Alastor Moody wasn't always grizzled. He wasn't always one-legged; one eyed. He was whole, and as Minerva looked at an empty casket, she sighed. She wasn't sure if it was in exasperation or frustration at last week's events or in sadness, but she felt old. She never felt old. The idea that he was gone took her breath away, ironic that when they first met, he had taken her breath away. Literally. And then figuratively, each time they stood too close or brushed sleeves – touching, but not touching. Staring at the deep mahogany, she remembered the feel of his wand in her hand as she handed it back to him.
He twirled it between his fingers, looking hesitantly at her. His blue eyes should have been twinkling, but there was a guardedness to them – a cloud over the blue sky brightness that she noticed the first time he stood to introduce himself at the Order meeting.
Minerva McGonagall was a bit older and usually got a kick out the new Order members' idiosyncrasies, but Moody was in a category all to himself. As she handed the wand back, she knew he was wondering if he should run it through all of the detection spells, wondering if this prominent leader of the Order of the Phoenix would have hexed his wand or set a delayed jinx on it. His mind was always looking for the Dark Arts angle, trusting no one.
She smiled gently, putting her hand on his, squeezing his fingers. He pulled his hand away, and took a step backwards. The look on his face was a mix of horror and excitement. He slid the wand into his back pocket and went to find an empty seat in the jam-packed space above the Three Broomsticks, waiting for the Order to come to order.
Albus Dumbledore spoke. Sirius Black gave his report of some items of interest that he had overheard his family discussing on the weekend. Sturgis Podmore held a sheaf of parchment unsteadily as he recounted the Dark Lord's activities in the Brecon Marshes. Lily Potter reported some Muggle happenings near her family's home. Minerva was listening, but was also distracted watching Alastor. He didn't take notes like many of them did, but he paid attention, taking the notes in his head, memorizing tiny details. His brow crinkled when he had a question and smoothed when it was answered. His right hand continued to move back and forth across the fabric covering his knee as he listened raptly.
Soon, everyone was gone except the two of them. He glanced at her as she finished filing the paperwork, reducing it to miniscule proportions and placing it into the inside pocket of her robes. His glance turned into a stare and she knew that her robes must have fallen open to reveal her Muggle clothes beneath, always a surprise. Their eyes met, and she smiled at him. He returned it with one of his own, his blue eyes twinkling.
At the next Order meeting, they sat together, his hand running along the fabric of her robes that covered her knee, her hand on his, tracing the lines of his hand with one finger. They were making the arrangements for the Potters to go into hiding. After that, they spent more and more of their off-duty time together. Minerva had her duties at Hogwarts, of course, but despite the wards keeping him from Apparating in, Alastor managed to get into Hogwarts unnoticed as often as necessary. Minerva grinned at how useful it was to be so closely aligned with an Auror of Alastor's excellence.
Minerva remembered their time during the First War when they were constantly chasing after Dark wizards and Alastor lost his leg and his eye. He had been ready to give up on the rest of him, but she was there; with him every step of the way, prodding, cajoling, grating on his raw nerves and increased paranoia. His wand never went into his back pocket again. He never let his guard down. He never took food or drink from anyone. Except her. She was the only one that he trusted, and she knew it. They would always be there for each other.
Until now.