A/N - I'm working on the sequel for Falling Slowly, I swear. But in the meantime I come bearing this little ficlet. This came about due to an ongoing discussion my friends and I are having (How exactly do you kidnap/take hostage a retired, ridiculously paranoid Auror? That's what we're trying to determine - the best, most believable method. And yes that will be a fic, as soon as we think of something awesome). So, this story takes place in....late June, early July of 1994, obviously well before any kidnappings. I don't own anyone, but I certainly love writing them. Read, review, and most importantly, Enjoy!
Alastor Moody hated having visitors. Unless of course, the visitor happened to be Minerva McGonagall, who had in fact appeared on his doorstep in midsummer at half past-six, hands clasped over her ears and politely waiting for him to turn off the Caterwaul Charm that her arrival had activated. Or at least, as polite as one could be while glaring pointedly at someone overtop of one's glasses. Alastor had dutifully grumbled and complained and limped about the yard, silencing and resetting the charms and wards and security spells before promptly ushering Minerva into the house. Still grumbling, largely to himself at this point and largely just for show, Alastor shut the door with the butt of his heavy staff, resealing the wards and checking twice to make sure the house was sealed tight. Dark wizards could attack at any moment, after all, and Alastor would never forgive himself if his spells chose this one time to fail, to allow a slip in defenses just big enough for enemies to break through. Alastor replaced his staff in the corner nearest the door, one hand braced on the wall as he limped toward Minerva and slipped an arm around her waist. She hummed softly, leaning back into his embrace, and he kept one eye on her as his magical eye spun and twisted and checked the perimeter defenses again and again. Not now he prayed, Just not now. Please.
There had been a kiss or three, as always, and Minerva had frowned rather pointedly at the state of his kitchen and promptly set about cooking a proper meal. Alastor had leaned himself against the wall, as out the way as possible while still within touching distance, watching Minerva move about his kitchen with an easy familiarity. They made small talk as she cooked, just as their tradition had been for nearly a decade. Minerva would chat about students and pranks and whatever new mad schemes the school governors had been caught up in, and Alastor would offer opinions and stark condemnations and completely ignore or else feign innocence in response to Minerva's reproving looks. In past years Alastor would have been recounting his latest assignments in the Auror Department or complaining about the state of the trainees coming out of Hogwarts. Regrettably, Alastor found himself quite emphatically retired, much to his eternal boredom, and he would have been lying if he tried to claim that his last trainee and later partner, one Nymphadora Tonks, was anything but exceptional. Of course, recent years had also altered the more Hogwarts-related conversation, Minerva now given to relaying whatever new mess the Potter boy had managed to stumble upon over the course of the school year. This year's particular version of the habitual conversation - of Snape and Lupin and Sirius Black, of the traitorous Peter Pettigrew and a hippogriff's escape - had already in fact been told once before, several weeks previously and in entirely different setting.
One early June evening Minerva had summoned Alastor to Hogwarts, her solemn face appearing in his fireplace and all but ordering him to come as soon as possible. Once he had recovered from the initial shock of seeing her, which had in fact startled him quite badly, Alastor abandoned his plans of a night tweaking the security spells and answered the summons without question. The trip to Hogwarts took only a matter of minutes, a quick Apparition and a long walk across the midnight-shrouded grounds. Admittedly, the walk had been easier years ago, the steps less deliberate and tiring, but Alastor moved now with something akin to fear pushing him along the path. Whatever had prompted Minerva to call for him had her badly upset. Alastor passed by empty, hushed corridors, nearly hexed a suit of armor that appeared around a corner, and reached the door to Minerva's quarters with his stomach in knots, hoping desperately that he had done nothing to upset her. He knocked twice, rapping the heavy wooden staff against the door and watching the hall with his magical eye. The door swung inward and Minerva allowed no time for greeting, seizing his hand and pulling him into the room, slamming and locking the door behind him. The movement nearly overbalanced him, but Alastor caught himself on the edge of the couch, promptly seating himself before any further attempts were made to injure him. Minerva had then relayed the story to him in terse, clipped tones and Alastor had listened and waited with growing horror at the realization that Black had been innocent all those long years. Finally, near the end of the story Minerva came to a shuddering halt, one hand clinging to the corner of her desk in a white knuckle grip as the full impact of the night's events overwhelmed her. And Alastor had caught her, held her as she sobbed and clung to his robes and asked him over and over again how they had missed the real traitor right under their noses. But he had no answer, not while the same guilt threatened and swam inside his own skin.
Alastor had stayed at Hogwarts that night, stayed with Minerva and stayed awake until the early hours of the morning when pink and orange and grey crept over the sky. Minerva had been curled against his side and Alastor had for a moment been able to pretend that nothing had changed, no time had passed. That he was still young and whole, and there had been no wars, no traitors, no death. No scars.
Minerva had asked, voice barely more than a whisper, what would happen now. What would change, with Pettigrew alive and free and on the run? Alastor had pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead and declared Pettigrew too much of a coward to be any real threat. The words were a blatant contradiction to the worry that nagged at the back of his mind, the infamous instinct that had proven chillingly correct in far too many situations now warning him that perhaps Pettigrew did merit some degree of concern. In those early morning hours though, when ghosts of flesh and bone had walked on Hogwarts' grounds in the night, Minerva did not need to hear an old Auror's worry. She needed Alastor's easy confidence, not his more than slight paranoia.
Now she stood in his kitchen weeks later, repeating the same conversation as though still trying to convince herself that the events of this past school year were indeed real, not some midsummer phantoms. Minerva faltered over the words, once, then twice, and then Alastor crossed the space between them and had her in his arms once more. She had sniffled and sighed and clung to him, at least until the tea kettle whistled and caused both of them to jump. Alastor's wand was out in an instant, and he would have hexed the offending object had Minerva not grabbed his wrist and scowled at him overtop of her glasses. His face colored rapidly and he murmured once more the importance of constant vigilance, letting his wand arm fall to his side. Then they were both laughing, all thoughts of traitors and tea kettles forgotten as Minerva leaned into him and the pair of them overbalanced entirely and landed in a heap on the kitchen floor. The impact knocked the air from him in a whoosh and pain rippled through joints and muscles that were not quite so adept at taking falls as they had once been. There was a moment of a wide, surprised eyes and a breathless pause, and then laughter returned once more. Alastor forgot the darkness outside that could be hiding enemies, forgot the security charms and the perimeter defenses, forgot everything save for the woman he loved and the sound of her laughter mingled with his. Until, of course, dinner began to burn, and Minerva was muttering some very unladylike words that earned her a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Alastor as the pair struggled to rise off the floor.
Half an hour and a very burnt dinner later, Minerva finally revealed the more academic intentions behind her visit.
"You know, Dumbledore's looking for some help this year."
"Is he now?" Alastor arched an eyebrow. "Help with what?"
"He needs a professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. I told him I thought you'd do an excellent job at the post," Minerva said matter of factly. Alastor, who had been in the middle of a particularly good glass of scotch, promptly swore, choked on his drink, then swore again.
His first reaction was blatant, firm refusal.
"Absolutely not."
Minerva seemed a bit put out, but recovered rather quickly. If she had bothered to bring the subject up at all, Alastor knew she had prepared for an argument. She had known him for far too long to expect otherwise.
"I've got too many enemies. School full of children is the last place I need to be," Alastor declared, speaking before Minerva had a chance. "Besides, the job's jinxed."
"Alastor really. Just because the students say that doesn't mean it actually is," Minerva rolled her eyes exasperatedly. Alastor set his glass down on the end table, glass meeting wood with a dull thud.
"Too many accidents have happened to too many professors. Lupin I'll give you. The lad was a walking time-release hex; Dumbledore shouldn't have hired him on. And the Lockhart boy was incompetent at best," Alastor fixed both eyes on Minerva, who had at first frowned at his opinion on Remus Lupin but choked back a laugh on the all too true observation on Gilderoy Lockhart. Alastor paused a moment before adding, "But there's plenty of fully qualified professors who met unfortunate dismissals, or worse, unfortunate ends, thanks to whatever jinx is on that job."
Minerva's laughter faded instantly and she winced, eyes dropping to the floor, knowing precisely which incident Alastor had been referring to and falling silent. Alastor dropped his good eye to his scarred hands, the magical eye still roving over his home's defenses, watching the edges where the bold lines of magic faded into shadow. He felt bad almost immediately for bringing the matter up at all. Minerva reached out, taking his hands in hers and drawing back his attention, drawing his thoughts out of the past.
"Albus is worried about Pettigrew's escape. He wants someone else at the school he can count on to keep students safe."
Alastor did feel a bit relieved to know that Dumbledore shared his concern over the meaning of Pettigrew's return. The world was shifting again, and Alastor was not the only one who could feel the change. Of course, he knew full well that when Minerva said 'students', Dumbledore had probably only meant the only remaining Potter.
"You want me there to look after James and Lily's boy?" Alastor asked bluntly, fixing both eyes on Minerva once more. Generally the effect of such a look tended to cause nervous shifting or discomfort, but Minerva merely met his gaze with a smile that rapidly turned into a smirk.
"Albus wants you there to look after him, yes. I want you there for far more ulterior motives."
"Do you now?" Alastor asked lightly, eyebrows raised at the sudden turn in the discussion.
"Oh yes," Minerva rather impressively managed to keep a straight face, "I intend to exploit your convenient location in the castle rather significantly."
"Now that's how you should have started this conversation," Alastor grinned.
"I thought about it. The job really would only be for a year," Minerva moved on easily, still wearing a lingering smirk. "And if Potter needs protecting, who better than the Ministry's best Auror to do the protecting?"
"Retired," Alastor muttered, his mood dampening instantly. 'Retired' still stuck in his throat and burned in his stomach, feeling like a forced title he could not escape and certainly did not want to accept. "Best retired Auror."
Minerva would have none of this, sighing irritatedly and seizing his chin and forcing him to look at her.
"Stop that. You're the best they've had, and they were fools to force you out. Don't you start thinking that way. Besides, it just means you'll be home more often, and you'll stop leaving pieces of yourself all over the country."
Alastor realized that Minerva had accepted the change, just as she had accepted every other change over the years, and 'retirement' had been far easier for her to handle than 'dismemberment', at least. He felt infinitely better knowing that even if perhaps his career had ended, Minerva had no intention of letting him slip into any sort of melancholy over the matter. In fact, she looked as though she might give him a sound beating just for thinking the word 'melancholy.' Alastor had already been persuaded, although he would never admit the fact. Instead he sighed and grumbled, complained a suitable amount, and then grudgingly agreed.
"Aye. Guess I'm the best man for the job then."
Minerva's face lit up in brilliant smile that took years off her face, banishing the stern professor in a burst of warmth. She had promised to make arrangements for him to meet with Dumbledore and talk over lesson plans and rules and the sort of things professors were and were not allowed to do at Hogwarts. Alastor had by that point been merely nodding and mumbling in agreement, because Minerva had been kissing him again and Alastor had lost all interest in rules and plans and Albus Dumbledore.
Alastor had been hoping Minerva would stay the night, but unfortunately she still had business to finish at Hogwarts and had been asked to deliver Alastor's reply to Dumbledore as soon as possible. School might be over for the students, but she still had a few lingering duties to finish, she offered among her many apologies, clearly as reluctant to go as he was to see her leave. Alastor had hushed her with a kiss and a crooked smile, told her to go on and do her job. He informed her that this did of course mean that he expected her to be back at his house within the week, watching her gather her cloak and set about searching for her glasses. Minerva had laughed and agreed, and Alastor grinned and caught hold of her and tugged her back down onto the bed. Or at least, he attempted to, but his leverage was a bit wrong and Minerva had clearly been expecting the surprise attack. She had known him for too long, Alastor decided as she kissed the top of his head and ruffled his shaggy hair that had long passed from auburn to gray. At least with both of them working at Hogwarts, Alastor noted, he would no longer have to sneak in and out of the staff quarters at odd hours of the night, and Minerva would no longer be making the occasional dangerous trip to London. Overall, Alastor supposed he could deal with teaching for a year. Before Minerva decided to tear apart his already messy bedroom in her search, Alastor decided he probably ought to return her glasses. She broke off in the midst of another apology to fix him with a mock glare, but Alastor merely watched her from his seat on the bed, holding her glasses in one outstretched hand and smirking. She snatched her glasses away, leaning forward to kiss him on the nose, or what was left of it at least, and then primly asked if he at least intended to escort her to the door. He laughed again, tugging on his trousers and a mostly unwrinkled shirt and following Minerva back toward the front door. Easy, casual waves of his wand disarmed the security spells, magic shimmering and fading around the house. The door creaked open, humid night air warm against his skin, and Minerva curled once more against his broad chest, hugging him tightly. She mentioned the World Cup, asked if he planned to attend, and Alastor had laughed and informed her that he would much rather stay out of crowds. This had earned him a half-hearted thunk against the chest as Minerva informed him for the millionth time that perhaps his constant vigilance needed to be a little less constant. He had grinned and kissed her goodnight, told her he loved her, promised he would see her in a day or two. Minerva had smiled again, face cast into moonlight and shadow, kissed him back and squeezed his hand and murmured that she loved him too, no matter how messy he kept his bedroom or how vigilant he insisted on being. Then she let go, releasing his hand and slipping out of his grasp, reaching the sidewalk in long easy strides. She turned on her heels, waved and smiled, and then vanished into the night. Alastor leaned against the doorframe for a moment, took a deep breath and raised his wand. The security spells returned in an easy flash, old habit by now, and Alastor closed the door half-heartedly, double and triple checking the locks. Alastor might have hated having visitors, but the small house, so recently filled with warmth and laughter and love, now felt unreasonably lonely. Minerva's next visit could not come soon enough.