Mad-Eye Moody felt himself falling, and before he closed (both) his eyes, the last thing he saw was a white, horrible face with less nose than he had and even more abnormal eyes. His last thought: "And they call me Mad-Eye when there's someone out there with red slits for eyes…"

Alastor Moody felt himself regain consciousness. He didn't dare move a muscle, in case he was still surrounded by Death Eaters. But nothing made a sound. He tried to look through the back of his head and found that he couldn't: he had lost his magical eye.

With no other choice, Moody opened his normal eye, and saw that he was lying in a sunlit room with wooden floors. He let his other eye fall open, even if he knew its hollow socket will be filled with air and give him a swelling feel. However, nothing like that happened. Moody noted with a small start that he had both his eyes back.

He sat up hesitantly and felt his face. All his other scars were gone, and his nose was whole. He then noticed that he was starch-naked. Muttering under his breath and standing up, he was then startled again to see both his legs, fleshy and whole, supporting his weight. What the bloody hell has happened to him?

Moody studied hi surroundings with apprehensive written all over his face. With a jolt of his heart, he recognized where he was… his childhood home, where had been raised. The home where little Alastor got his letter to Hogwarts a hundred years ago (almost literally). The home where Daddy Moody died of smallpox. The home where Moody's Mum had raised Alastor alone, teaching him courage and constant vigilance. Moody walked around the familiar place with disbelief. In the old closet he and his mother used to share, he found black robes that would fit his adult body. He pulled them on and walked over to his Mum's old mirror; staring back at him was a Moody that was unscarred, two-legged, normal-eyed, and appeared as if he was barely over-age.

Wishing he still had his magical eye to check for anything unusual, Moody turned around and scanned the one-bedroom hut again. There was no mistake: it was his one and only true home. Turning back to the mirror, he saw with awe that his magical blue eye whizzed again in its socket. What the—

Moody jumped. Someone was moving outside the hut. He moved noiselessly to the door, reaching for his wand—

There was no wand.

Moody gaped around. So far all he had wanted had turned up. Would his wand turn up if he hoped enough? Opening his eyes again, every muscle of him tingling with hope, he reached again into his robe pocket, and there it was.

He edged, as cautiously as ever, to the only other room of the hut: the kitchen and living room mixture. Someone was at the door, he was sure of it. Moody urged his magical eye to look beyond the door… and what he saw nearly made him drop his wand. It could not be…

Albus Dumbledore turned the handle and walked in the room. Moody stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Dumbledore seemed as surprised to see Moody as he himself felt. Then, Dumbledore's expression turned from surprise to sorrow.

"Alastor…I thought I felt…who did it?"

"Albus?" growled Moody, he was glad to hear his voice still had the intimidating effect. "No, you're an imposter!"

"Sorry, Alastor, but it's me," said Dumbledore softly. Moody noticed Dumbledore looked less lined, even slightly younger. His hand, Moody noticed, was far from the dead-looking thing attached to his arm when he had died…

"I'm…dead, then?"

Dumbledore's eyes filled with tears. Moody frowned.

"That's why…" He looked up into the older man's piercing blue eyes. "It was Voldemort himself. They knew, somehow, the night we were moving Harry even though we leaked fake information to the Ministry. That little git Mundungus did a bunk on me…" his voice trailed away.

"Come, Alastor, and let us take a walk while I explain this…"

Moody followed Dumbledore out the small, wooden front door. He looked remorsefully around the familiar woods he had grown up in. "Albus, but this place was ruined decades ago."

"Where are we, do you say?"

Moody glared at him indifferently. "My childhood home."

Dumbledore looked pleasantly surprised. "Oh, really? Interesting, that is."

Moody decided to drop this ridiculous and vague matter. "So, what were you going to tell me?"

Then Dumbledore drowned him with the truth: his planned death with Snape, how he had told Snape a plan from his portrait, how Snape had decided to use Mundungus…what Harry, Ronald, and Hermione had to do and why, and what he, Dumbledore, had planned…

Moody considered all this when Dumbledore finished. "But isn't it dangerous? Couldn't Potter and his friends fail? Then what happens? The plan is way too feeble for my taste, Albus," Moody said, bemused that his live self had not been told all this.

"I fully believe they will succeed, Alastor, or I wouldn't have landed a job of such importance on their teenage shoulders," retorted Dumbledore, staring into the distant skies.

"All the same—"

"Ah, look, we're back," cut in Dumbledore shortly, and Moody saw that indeed, they had returned to the hut. "You say this is your childhood home, then, say, do you have a fireplace?"

Moody stared at him with both eyes, confused (but won't admit it). "But of course."

Dumbledore smiled affectionately at him. "Then, I think, if you do decide to go on, you'll be able to use Floo powder."

"On…"

Moody looked up again (with his magical eye looking at the direction of the old, battered hut). "Where do I tell it to take me?"

"Ah, Alastor, I don't think you would need to say a word," Dumbledore responded in a singsong sort of way that did not raise Moody's spirits.

"Fine, then," he barked. "What about you?"

"I'll return myself to the Headmaster's office soon enough," was the calm reply. "Snape needs me when he gets back. I do hope Harry has arrived safely." He noticed Moody's glare, then said with a grin, "This is it, then, Alastor. We say goodbye," he held out his healed hand. Moody shook it tensely.

"Goodbye, Albus."

Walking away, keeping his magical eye on Dumbledore, who seemed to know he was still being watched, Moody took out his wand. He strode towards the old hearth. There was a flowerpot containing Floo powder waiting for him. Moody pointed his wand at the middle of the hearth. "Incendio," the flames danced joyously. Slowly, he threw a handful of Floo powder into it. The fire immediately turned to a bright green, growing tall enough to engulf him. Moody stepped in.

Almost instantaneously the fire began to move him, pulling him into a sickeningly fast speed. He caught glimpses of Muggle houses, of a lake, of the sky and many people on brooms, of Hogwarts…his last glances of the living world.

Then, with a last jerk of his body, Moody was pulled into…on.