Alastor hadn't been this on-edge in awhile…well, not to this extent. He stood in the Muggle kitchen that was much too clean for his liking and kept his magical blue eye trained on the outside perimeter of the house, and a deceptively innocent looking toaster that he swore just twitched out of the corner of his normal eye. He had thought out the retrieval plan for Harry that night with Nymphadora and Remus, and wasn't at all pleased with the distraction the two caused each other.
As the group of friends and Order members listened to his evacuation plan, James's odd hair stuck up from Harry's head like a kid that wouldn't put his hand down in class. No matter how hard Alastor tried to focus, unbidden memories cropped up in his head, itching to be played out before they went away.
'Wouldn't be surprised if your brain went next Moody!' came the good-natured catcall as the Order gathered in his home. Alastor never trusted any of the other locations like he did his own house, but agreed that using a location more than once was more susceptible as a recent sweep of Tusthill gave the Aurors a skirmish with Death Eaters, and James himself saw the shrapnel from a reducto blast take out a chunk of Moody's nose.
'Your chances of making the cover of 'Witch Weekly' have just gone up a notch Potter!' he barked back. James nevertheless gave a wide grin and nudged Lily's shoulder; she had returned from a back room, obviously just putting young Harry down for the night.
Alastor remembered another memory, James's return from defense training abroad:
'Whoooee Moody! You shoulda seen the look on Garmanche's face when I performed the Nova charm. I've never seen anyone dive underneath a table so quickly!'
Alastor had grinned in spite of himself; the Nova charm was a personal favorite of his, and James realized that Moody teaching him the spell was the equivalent as to passing along a prized family heirloom. The two allowed themselves to revel in the aftermath of rare mischief and for James who completed his auror training.
His own reasons for becoming a member of the Order were vague to others…everyone knew that Mad-Eye Moody prided himself in the tracking and defensive tactics it took to hunt down the scum of the wizarding world. They figured it was the thrill of the chase that Moody enjoyed; the satisfaction of knowing he could make the world a better place by releasing some anger in a flurry of spells and property damage.
Alastor watched as the seven Harrys wandered about the kitchen, thoroughly amused with the sight of each other. It wasn't easy watching Potter, not to mention seven of them. Even though the Order was a special unit in of itself, secrecy still ran through it…even if Moody's own agenda was secret all these years, to take care of his protégé.
He shook himself from the sea of raven hair and the glasses that were uncannily like James' all those years ago. An unknown hand-me-down, though Alastor was sure James was buried with them.
They were out in the Dursley's back yard, and Alastor certainly did not like the way the shadows were dancing, or the rushing sound of the wind; it covered up the sound of brooms too well.
'I don't see why you're so worried, Mad-Eye. I trust Wormtail…besides, Sirius is going to be out of the country for most of the time; we need our secret-keeper to be close by,' James said with a wave of his hand. They were in the headmaster's office, and the crowd from the meeting was thinning.
'And I don't see why you had to do this now, of all times,' Alastor growled quietly. Pettigrew was in another corner of the room, talking with Sirius without meeting his eyes and for some reason looking thoroughly embarrassed. 'You know the break of the charm and its transference left you and Lily exposed for-'
'I know what I'm doing Alastor,' James said with quiet finality.
But Alastor never quite believed James, and with the aftermath a few weeks later that left young Harry at the mercy of his aunt and uncle, his heart broke. It was saying a lot of Moody; to stand solemnly at the Potter's funeral in Godric's Hollow; to not look through the caskets with his magical eye and see their tortured expressions…
He had killed three Death Eaters that night; and he noted with detached reasoning that he didn't want to interrogate a handful more than necessary. That was when he realized that he had crossed over into the dangerous realm of taking his job personally. He knew he had to retire.
Now, in the present day, Alastor had found that he had unconsciously taken up the gauntlet of protecting Harry. If he was still worth his salt, Moody would get him out of this place for good without any consequence. He eyed Mundungus beadily as the group rose into the air on their respective modes of transport, only to be assaulted no more than 100 yards from #4 Privet Drive.
Alastor found his old auror training kicking in, and he yelled directions to the dispersing crowd. It was a strange feeling that he had felt in combat a few times before; the strange picture of looking at himself from a far off distance. He could sense Fletcher tensing next to him on the broom, seemingly thousands of glittering spells flying by, and his spinning eye giving him a hell of a headache. In the distance, he could spot the other Harry's flying off, their figures being swallowed into the night.
Alastor realized the flaw in his plan; anyone who so much as looked at Fletcher for more than two seconds would see him shaking like a leaf- something that (to his credit) he had never seen Harry do.
Nor any of the Potters, come to think of it….
A swarm of black cloaks suddenly flanked him and Mundungus; the most hideous of them all was one without a broom-
"YOU!" Alastor found himself roaring into the night, but for a moment it was hard to discern who he was talking about, for Mundungus had disapparated on his broom, and Voldemort sneered.
"Distro Virga!"
Alastor felt his broom dissolve beneath him and the strange feeling of weightlessness before his body registered that it was plummeting towards the earth.
"One last spell, old man," he growled as the wind whistled in his ears. He struggled to right himself in the strange velocity of falling, and for a moment he could see the monstrosity that was Voldemort; flying towards the roar of a motorbike. His other magical eye saw a great blast of light that was followed by a huge Ploom!; the giant purple button, no doubt.
"Nova Praemium!"
A thin jet of magic found its target amongst the crowd of Voldemort's followers. It dimmed for a moment, then a huge burst of light scattered the brooms and figures fell into the night. Alastor took little comfort in the angry scream that followed the explosion.
The world was getting closer now. He watched while the stars faded away from him in the approaching city lights; his cloak making gentle flapping noises as he fell.
No, he couldn't die yet, he thought vaguely in the back of his clouded mind.
He still had to kill Mundungus Fletcher.