slowly he walked them towards the couch in the living room and laid him down. Severus unbuttoned and discarded his heavy cloak, folding up the sleeves of his shirt as he knelt beside the couch and turned his attention to Moody’s other injuries. ‘ How do you feel? Where else does it hurt? ’ He couldn’t dismiss the image from his mind of Moody standing like a wall against a barrage of curses and spells like he was somehow immune to them. It wasn’t a common sight on missions, at least not before Severus joined the Order and was presented with a range of ridiculous displays of selflessness that were entirely pointless and ill thought out. This was, by far, the most brazen, and the fact that it was on his own account made his stomach turn.

[madeyed-andmoody]

@wrongdeor

Severus's face, for the first time, showed an emotion other than disdain. Moody wondered if pigs had flown from his arse. It was almost comical, really, to know that his being caught by a curse was the cause of it.

He would laugh but, you see, that would make the blood worse. Didn't need that, now, did he?

"'M a lucky bastard," he quips back, words a bit mumbled. "Been right lucky all me life." He had hadn't he? Disowned at age five, dad dead at age eight or so, mum dead of dragon pox just after he graduated from Hogwarts. Plagued by a war and a maniac in the years since. Luck, yeah. That's what that was.

"Didna know ye could sing, Snape," he murmurs, winning at the flesh, newly stitched back together, that twinges as he stands upright. His head swims for a moment, but Alastor plods forward, allowing the younger man to prop him up. "Sounds nice, fer someone who doesna do it often."

It wasn't even surprising that Severus knew a counter spell, really. Alastot knew he was smart, that he'd created curses and hexes and jinxes, that he wanted his legacy to last. No, he didn't quite care about that. "Mm, arm, too. Though I figure yer singin' closed that one up, too. 'S jus' tired now. Blood loss an' all."

[franklylongsuffered]

ted-tonks​:

madeyed-andmoody​:​

@ted-tonks, @franklylongsuffered​

Ted Tonks was greeted with a grunt and a half-wave from where Moody was still turned, fixing up the kettle for their tea. He’d turned back to check it was brewing properly, that one of the numpty headed interns hadn’t done it in with their ineptitude, before slinking over to the table and settling down into a chair with a groan. 

“Says the man who will, no doubt, meld with his desk chair one day,” he mutters, casting a look over his shoulder as his neck rolls to the side. There’s a small smile on his face as he says it, no heat to his words, and Alastor watches as the other wizard heats his food, grabs the container Moody’s asked for. 

Stretching out a bit, Moody deliberately knocked a foot into Ted’s leg, getting his attention as he turns back ‘round. 

“Aye, well, we’re gonna be talking about it for at least another few weeks, ‘m sure. How was your clean-up duty? Anyone give you too much trouble?” Trouble held the same distaste as ‘death eater’ did for Alastor. While he was a pureblood, he had his mum’s coloring, knew what he looked like to some Muggles, the whispers that only occasionally followed him around. He knew that they plagued Ted with a ferocity, one that would’ve had Alastor at his wit’s end, once. 

“Ah, but hocking cursed items moments after an attack is the way of the stupid, Frank. They’d not get anywhere if they didn’t, and we’d be out of a job. ‘ve been asked to do a sweep later in the week with some hit-wix, make sure the ‘threat is neutralized,’ or some such other bollocks. Really, I just think they want me outta the office again.” 

.

“Still cleaning up,” came the easy, even reply. His department was all working overtime this week and likely some of them - Ted included, as one of the senior members in his team - would continue into next week. The whole cover up from Sunday would take much longer than that, of course, but Obliviation was a process and the bigger issue in his department was getting ahead of the story.

He didn’t respond verbally to the second question - the one about trouble - but gave Alastor a knowing look as an answer in itself. Of course they’d given him trouble. He’d had to show his ‘badge’ in order to get them off his case and, even then, some of them had looked at him like he still must’ve been in on it.

Ted listened to Frank whinging about complaining of his work and his lips pulled up into a grin. Even though he wasn’t an Auror, he’d been around enough of them for long enough to understand their lingo and follow along. “Crime doesn’t stop just because a bigger crime happened,” Ted said, a bit of humor sliding into his tone because it was something he’d heard both of them say in the past. An Auror motto or something.

Ted took a bite of his food as he listened to Alastor. “Where are you headed?” he asked him neutrally, knowing that the other wizard might not be able to tell him. He wouldn’t be offended if the answer was a quick can’t say.

@franklylongsuffered​

Frank chuckled but didn’t disagree. He hoped nothing so tragic ever happened to him as desk chair melting, but worse rumors had floated around the ministry before. Even aurors weren’t imune when paperwork got too high or the nights got too long. Instead he listened to Ted, expecting a little more detail and not getting it. That was probably all right. If work drama was the only thing they had to talk about, they had bigger issues. The chair melding process would have already begun.

“Crime crime crime,” he muttered before he started eating. Frank had been at this long enough to know that both his friends were right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Some days the job took everything out of him, and lately, they’d been too numerous.​

​Still, he looked up sharply when Alastor mentioned doing a sweep. Mentally he echoed Ted’s question. Alastor was damn good in the field, but Frank always felt a little restless when he was gone too long. It was hard to say what was happening with his friend and harder to be one of the voices of dissent if Scrimgeour decided to get on one of his soap boxes while the other wasn’t around. Frank was pretty sure he did it on purpose. He only knew rumors and a few cryptic comments about what had happened there, but he knew better than to pry.

@madeyed-andmoody​

[madeyed-andmoody]

@ted-tonks, @franklylongsuffered

Meeting Ted's knowing look with a brow raise and a a small nod, Alastor suppresses a sigh. Bigots were never going to stay away, even in their world of magic, and it was all Alastor could do not to bite their heads off. He'd had to be stopped more than once. It was a known fact not to place them near his unit. They wouldn't last long.

It was the one thing Scrimgeour had ever listened to him about.

"Dunno," he says, shrugging a shoulder. "An' if I did I couldn't tell you lot, nosy biddies that you are," he teases, softening the reply with a grin. He knew they worried. Alastor worried, too, though he knew part of it was a ploy to remove him from the office. The other half, truly, was that there was a need for a sweep, to make sure nothing had been missed.

While Alastor himself had faith on both men beside him, the management didn't always place their faith so readily in any of them. There was always double checking and triple checking. A waste of resources, just as much as it was a way to rid the office of Alastor Moody's severe pain in the arse self.

[perniciouspotter]

madeyed-andmoody​:​

Alastor could see the rise before the fall from the moment the last sentence left his mouth. He closed his eyes and let it crash, the muscle in his jaw tightening, knowing it was coming. He did not say James’s allegiance, or a good part of it, was also Lily Evans, that perhaps they had more in common than he or Severus wished to believe. 

Alastor didn’t say it because he wasn’t here to fight. He wasn’t even if there was an urge to snap back. He tamped the urge down as far away as he could and reopened his eyes on the exhale, spine straight as an arrow. 

Continuing to listen, Alastor nods wearily. “I know, James. And I know it wouldn’t have been to his benefit. I know it’s suspicious. I know that you bloody well hate it.” Anyone could see that, in fact. It was not hard. James nor Severus made no attempts to be quiet about that. “You don’t think I didn’t say the same things? That I didn’t question everything? Dumbledore brought him in and said we must use him, that we should trust him. I don’t trust people I don’t know in a war, James, you know that. But I can at least know he didn’t let me die, whatever his reasoning, manipulative or not.” 

Eyes straying to the tick in James’s jaw, Alastor saw the dark mood slide over his face, catching in his eyes. That shadow passed and, for a moment, Alastor was rocketed back almost three or four months previously when James jumped at every noise and then pretended to ignore it, when he could barely stand in a crowd and how he still hated to be alone, where a flicker of sickness, of panic would swell in his gaze at the mere thought of it. 

And Alastor couldn’t do anything to fix it. And James didn’t want Alastor to, didn’t want to come to him nor to lean on him and he knew it was selfish, had always known it was, but he couldn’t help it. 

He didn’t even attempt to answer when James asked if he wanted to know, because he did. He did and he didn’t. The stone lodged in his throat wouldn’t let him answer, nor would the white-knuckle grip he had on the arms of his chair. 

It made his stomach roll, bile climbing up his throat, but he listened to every word. That was the least he could do, wasn’t it? That was what he deserved, wasn’t it? The reminder of how he’d failed? Because he had. Oh, he had. And he had to live with that every damned day.

James’s speech and his breathing grew faster, more rapid, and Moody hitched a breath, recognized it for the panic it could become, but he didn’t move forward. Before? Perhaps. But, not in the moment where James was already so morose, so bitter and breaking. No, he watches and he listens and he feels his heart shatter a little more with each word, letting them hit him like a blow, bruising his already battered body.

“Damn you, James,” he whispers, voice breaking, a sob catching in his chest. Alastor doesn’t even try to hide it, doesn’t try to forget it because he can’t forget the way they looked or the way James could barely use his hand or the way Gideon and Marlene and Emmeline walked around like wraiths, trapped in their own minds with the boggarts and the dementors and every other damnably dark creature they’d been locked up with. 

“You’re not a liability. You’re not abnormal. Your patronus was the only way I could even know what was fucking going on because you wouldn’t say one fucking word. You’re one of the best fuckin’ wix we have and you think I just want to give away what you’ve earnt?!” He’d raised his voice now, it was stronger, but it was not angry. Just sad, always sad. “I campaigned to get you back in the field. I looked for you every. fucking. day. I pulled triple shifts at the fucking Ministry, I nearly ran myself into my own grave I – Please tell me everything. Tell me every word because it wouldn’t change the fact that I blame myself. I blame myself for the things done to you, to all of you, and you should blame me, too, because I can’t make it go away. I couldn’t find you and I couldn’t kill every one of those fucking bastards. But you know what, Jamie? You don’t have to hold it all on you anymore. Because you finally fucking said something.” 

Alastor’s chest heaves with the things he’s left unsaid, stuck at the back of his throat before they tumble out, one after the other, to break his teeth on another uncaught sob. 

“I still wake up and dry heave into the loo, sometimes almost every morning, the image of you and Emmeline and Gideon and Marlene burned into my head. You lived it but I had to imagine it because I didn’t know. I couldn’t find you and I dreamt – I dreamt of your dead bodies and the torture we would see. I dreamt that you never escaped, that we never found you. The reality is horrendous, but what your brain can conjure when you’re alone and sick with guilt…it makes the monsters seem bigger, worse. I hear you say you think you aren’t enough but I needed other people to help me lead because the man who was supposed to was gone. You were gone and it was my fault and no one fucking realizes –”

No one fucking realizes that Alastor is still broken by it because James was back but, in a way, he wasn’t. One day, maybe, he would be. One day. No one realizes because Alastor hides it all away, just like James does, and he can’t tell anyone he can’t let them know because he’s their leader and he can’t break hecan’tbebrokenhecan’t

For his part, Alastor did listen. He let James rant about Severus, not interrupting or even rolling his eyes. Just let him talk and waited until after he was done to speak. Of course, it was on behalf of Severus, but it was something. “Yeah, sure,” James replied rather dismissively. “But it’s like you trust him more than me! Like everyone does.” He couldn’t help but think about Lily in this moment, how she’d let someone who had broken her heart so fiercely back into her life. Even someone as inconsequential to James’ life as Evan Rosier trusted Severus more - thought them more capable - allowed them to stay in the infirmary while kicking him out.

“Just for the record, I wouldn’t have let you die, either - and I wouldn’t have done it for some self-indulgent fucked up reason.” He said it like that was the point of the conversation, which really Severus Snape was a blip on the radar of what James was feeling right now. They’d run into one another the night before when James had come out of the infirmary he’d been banned from and he had reason to believed the other wix wouldn’t rat him out. Which was more than he could say about his friend, the actual rat. 

But, as always, Alastor pushed. He pushed James like he always had and it made James angry. Why weren’t people pushing anyone else like they were pushing him? Why did Gideon get to be coddled and treated with delicate hands, while James was getting whipped around as though the fact that he’d been gone for four months didn’t matter? He’d come back and it had been immediate heartbreak - and it hadn’t stopped since then.

One thing after another, piling on him like Atlas. He broke - something even the Death Eaters hadn’t managed to get him to do - and the second he started speaking, he couldn’t stop. He let it go and said everything he’d been thinking since he got back. But what he didn’t mean to do was… this. He didn’t mean to make Alastor’s voice crack like that. He didn’t mean to make his mentor shake. He didn’t intend for that tear to escape.

He’d never see the man cry before.

James’ glare fell into something sadder, softer, as Alastor continued. He said everything James had been wanting to hear - how he was a great wizard, how he’d earned his spot, how he wasn’t a liability. Alastor had campaigned for James to get back on the field - that, James knew. Alastor had looked for them every day - that, James had not.

By the time his mentor called him by the nickname that only he could get away with, James could feel his own tears in his eyes. They stuck to his lashes, little droplets of his pain, but did not fall yet. He watched as Alastor told him he wasn’t alone, the words I blame myself echoing in James’ ears. 

There was a sob and a continued rant about what their capture had done to the man. It was hard sometimes to remember that people back home had grieved them because they were just trying to survive. James could remember the way Lily had looked at him that night she’d ended things - like she needed more time to process that everything she’d thought had been a lie. James couldn’t relate to it - not when, the entire time, he was just trying to get back to them. In the meantime, they were just trying to move on from him.

Alastor’s words might’ve been reminiscent of the way Peter talked about James’ capture - the day that James had screamed at his friend for making it all about him. But, unlike Wormtail, Moody’s pain was about his so-called failure - about James’ own pain.

You were gone and it was my fault and no one fucking realizes –

The words were cut off, but James could hear them anyway as, finally, his tears fell down his cheeks. No one fucking realized Alastor was broken, too. It felt similar to himself. Everyone putting more and more and more on James - on Alastor - on so many of them. This war causing a chasm in all their souls. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever be able to fill it, even if they ever win this damn thing.

He reached out up brush away his tears, sniffing them back. His voice was thick when he spoke. “It’s not your fucking fault, Alastor,” he said, using the man’s name in a rare moment of softness when he so usually called him by some cheeky nickname. “And I need you to get your head out of your ass and stop thinkin’ that because otherwise Voldemort wins. It’s not your fault, okay?” He said it again - fiercely this time - and leaned forward to look the older man in the eye, his eyes almost dry now. He clasped in hands in front of him.

“It’s his fault, got it? Voldemort’s. We can’t have you goin’ down a path like that because you won’t be able to get out of it and we need you to win this war. I… I need you to help me kill him. Because I want to kill him so damn bad. Not just have it be over - I want to be the one to do it, if I can.” He stared at him seriously, nothing joking in his tone right now.

“I didn’t know it was so… hard for you,” he said. “But if I’m supposed to come back, then you are too. Alright?” The roles reversed, like James was in the mentor’s seat now. 

[madeyed-andmoody]

@perniciouspotter

Alastor fucking hated to cry. It wasn't because of his emotions, no. Nothing as stupid as that, but it gave him a headache and his nose stuffed up and it was actually the worst thing imaginable. When he cried, it was usually alone, too. No one else around to witness it. He was private with some things, particularly these kinds of things.

As a leader, he had to be. As a leader, he was the strong one, bearing the brunt of the pain and the anger and the sadness so other people didn't have to.

But who helped him bear it? From James’s reaction, the younger wizard hadn't really thought about it, because Alastor didn't have anyone to do it, to help.

The use of his name isn't enough to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks, but it is enough to earn a wet laugh, a heel pressing into his eyes as he heaves in a breath. This wasn't like him. He never did this, and yet he was, and it has. James could tell him it wasn't his fault all he'd like, that he hadn't done it, but Alastor still blamed himself, always would, at least in some way.

James, if he was being honest, had been the hardest one to reconcile with. The fact his bothersome little arse was gone. It had sat uneasily with him for months, even after he was back. Sometimes it still did. Sometimes, when he dreamt, people who had died became James, became Emmeline, became Marlene and Gideon. The other three vacilated between them, but James was almost always a constant, someone he watched be brutally butchered, mauled, or killed from his many, many memories of death and pain and torment.

"Ain't as easy as all that, lad," he says, voice rough and thick, but there is a small grin on his face and the tears have dried now. "People...don't need to worry about me. But 'S not so bad, anymore. Not really. 'M always gonna think about it. Ain't never going to not, but...'S better. Easier. An' yer not gonna kill 'im by yerself, so. I hope ye want someone there with yah."

If it was to be Alastor, well, that could be arranged. They just needed not to die first.

Alastor clears his throat, leans forward, before heaving himself to his feet. He walks through foot or so between their chairs and stops, considers James’s face before laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "We're all needed, James. You an' I aren't going anywhere. Not if I have a say in it. No one person in this Order has more importance than the other --" save for maybe himself or Hestia, but if one of them perished, the other would pick up in their stead, as they'd want. " -- though I know you feel that way. And I'm sorry for it. A lot changed after you were taken, and people are just getting back to rights. It may never...be the same, but we're still alive. And that's all we can do, yeah?"

[caradocdears]

madeyed-andmoody​:

@caradocdears

Must’ve been the bloody Yanks again, Moody thought, half eyeing the ones taking up a table by the door. They all lost their shite the moment they stepped foot in an English pub. The truly legendary tales though, were when they were in Ireland. They got so pissed that they could find their own wand if it was shoved up their arse.

A truly memorable experience, but not one that made friends with the barkeep.

Which, no doubt, was why Caradoc galumphed past him with a grunt and started angrily wiping down one of those poor glasses. At least he hadn’t spat in it though. That was the good thing.

Sitting further upright with only a mild wince, Alastor shook his head at the other wizard’ mood, grinning, only to catch his statement after the fact. The grin drops away from his face, growing serious. Eyes whipping to Caradoc’s face, Moody studied Jim seriously for a minute, every muscle in his body poised - for fight or flight, he didn’t know, just that it was a hum beneath his skin. Moody slipped his wand from his sleeve and waved it, casting a silencing charm around them both.

“Nicky almost fell off her broom. Had to grab her, she’s fine otherwise. Think it was jus’ her head, but it ain’t worrisome,” he started, edging around the erumpent in the room. “Robyn holds her drink better, so she wasn’t as bad off. Doc I – he won’t hex you. I call more than jus’ you ‘darling’ anyhow. But what, ah, what’re you on about, mate? If it’s the screaming, he was jus’ worried. I was their back up, got hurt while we were partnered.”

Moody at least needed to know what he was walking into before he started answering more in depth. Of anyone in the Order, Caradoc should be able to keep a secret. He had before, and probably would again.

*

If there was one thing Caradoc could assume Alastor understood, it was the remarkable effect Americans seemed to carry with them no matter where they went. That effect was simple; they simply were some of the most unlikeable bastards Caradoc had ever had the displeasure of working for. The sheer energy they carried with them, combined with their seemingly genuine need to know everything about a strangers life at the drop of a hat made them… Unpleasant. To say the least.

The chance they had to befriend him died with the first loud twang of an r. Bloody fucking Americans.

Raising an eyebrow at the sudden seriousness and the quickly cast silencing spell, Caradoc nonetheless kept his mouth shut and simply kept polishing the glass in his hand. It was likely clear by now, but if Alastor’s training thought Caradoc was going to go for his wand if his hands moved, Caradoc was going to save them both a miserable night and keep them working on something a bit simpler.

“I’m glad they made it back,” Caradoc said simply, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Alastor was very bad at playing ignorant. For a cop, Caradoc expected him to be a better liar. There was no way he didn’t get sufficient practice with it at work. “You’re proper shit at pretending you don’t know what I mean, “Caradoc declared. “If you want to play the village idiot, go ahead. I won’t stop you from making a fool of yourself. But you know full well what I’m on about. My sources are good and I got an ear for bullshit that rivals yours. But sure, let’s pretend there isn’t an erumpent in the room and talk about something else. How’s the bloody weather?

[madeyed-andmoody]

@caradocdears

Alastor's assumption that it had been the bloody Yanks made a ghost of a grin nudge up the corners of his eyes before it fell away, making room for the more serous matter at hand.

Namely - Gideon.

When Caradoc didn't move, Alastor waited him out, knowing that his friend thought it was a tense situation, and he really didn't want to make it a worse night, for either of them, even if he had slid his wand away after the charm was cast. Doc knew he could do windlass magic, so he just leans forward, hands swinging between his legs, and waits.

"Oh, village idiot, eh? 'M not it's jus'...not something I expected tah here. Not tonight anyway, though I shoulda expected it'd be you." Moody heaves a small sigh and leans back, stretching out like a cat, body language still taut despite appearing the picture of loose ease. Even when he was relaxed, comfortable in another person's presence, he still needed to be prepared for anything to happen.

And he hadn't prepared for this conversation. Not this early.

A scoff left his mouth before he could stop it, mouth showing teeth. "Right, yeah. You an' I both hate small talk, 'Doc. Jus'...rip it off, yeah? Whatever you heard, 'S probably right, but I still wanna hear it, seein' as how that lot gossip like a gripe of old hens."

[dirkcresswcll]

helloxhestia​:

madeyed-andmoody​:

The morning was only beginning and Alastor Moody wanted to crawl back into bed and never wake up. Though Severus had healed his injuries and Gideon had gone back to the flat with him to get some sleep, he’d been up a few hours later and popping in to the estate, knowing that there was work that needed doing. Though he would have liked nothing more than to stay curled up, warm and content, in his bed, Moody was currently walking down a drafty hallway chugging the strongest mug of black coffee he’d had in a while, papers floating around his head as he read over mission reports.

When he stalked into the Strategy Room, mug at his mouth, Cresswell was already present, chirping a pleasant hello at the older wizard. Moody merely waved a hand, dismissing the papers and grunting out his own greeting and affirmation, waiting to speak lest he say something rude. He had been warned of that by people before. He could go without sleep for days, had done so a number of times when working an important case, but he started to get, erm, a bit crabby. 

Certainly, this was not the worst he’d ever been. Frank, Ted, and himself - for instance - never spoke of the Exploding Tea Kettle Incident of ‘79. They’d all been on a bit of a short fuse then and, well, that poor little kettle had been collateral damage. Alastor’s wells of patience had been plundered far too deeply that day, and Scrimgeour had been the last straw. 

No, Dirk would not set off his temper, but best be safe, eh?  

Hestia had, surprisingly, fallen fast asleep as soon as she’d gotten back to her flat. She’d been so exhausted after the many highs and lows of yesterday’s mission that she’d probably gotten the best night’s sleep she’d gotten in a while.

In fact, she’d slept so well, that she’d overslept, and was now late for a meeting for what may have been the first time ever.

She’d pulled together the least wrinkled skirt and blouse combination she could find, and had somehow managed to apparate to the entry room in her hurry without splinching herself. She jogged down the hallway, smoothing out her skirt one last time and trying not to think about her rather frizzy blowout, as she entered the strategy room

She saw Moody first, and nearly chirped a hello at him, before she saw the coffee clutched in his fist. She’d learned her lesson the hard way before, and was not about to incur the wrath of Early Morning Moody. She turned her attention on a dime, finding Cresswell, a smile spreading across her face.

“Cresswell! Good morning, thank you for coming so promptly! Your arm is doing well, I hope?”

She glanced at the wrapping on his arm, but tried not to linger for very long. She didn’t want to make him feel as though she was worried. She was quite proud at how she’d managed to keep her expressions in check when he came back through the entry room clutching his injury. Flashbacks to the incident had started passing through her mind unbidden, and she’d concentrated her vision on the maps, eyes squinted nearly shut in “concentration.” But, he’d been all right, and making him feel babied was the last thing he needed right now. He’d handled his return to fieldwork and the pains that inevitably come with it with aplomb, and that was to be celebrated.

But, most importantly, he had something to share with them today, and she was anxious to hear his ideas.

Hestia pulled her wand from her skirt pocket and pulled up a chair, crossing her legs neatly in front of her. She glanced back and forth between Cresswell and Alastor, the question meant for both of them.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

Moody did not seem impressed with Dirk’s presentation so far and it hadn’t even started yet! It made him nervous, fidgeting with the cusp of his robe sleeves as he waited for the other man to say something that never ended up happening. Instead, there was barely a grunt of acknowledgement and Dirk’s foot bobbed from his standing position with anxiety.

He was grateful for the arrival of Hestia, but even she only asked about his injury - the thing that had gone wrong on the mission - before anything else. “Oh, uh, yeah! Yeah!” he replied too quickly, causing himself to suck in a breath and begin to cough lightly from the smoke damage that was still healing in his lungs. “I’m nearly - all - all better,” he tried through coughing. He took a deep breath, which got him to stop but, oh boy, this wasn’t off to a good start. 

She sat, which helped because it was almost like he was up at the front of a classroom rather than in front of two very experienced Order members. “Yes!” he said eagerly and waved his wand so the first piece of parchment hung in the air next to him. “As you can see, these are plans to expand the maps from yesterday’s meeting. Despite the, uh, hiccups, I think they went rather well and I’d like to reinvent the tracking a bit.”

He eyed Moody. “I spoke to you a bit about this yesterday, but if we can know the location of our next mission, we can go in early to understand the map and wards. Even if we don’t, I had an… an idea. It’s a bit, er, unorthodox.” He looked at Hestia on this one, knowing she wouldn’t like it. “I want to map out the Ministry of Magic.” 

He let the words sit there for a moment to let them register it before continuing. If we can, er, study that… that mark on the Death Eaters arms… I may be able to find a way to trace it. Locate people in the Ministry who have it. They could show up on the Maps in the same way our members do. I actually have more thoughts on that mark, but that can come later,” he said, pointing to the other parchment which was still on the table in front of them, rather than floating like his map plans.

@madeyed-andmoody​

[madeyed-andmoody]

@helloxhestia, @dirkcresswcll

Moody, much to his chagrin, was ignored by the younger woman when she came into the room, and for good reason. She knew how much of a bear he could be when he was at such a short fuse, with such little sleep and in pain. It had happened before. It would happen again. Dirk had yet to learn such coping mechanisms, but Moody would not hold it against the younger wizard.

Not this time anyway.

Casting a look over at Hestia, a brief rose when he noticed the wrinkles in her blouse, the wrinkles in her skirt. Alastor clocks a brow, biting back a colorful insinuation. Hestia wasn't one of his aurors. She wouldn't take kindly to the insinuation, truthful or not.

"I agree. They went bloody brilliant, all things considered. The expansion we spoke about," Alastor agrees, waving a hand for the chair beside him and sitting heavier than normal. "But the Ministry, eh? What would that entail?"

[drxmedatonks]

madeyed-andmoody​:

Alastor had not, as it were, been forced to spend an entire day at the Ministry until this one. Monday he’d been given off for, as he put it, being an empty headed numpty and needing to get his knee checked for a twist when he’d taken a tumble over the weekend. He was, of course, cleared and free to return to work the next day. That did not mean, however, that his body thanked him for it.

Despite the immeidate pain no longer being there, Alastor’s entire body still ached. He had complained about as much to Ted and Frank during their familiar, and much needed, break room griping. The department needed him, however, so off he had gone, whiling the day away in mild discomfort and moodiness.

The end of the day could not come any sooner. Nor, to his delight, could the face of a friend.

The grin on Alastor’s face as he came up alongside Andromeda, reached over to give her a one-armed squeeze and a chaste kiss to the cheek, mirrord her own. “Hullo Andy, darling! Yes, I suspect I’ll do the same, and so should that daft husband of yours,” he teased, shaking his head. Ted worked too bloody hard but, then again, didn’t they all?

“I imagine so, though, naughty delinquents,” he said, a smirk on his face as he shook his head. “They get anymore splinched elbows to be dramatic about? And how’s my favorite little nundu doing with mum and dad out and about? Been so busy, haven’t had a chance to pop ‘round.”

Alastor adored Nymphadora; the pair got along, as it were, like a house on fire, much to her mother’s chagrin.

Once she found herself in the company of a friend, the loneliness Andromeda felt before was even more pressing in contrast. It wasn’t a new feeling to get used to, but it was one that often reminded her of how far she was from the young Black girl she’d once been. With her chest full and head filled with self-proclaimed superiority. No, she could afford to say she missed her husband now. She liked it like that.

“He’ll be delighted to know you’ve been attempting to smooth-talk his wife by trash-talking him,” she teased back, with a comfortable tug of her lips. Bantering with Alastor was always exactly that – comfortable. Andromeda enjoyed the man’s presence more than she had it in her to say it out loud.

The mention to her elbow had her humming, instinctively bringing a hand to the wounded arm. It was doing better by now; almost fully healed, though she hadn’t gone to Evan or St. Mungo’s to check that, not since the day before. “Oh, Dora is doing well, she likes having the house for herself. It means she can be as chaotic as she wants without having me screaming at her for it,” she chuckled. It was true that Moody hadn’t showed up for a good while now, Dora probably missed one of her favorite indulgent uncles. “Would you like to come over, say hi? Dinner won’t be anything too elaborate, I’m afraid, but it’ll be no trouble adding a plate to the table.”

[madeyed-andmoody]

@drxmedatonks

A small grin curved along the edges of Alastor's mouth before it stretches into a broad, cat-satisfied, grin. "Is it working? I feel like we would be wonderful, darling, truly wonderful."

This was what was so easy about Andromeda Tonks - she gave back as good as she was given, and she had no qualms about it.

"Truly, though, he should rest. We all need to. It's been...a long few days." Moody's eyes sought out her arm again, noticing when she places a hand over it but saying nothing. He suspected if was almost entirely mended. Ted would have seen to that if Andromeda had not. Moody wasn't worried for that.

When Nymphadora is mentioned, Moody's smile softens and he nods. "She'll get better, I'm sure. 'S jus'...growing pains. But I would love to, if it's not any trouble. Though you know me: always do like to cause it."

[gidprxwett]

madeyed-andmoody​:​

Alastor still had Gideon by the hand, which was fine. It let the thumb that wanted to sweep across the other wizard’s knuckles do just that, fingertips toying with Gideon’s as he tightened his hold in a brief squeeze. The door was locked behind them now, and the room was off to the side. They had a few moments to themself. Alastor was thankful for it, truth be told. He’d not had a moment’s rest since he’d been called out, and sitting here allowed him a moment to breath. 

To think about what he wanted to say, wanted to do, and how it had been bouncing around in his head the whole mission, even at the back of his mind.

A snort escaped at Gideon’s first question and he grins, a bit tired, but still teasing. “What? Don’t believe ‘m alright? Snape said I should be fine, so long as I take it easy once I’m home. And I’ve no intention to do anything else, seeing as I’ll have to be back here soon enough.” He had after mission reports to go over and a billion other things to take care of, discussions with other members included. But first –

Moody grabs the hand trying to check him over and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles carefully, still looking up into Gideon’s face from where he was seated. “Evan uses Severus when he’s able. He’s a qualified healer, saved my life before. If he says it’s alright, then I’ll believe him.” It was the simplest way to do this, truth be told. Evan was only one wix, he didn’t have time to see every single member when they were hurt. “If I wasn’t I’d stay,” he promised. “I’m a bit of a shite patient, but if it was an order, I’d follow it. I’m not in the habit of making my life more difficult when I’m injured, you know.” 

He tugs Gideon’s hands again, bringing him closer, head tilting further back to give him a searching look. Alastor finds worry there, just like he thought he would. He lets go of Gideon’s hands when the other wizard wraps them around his middle, surprising him with the hug, but accepting it. In fact, he leaned into it a bit, even, and that just about told the state he was in. 

Pausing for a beat, allowing his heart to trip over itself for even thinking the thought, Alastor reaches forward with a hand, cupping the back of Gideon’s head, and kisses the other man. 

It’s soft, hesitant, but a real kiss and he pulls away after a moment, the look in his eye both wary and sheepish all at the same time. Clearing his throat, Alastor looks away before glancing back at Gideon’s face again. “I should have done that before the mission,” he says, voice soft. “’m sorry I didn’t.”

Gideon used to be the kind of person to go against what the healers said. He always thought he was fine and that any wound was nothing to worry about. He had learned his lesson after returning from the cells of the death eaters. They hadn’t been concerned with how he and the others would heal. They had left them half healed, only caring that they didn’t die before they could torture them some more. He listened to the healers now though. He was overly cautious about his health and the health of those he cared for. 

Moody was so confident that he was fine and Gideon was sure that he was but he still felt anxious over his injuries. He wanted him safe and they were in the middle of a war. Those two things didn’t really go together. He had stayed out of relationships because of how dangerous their lives were but now he found that he was unable to ignore his feelings any longer. It made him want to run. To put distance between them but there was a part of him that didn’t think he was strong enough to walk away. He depended on Moody too much now to give him that sense of security that he hadn’t had since his return. 

“It isn’t that I don’t believe you. I just worry. You know how I am. I don’t even like when you get a paper cut. Remember when you got one and I freaked and made you wear a bandage on it for a whole night? You were so grumpy over it.” It had been pretty cute if he was honest but he didn’t think Moody would agree. That had been the moment Gideon had realized he was starting to like Moody as more than a friend. He had kept his distance for a few days after that to get himself together. He hadn’t had a crush on someone in a long time and he had stayed away to get his feelings under control. 

“I know Severus is qualified I just want an opinion from all of the healers about you. What if they don’t agree? Then you would have to go with the most conservative option.” He was teasing just a little as he smirked at the man. He knew Moody wouldn’t stay regardless of what he said now that he had been cleared by the healer. A blush crept over his face as Moody kissed his hand and he was getting ready to pull away when he was pulled in closer and brought in for a kiss. 

Shock left him tense and unmoving for half a second before his brain started working again and he started to kiss him back. The kiss didn’t last long but it had been a solid kiss and it left Gideon wanting to kiss the other man again. “I umm I you I I think you should do that a lot more often. “ He stammered over his words and his face turned bright red as he looked anywhere but at Moody. 

[madeyed-andmoody]

@gidprxwett

Before he had been captured, Moody remembered having to chide Gideon -- and sometimes Fabian -- into going to see the healers. He'd beg off, say he was fine, that he wasn't that injured. Moody understood because he did the same things, on occasion, but that had changed. Now, Gideon had an anxiety to him that entirely changed his outlook on healing, on his life, and it was a noticeable change.

His reaction to Alastor's injuries, for one. His own focus on his health, another. Moody did not mind it, could not, but he hadn't had anyone truly worry about his well-being, not like this, in a long while. Not outwardly, anyway.

And here he was - with Alastor in a side room off the infirmary, leaning into a kiss that possibly could have been dangerous, possibly could have consequences, but which Alastor would think on later. For now, he sweeps a thumb over Gideon's cheek and sighs through his nose, pulling back once the kiss is broken to lean his forehead into Gideon's shoulder.

"Oh I remember," he says, voice teasing even as he shakes his head, nose nudging at Gideon's collar. "I wasn't grumpy, and it was just a bloody cut. Wasn't even there the next morning." Alastor had known all too well that something had been going on but he'd had no bloody idea what. Maybe he should have known this was what it was.

Glancing up when Gideon starts stuttering, Moody smiles softly, hooking his chin between a thumb and forefinger. He shifts at the same time as he tilts Gideon's face carefully, a soft brush of his mouth at the corner of Gideon's lips before he straightens. "The most conservative option is sometimes not the right one," he reminds the other wizard. "But, yes. I would agree with the healers."

[healerrosier]

Evan & @madeyed-andmoody​ 27 June, 1984 - Prewett Estate

Evan hadn’t planned on dropping by the Order that afternoon. He wouldn’t have gone by at all that week if he had his way but he owed it to Emmeline - at least, that was the excuse he was using to convince himself to go - to make sure they weren’t understocked on supplies after the injuries that accompanied the last mission. He stood in the middle of the storeroom with a parchment and quill in his hand, carefully examining each shelf to see if anything was amiss.

The first note was keeping extra ingredients around for fiendfyre related injuries. The Order had only seen it come into play once and that was more than enough times to convince Evan that they would likely see it again. He had been about to move on to one of the other cupboards when he heard footsteps pause by the doorway. A second glance over the list was necessary before he was ready to shift his attention to whoever was lurking.

“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” He grumbled before shifting his attention to the door, nose wrinkling when he laid eyes on Alastor. “Please tell me you weren’t planning on trying to rope me into some sort of project.”

[madeyed-andmoody]

@healerrosier

Moody was, to be frank, rather irritated at Hestia. Her and Evan, but the latter, at least, had a reason. Rosier was a good healer. When Alastor had agreed to allow Hestia and James out into the field, to pick an assignment, he'd known it would be pilfering files from St. Mungo's. However, they could have gotten that information from Rosier, if he'd have allowed it. Moody supposed, if he hadn't, they could have tried regardless, but now they'd lost a healer.

Their best healer, and it had sent Moody into a mood black as pitch. Not just that, but multiple things now.

To see him in the makeshift Order infirmary, no longer nice and neat and tidy and, in fact, rather sad looking now, was surprising though not unwelcome. Alastor had never had an issue with Evan beyond the other man's snit pre-mission. Now, though, Moody had to clean up the mess.

"No," he says, the corner of his mouth turning up in a wry smile. "Because you won't, since you're protesting. Leaving notes for Emmeline?"

[perniciouspotter]

madeyed-andmoody​:

Seeing James out of the hospital was a relief, something that unburdened some of the weight laid across Alastor’s shoulders, if only by a fraction. Alastor had visited every chance he could between work at the Ministry and running the Order. Yes, he’d gotten quite a few odd looks during that time from Mungo’s healers, and even more snide comments from some of his coworkers (Scrimgeour) but it hadn’t really mattered. James was alive. James was home.

So, why did it still hurt so badly to look at him and know that Alastor had failed him?

When he’d visited, they’d spoken of mostly nothing. Sometimes, Alastor just sat and worked on paperwork. Other nights, James grilled him about the Order, when he could return. Those nights were the hardest. Those nights held all of James’s pain and his anger and made Alastor realize he would need to adapt to it, too, just like James himself would. Because James wasn’t okay, but he wanted to be. Alastor wanted him to be.

Kicking off the wall he’d been leaning against when James appeared, Alastor moved instinctively to his injured side, gesturing as he spoke, a small grin on his face. As he walked by his good side, Alastor tapped on his elbow, a silent ’none of that, now’ at the sight of his hand shoved into a pocket, before he moved on. “Next go, then,” Moody hummed, nodding. This was only a precursor to Moody getting James out and about as much as he could. He knew, of course, that Sirius and some of the others would be, as well, but this was something Moody could personally do.

James’s commentary earned a huff and a little laugh, a slight sway into his personal space, a knocking of a shoulder carefully into James’s own. Being called an old man made him smile. He hadn’t heard it in months, not from him. “Oh it is, is it? Wouldn’t be anything untoward would it, James?”

Alastor knew, of course, some of the details surrounding the Shack and Remus Lupin. He figured James and the other two lads followed right along with it. Wouldn’t fit if they hadn’t.

As they walked a bit of the way down the Alley, Alastor kept himself just beside and in front, a subtle, though important, detail. Unlike his companion, he didn’t shove his hands into his pockets. The fingers of the hand next to James’s injured one brushed along the side of his arm, near his wrist, and after a while, Moody tapped that one too, a way to ask without asking before he did. “When do the treatments start?”

It was good to see Moody smile again. James had been trying his best to crack jokes between the moments of pure fucking agony where his heart was trying to rip itself from his chest or the seeds in his body were just waiting for more lilies to pop from his skin, but he hadn’t really accomplished getting his mentor to smile too much. That worried crease between his eyes was becoming a staple and James didn’t like looking at it.

James grinned at him over his shoulder. “Whatever would make you say such a thing?” he said with mock innocence. Of course Moody knew about Remus’s school-based hiding spot for the moons. It seemed as though Alastor knew everything - James was half convinced he had an eye that could see out of the back of his head. Always one step ahead - always prepared for James’ fuck ups.

He came into James’ space again, but this time to tap his wrist. It was so light that James could hardly feel it, so it should not have hurt, but it did away. It made him twitch, pulling away without thinking. It wasn’t the same sort of pain that he’d felt with the Death Eaters had intentionally stepped on it or yanked it around - or even when he tried to pull himself into a seated position in his cell - but it was a phantom sort of pain. As though it was expecting itself to feel something.

“Tomorrow,” James replied and he quirked a sardonic brow at Moody. “Though it’s Snape, so I’d expect this walk to be our last, mate. Because it’s very likely I’ll be dead by the end of the week.” He sighed dramatically, pulled his other hand from his pocket and held it up in front of him, as though making an imaginary rainbow in front of him. “Here Lies James Potter,” he said. “Poisoned by a twat.”

James laughed, but it turned dark at the end, sudden and fierce. “I can’t fucking believe Lily made up with that tosser. After everything he’s done…”

[madeyed-andmoody]

@perniciouspotter

"Because you're you, lad," he said, laughing, the fond moniker slipping lose before he stuffed it back into his mouth. He never knew how anyone would take to being called a lad or a lass. Certainly not when they were someone like James, occasionally hot-headed and always stubborn. It was an -ism Alastor usually reserved for family or those he knew wouldn't take it poorly.

James twitched away from him and Alastor's fingers instantly curled in towards his palm, a lump catching in his throat. His hand hovered for a moment over James’s wrist, knuckles out, before laying it carefully against the skin. He left it there for a moment, not squeezing, not stroking a thumb down the scar like he might have if James didn't pull away. Just...a touch, simple and easy, before withdrawing altogether, hands going to his own robe pockets now.

The seemingly ever-present furrow was back now, but it was one made of consternation, forming as he listens to James talk. About his treatments, about Snape and Lily, about poisoning.

Before he could help himself, the corner of his mouth curls, and he tries to lighten the mood with, "Here lies James Potter, the twat, face down so the world can kiss his arse." The fact was Alastor could imagine it, someone doing just that, a lighthearted moment for a somber affair. A hint of levity in an otherwise bleak conversation.

"Well. The hope is that he can get rid of the little buggers, yeah? That's all you're there for. You don't have to snog him or give him a wank and tell 'im he's the gift to the wizarding world." Alastor tilts his head to the side, glancing sidelong at James’s profile, the hands he gestured with but didn't quite use.

There was something different there, a bit darker, more somber. Alastor's James, yes, but...a bit broken, too. He'd mend. Moody knew he would, but it would take him time. It always did.

[aliceinaurorlandx]

madeyed-andmoody​:​

Perhaps he looked a bit mad, grinning like a loon, but it had been a long while since he and Edward had seen one another. They had joked, once, that Moody’s paved the way for Edward when he was just a wee little lad of six, disowned because of his da. He hadn’t done anything, never really seemed to care if he had, but Eddie had made the choice to, so it was something that had bound them up together in the eyes of that side of the family. 

To be frank, Alastor didn’t care one troll bollocks whether they liked him or not. Oh, he saw them, from time to time, on duty or off it. He never said hello, nor even acknowledged their existence. That was the way his world worked, and he was alright with that. 

But, when Edward stopped and turned and grinned back, Moody came closer and clapped him heartily on the biceps, a little laugh escaping. “Look at you, old man, all grown.” Glancing down at the voice that had called Edward ‘daddy’ he realized this was Ed’s daughter, and his grin softened. Alastor stooped down a bit to be on the girl’s level, reaching out a hand for her to take. 

“I’m sorry, little love. Should’ve remembered my manners. ‘m a friend of your da’s. You can call me Alastor.” When she said, rather excitedly, that it was her birthday, Alastor’s brows jumped and he gave a delighted little gasp. “Oh, well, and a very happy birthday to you, then, isn’t it? Your da takin’ you somewhere special, or is he just dragging you about?” Leaning in, almost conspiratorially, Alastor whispered, “Are you exited to go to Hogwarts? What’s something you want, hm? A gift, for your birthday?”

Yes, this was exactly the kind of distraction he’d needed. 

—-

Theo was used to her father talking to people when they went shopping or were in Diagon Alley. He was an important man at the ministry. Or so that was what he told her when she asked why he was working so much. She would have much preferred that he was at home and spending time at her. But, he brought her lots of pretty things, so she could let it slid. And she supposed when they did spend time together, they did have a good time. Theo loved her daddy, and would take any and all opportunities to spend time with him.

She hadn’t seen this particular man before. Or maybe she had? She wasn’t sure. But she wasn’t very good at keeping an eye on her dad’s friends. They were mostly boring after all. But, this man seemed okay. And he was talking to her too, so that as cool. Most of her father’s friends just ignroed her.

“Oh. Hi Alastor. Your name is strange. Like mine.” She mused, a little smile on her face. Of course, Theo felt that the fact that she had a weird name allowed her comment on someone else’s, regardless of the fact that it was a little rude. But Theo was cute, and it mostly made up for her mouth. “We’re going to get some last minute stuff for school.” Since it would not be them if they weren’t a little last minute.

“There’s this new book I want.” She murmured, a big smile on her face. “Daddy said I had to wait till my birthday to get it.” And so she was very excited to go and pick it up later.

[madeyed-andmoody]

@theoselwyn

This little girl - Theodosia - looked like a perfect little version of her mum and da. Alastor could tell she was a bit odd, too, in that way that Edward was, where he didn't give two shites about the family or what they thought. She would be all the better for it as she got older.

Some people might have taken offense at a child calling their name strange, but Alastor only grins and laughs. He nods his head and says, "Aye. I s'pose it is. Yours is prettier though, I think." He wondered if people spoke to her like this or if they just ignored her, like most purebloods did. Then again, Theodosia wasn't a pureblood, was she?

"Oh, really? What book? I might’ve read it. I love to read. It's one of my most favorite things, besides Quidditch. D'ye think you'll play Quidditch when your older?"

He was curious to know what book she wanted so badly that she'd had to wait to get it. Edward was rather doting, last Alastor knew, so it must be very important to her.

[madeyed-andmoody]

wrongdeor​:

Severus watched Moody drag his injured leg about like an empty sack, barking orders and checking on people and asking questions the moment he crossed the entrance. Then holding a bloody meeting with his leg hanging about rather awkwardly as it waited to be seen to. The only reason Severus didn’t drag the ridiculous man to the infirmary himself was because he was too busy to leave the infirmary —- well. No. Not so busy as that … but the thought of leaving the room when Lily was in the state she was in sent a chill down his spine, a feeling of such inevitable doom that he wouldn’t dare risk it. And so he didn’t.

But Moody slunk into the infirmary like a mouse into it’s trap. Before he could escape, Severus pounced. ‘ You’re fine when I say you’re fine, ’ Severus intoned, and waved his wand. The doors to the infirmary swung shut with an ominous click. He gestured towards the side door that led to a smaller room with the extra cot and armchair. ‘ Sit down, ’ he said. Gaze dropped deliberately towards Moody’s bad knee. ‘ That poor leg will thank you for it. ’

@wrongdeor

Why yes he had, in fact, avoided looking at Severus Snape all evening, why did you ask? Moody had resolutely not looked his way during the meeting, which had been rather difficult given what information Regulus Black had foisted upon them, the Mark that Severus had shown. Moody had seen it, once, but with no other indication of it being on another of the members formerly affiliated with Voldemort's brood of cockatrice devil spawn, Alastor had filed it away to examine later.

Later had, apparently, come when his leg was hanging off at the knee and he was being strong armed into a separate sitting area for the infirm. Bloody brilliant, that.

Heaving a sigh, Alastor did as he was told and sat, too tired and too sore to argue the point...right then anyway. Once he was comfortable, leg stretched out as far as it could go without Moody's slumping bonelessly to the floor, he glared balefully at the younger man.

"It might, but I'm certain you aren't," he said, voice dry. "Need I remind you not to shoot the messenger, Severus? It wasn't...so bad. The knee's the worst of it. And you can thank Gideon. He yelled at me until I came this way, said he was worried because he saw me get hit. It wasn't as bad as all that, but. Peace of mind I suppose."

[speakablyundoner-rr]

edgeofnicky​:

Sláinte

Where: The Flaming Dragon

When: 29th of June 1984

Who: @madeyed-andmoody​ & @speakablyundone​

Nicky wasn’t sure how she’d gotten here. 

Well, no, that was a lie. She knew exactly how she’d gotten to The Flaming Dragon. It was just a short walk from her flat, and after all the running about planning for a party to celebrate being alive, she needed a drink. So that wasn’t the mystery of the evening.

No, the question of the evening was how the hell she’d managed to trick two very cool older wix with much more dangerous and fascinating lives than her let her tag along for a few drinks. So how she’d gotten there, perched atop her bar stool sat next to Robyn Lynch, and waiting on Alastor Moody was a bloody mystery to her. 

“I don’t know what your problem with the Bats is.” Nicky laughed, taking another sip of her drink. “One, their uniforms are feckin’ cool as hell, two, their beaters are some of the best in the game, and three, have you seen Barny the fruitbat, Robyn?!” She tugged at the front of her jumper, drawing attention to the smiley little bat mascot emblazoned on it. “He’s adorable.”

@speakablyundone​

Objectively speaking, there wasn’t really a good answer to the witch’s question; not one based in logic and reason. The Bats had the better League record, less aesthetically garish colors, and a mascot who was both very cute and less likely to be turned into a stereotypical joke by the rest of the division. (That Robyn would personally argue for a change to a more adorable Kestrel for the mascot at every family get together was a fiercely held secret that never left the bounds of the Lynch estate.)

No, it was entirely subjective and rooted in sentimentality and gross nostalgia that Robyn would sooner die than cheer for any other team when Kenmare was playing. But how to encapsulate several hundred years of family loyalty into an argument that wouldn’t sound ridiculous? Simple: don’t even try.

“There’s nothing wrong with the Bats, but they aren’t the Kestrels,” Robyn said flatly, frowning down at Barny so she didn’t smile back at him. “And beaters don’t win games.” Just earn lots of cheers for their antics, which the current pair new very well and played to full advantage. If she was really being honest, then that was part of Ballycastle’s great success—their ability to connect with the more modern Quidditch fan, rather than relying on centuries of tradition.

“At least you don’t root for the Canons,” was the most definitive, objective thing she could say about it. No need for sanity saving intervention.

@madeyed-andmoody​

[madeyed-andmoody]

@edgeofnicky, @speakablyundone

Alastor Moody after a job done could, admittedly, be a bit of a creature of habit. Now, he didn't do it often, and rarely ever in the same place, but a drink with a handful of colleagues, usually fellow Minsitry staff wasn't unheard of.

For the young women he was currently late to meet, well, it might come as a bit of a shock, but Alastor had once been a le to drink most Auror recruits under the table, let alone skiv them off their hard earned paychecks with quod cup. That was not the life he lived anymore, but he could still hold his own. He also, as it were, had ulterior motives.

Checking on both Robyn and Nicola after the mission was smart, the right thing to do, particularly after one of them had sustained a bloody concussion.

"Her bloody problem wit' th' Bats is that 'er da ain't fundin' 'em," Alastor chirps brightly, slinging off his jacket and tossing it across a chair. He sits down moments later, legs a sprawl beneath the table. "An' she could do worse than th' Cannons, Robyn. She could like th' fuckin' Wanderers."