Author's Note: I wrote this short little ficlet ages and ages ago as a way to beat writer's block and insomnia. I ended up liking it enough to post it on another site (I mean, come on. How can you go go wrong with a fic about Moody and Neville?) and I've decided recently that I wanted everything that I've written in one place. So here we are. Enjoy. :)
Moody was sitting at the Head Table, at the place where he should have been sitting the whole year. He pretended to ignore, for their benefit, the sidelong glances the faculty was giving him.
It was the first time that blasted Pomfrey had let him out of her dang hospital wing. Honestly, that woman thought she could control the world as long as people stayed in her hospital wing.
His hair was still mussed and he knew he looked less healthy than he had in years. But he believed in showing off his scars to the world. Let those bastards that he was up against know what he had gone through and let them consider if they could do the same, and if they couldn't, let them think about going against a man who did.
Still, he couldn't help wincing as he noticed his arm shaking as he lifted his flask to take a drink. Good thing about having so many scars that people really couldn't tell when you were really hurting.
But he put his flask back down and let his eye roam the Great Hall. There was Potter, of course. Damn it all, he had wanted to teach that kid. Magnet for trouble he was, needed to be more careful. He was sitting with Arthur's sons. That was good at least.
He alighted on a few other faces that he identified as sons or daughters (or grandsons or granddaughters, he reminded himself) of people he knew or put away or tried to put away. Many of them winced or looked away or at the very least avoided his glance.
And then he found the face he was looking for. Frank's boy, sitting a few seats away from Potter. Perhaps sensing he was being watched, the boy looked up and momentarily looked a little startled. But he didn't look away. He looked wary, yes. Cautious. Good thing, too. But he didn't look away.
The boy must have known who that Merlin cursed imposter was, who had taught him and showed him what's what, that whole year. After all, he was in Potter's dorm. But there he was, looking him right back in the face, best as he could.
Well, damn it all for that. The boy had a mile wide streak of Frank's gumption.
Alastor nodded at him, and then let his gaze travel on.