Let the Children Play
Hush little baby
Don't say a word
Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking-bird
And if that mocking bird don't sing
Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring
* * *
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our treaspasses, as we forgive those who treaspass against us. Lead us not unto temptation, and deliever us from evil, for Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, Forever and Ever. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen," the boy prayed, crossing himself as he said the final line and crawling into bed.
His mother walked in then, smiling. She went to his bedside, brushing aside a strand of dirty-blonde hair that had fought its way to rest against his eyes and bent down to kiss his forehead.
"I heard you praying, Remus."
"I just felt like it would be a good idea tonight, for some odd reason."
She smiled wider. "It's always a good idea. Don't ever lose faith, honey."
"I won't, Momma. No matter what happens." She nodded, tucking him in and turning off the lamp by his bedside nightstand. She started to leave, but he called out, "Momma?"
Like any mother, she turned back to her child,concerned. "Can you leave the window open? It's really hot in here tonight." Her worries dismissed, she let out the breath she didn't realize she had taken and crossed the small room to open up the screenless window.
He rolled over, pulling the sheets tighter to himself.
The night was warm, but that was not the only concern. Sylvia Lupin had every right to worry. And little Remus Lupin, four years old, had every right to pray.
* * *
Sylvia was crying, a female police officer comforting her as the others searched the boy's room for clues.
"Has this been a concern before?" one officer, a hardened man with long gray hair and small, paranoid black eyes named Officer Moody asked, taking out a notepad.
"No, not since I moved out of London. I thought... Maybe Remus would be safer here..."
"You moved out here for your son's safety? Was his health a concern?"
Sylvia shook her head. "No. Not his health. It's... His father. His father was..."
"His father was a concern?" Moody said this almost nonchalantly, taking down everything in the room. Sylvia just nodded. "We had two boys. I was a mythology major, so I named them after Remus and Romolus, the founders of Rome. We never married, we were never in love. We just met in a bar one night and things led to me being pregnant with twins..."
"Date rape?" Moody offered.
"Consensual." Moody wrote this down."Anything else we should know?"
"He... We were never a couple..."
"We have that much down."
"...But I refused to let him near our boys. I just didn't trust him for some reason. Just an intuition, you understand?" Moody nodded, and she continued. "I raised them for a while, by myself. But three months ago, he came back. He claimed he'd gotten a gift. A very strong gift. And he wanted to give it to his boys. But they were only four years old, I didn't want him near my children. And so, I called Scotland Yard to make sure he couldn't come near us. But somehow, he managed to sneak past them that night. He broke into our house and kidnapped Romulus.
"We searched for three days before we found it."
"It?" Moody asked, looking up from his pad to lift one eyebrow quizically at her. She choked back a sob, nodding.
"It. We found his body only. It was bleeding from all sorts of cuts, and it was broken and battered. The autopsy... The autopsy revealed the boy had been beaten and raped for at least two of the three days, had not been fed in the previous forty-eight hours, and had been subjected to a blood transfer of some sort. When they matched the semen from the rape, it was his father's."
"His own father did that?" Moody showed a sliver of disgust beneath his hard mask of nonchalance. Sylvia nodded again.
"That's why I moved. They- Scotland Yard- couldn't find him, so I took Remus and moved here. I thought he'd be safer here. But now..."
"You believe it was the father, then?" Sylvia nodded again. "So, do you think that the boy may have a chance if we start to search now?" Sylvia nodded once more. Moody put the pen and paper away. "Right then. Fletcher, how did the perpetrator get in?" Officer Fletcher, who had been assigned the window, read off his paper. "Perp came in from the window here. He jumped through or wore gloves, because there's no sign of finger printson the windowpane. We assume he landed here-" Moody stopped him with a hand guesture. "You believe a man jumped from the ground to the second floor?"
"It seems unlikely, I know sir, but if you look here, about a foot away from the window, you can see a sign of an impact of somesort. He wore steel- toed boots, as seen by the indentions here-"
Moody walked over to where Fletcher was standing. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph..."
"After the perp jumped inside, he walked over to the bed, obviously quietly because Ms. Lupin did not know the boy was gone until this morning, and used this to sedate him." Fletcher handed Moody a plastic bag containing a rag. Moody opened it, sniffing.
"Chloroform. Sweet Jesus, he used chloroform on a sleeping baby."
"Yes, sir. We see no signs of struggle. However, this also supports our "Jump" theory, because the sheets and the rag all have fingerprints."
Moody looked at Fletcher with an angry glare in his eyes. "You're saying, a man jumped twelve feet straight up, landed inside a room standing up-right after coming through a three-by-four foot opening, walked over to the boy's bed, poured chloroform on a rag, pressed it to the boy's face to keep him from waking up, then jumped out the window again while carrying a sixty pound child, all without making a single sound?"
Fletcher nodded. "The soundless belief came from Officer Figg's earlier questioning of
Ms. Lupin, in which she said, quote, 'The walls are rather thin, and my bedroom is right next to Remus. I sleep lightly, the softest noises can snap me awake. That comes in handy when you worry about your boy,' end quote."
Moody looked impresses at Fletcher's investigation, but with a hint of doubt in his voice he said, "That theory is pretty far-fetched, Fletcher."
Fletcher sighed. "I know, sir, but it's the one that makes the most sense."
* * *
For perhaps the first time in Alastor Moody's twenty-seven year police career, he wanted Scotland Yard's help. He wanted Scotland Yard, the American Federal Bereau of Investigation, every private detective and manhunter and mercenary he could find. He was determined not to let this boy go.
Moody had never let a case go by unsolved. He was once Scotland Yard's top investigator and police analyst, handling everything from stolen jewelry to triple homicides. But they had let him go after he had proven that he was completely untrusting of everyone and paranoid well past help. Truth be told, many of those he worked under wanted him gone long before he had been let off, because his methods were unconventional. He'd taken Fletcher, a twenty-two year old rookie he'd taken under his wing, along with him when he left, and he moved his base to another in London, where he took cases Scotland Yard deemed unimportant. Or, in Ms. Lupin's case, from people who didn't quite trust them. Moody, no matter what else was said, go the job done, and for the past eight years had been getting it done without help from anyone but his four man team.
He wanted that help now.
Fletcher walked up, sighing. "Grimwald's been running investigations for the past three hours, and still we have nothing. Usually he has a hundred possibilities in a third the time."
Moody looked over at his most trusted employ. "Fletcher, what kind of man rapes and kills his oldest son, then takes the boy's twin three months later?"
Fletcher shrugged. "I don't know, sir. It's sick."
Moody nodded. "Yeah, it's sick, but I can't shake this feeling that there's more to it. D'you get that?" Fletcher smiled. "Yes, sir. I wonder if we should try the... unconventional methods?"
For the first time all day, Moody smiled. "Now there's the first good idea I've heard in a long time, Fletcher. Yeah, let's try that. Call my old friend Albus first, he'd be much better at it then I would."
"Albus... The man who taught it to you?" Fletcher was amazed.
"Yeah. Take the green box."
Fletcher walked over to Moody's car, opening the trunk. He pulled out the small green leather box he found there, opening it carefully. Inside was a small glowing ball, which he palmed. He began to chant in Latin, focusing his magic to call the man.
* * *
Albus Dumbledore is over a hundred years old, but he looks like he's only in his late sixties. The man is one of the few remaining wizards to date. He knows not all people have a potential for magic, and he searches for those who do to train them. In the past fifty years, he has found a sharp increase in the number of those able to preform it, as well as an increase in demonic activity. He trained many students in his day, but now he decided to deem his students worthy of recognizing and training their own pupils. Alastor Moody had done so while working for Scotland Yard, training Michael Fletcher. After he left, he found Arabella Figg, a post-crisis therapist, and Jeffry Grimwald, a seventeen-year-old computer programer. The final addition came with Kim Wayne, a certified medical student. All of them recieved magical training from Moody, and also learned several forms of martial arts and sharpshooting. Moody wanted the best he could get, and he got it. And Dumbledore was proud. Another of his students, Minerva McGonalgall, had become headminstress of a school she worked at, where she offered any students who had magical potential private tutelige. Poppy Pomfrey had become a doctor, using magic to help heal the most chronic cases. All his students had turned out well- With only one exception.
Thomas Riddle had also taken up students, but not for the better. Dumbledore suspected that was the secret behind both the increase in magical and its demonic equivalent. Yes,
Tom was one to look out for...
He heard the chanting then. A small green ball glowed, and he took it, causing him to travel to a wooded area.
"Mr. Dumbledore, I assume?" a young brunette asked cautiously.
Dumbledore read the tag on his uniform. "Officer Fletcher? Would you be Alastor Moody's Officer Fletcher by any chance?"
The man sighed gratefully. "Yes, sir."
"He has a lot of praise bestowed on you."
"Really? Well, thank you, sir, I had no idea he spoke so hi-"
"That's enough, Fletcher. Go get Grimwald." Fletcher walked off. Moody turned to his former instructer.
"Hello, Albus."
"I would be right to assume this is a serious matter because you felt it necessary to contact me?" Moody sighed.
"A little boy was kidnapped, Albus."
"You've handled such cases before."
"Not like this. The boy was taken from his room, supposidy by his father, through an open window he'd jumped through. No magic was used, not a sound was made. Just in, grab, and out."
"How is this so strange?"
"The boy's window? It was barely more than a square yard. Twelve feet up from the ground, nothing to climb up to it. The walls were thin. There's something wrong there, Albus. And no magic was used."
Dumbledore nodded. "This is really getting to you, Alastor."
"My team has no idea what could have happened! The only lead we have is that the boy's father had taken his twin brother earlier this year. And the boy was beaten and raped, Albus. These boys... They're only babies, Albus, four years old. And I saw the pictures of the first boy's body, thinking it might help us out. I don't want his brother to go through that, Albus. No child deserves that. No person deserves that, much less a child."
"How can I help?"
"I was hoping you could talk to the mother. Get some resonance. I've never been too good at that."
"What can you tell me beforehand?"
"Don't mention we're wizards. The woman's religious- Catholic. Single mother. Already lost one boy, so she's fairly upset about this. I'd say she's about twenty-five, at the most. Lean a little up or down. Nice lady, makes some damned fine tea."
"What should I tell her I am?"
"A situation analyst, one I reccomended to come and help." He agreed, and went to talk to the woman.
* * *
"Get anything?" Moody asked when Dumbledore returned. Dumbledore held up a cookie. Moody sighed. "I meant for the case, Albus."
"Just that the father was also a heavy Catholic, and that he'd gotten a 'Strong gift' he wanted to share with his children. And that he'd had no interest in men before, and certainly none in little boys."
"Is that helpful?"
"Quite. There's only one thing that can give a man that much physical strength and yet so much stealth if the man had any sort of religious faith. The switch in sexual orientation also is a clue. Did you run a scan for demonic energy, Alastor?"
"Demonic? No, why would there be any- What do you think happened, Albus?"
"To put it simply, Alastor, the 'gift' their father recieved was the gift of Lycanthropy."
* * *
There's a light ahead of me. Far up above, near the roof.
I wonder if I can reach it? I wonder if I can fly? If I could just fly away?
It hurts. Why does it hurt? Who is that? That voice, that voice in my ear. It's whispering.
I'm cold.
I feel pain. Lots of pain. Who's there?
Please tell me who's there.
God help me.
I see Mary, holding Jesus, where the light is. It's not that bright.
Is this ...?
* * *
"He's in a church!" Dumbledore said suddenly over a glass of tea at Ms. Lupin's. The others sat there, aghast.
"What do you mean, Mr. Dumbledore?" Sylvia asked quietly.
"The boy's father was religious. What if he never stopped being religious?"
"Preposterous, religious people don't kidnap and rape little boys!" Fletcher growled.
Moody silenced him.
"Actually, a lot of the harshest crimes imaginable have been down by people with religious intent. But still, why do you think the boy's in a church?"
"Because he can see Mary."
"Mary?" Moody asked. Sylvia nodded. "The Virgin Mother, Mary. I would assume you're not Christian, Officer Moody, or you would know that."
"Mary..." He didn't see it. "What do you mean, Mary?"
"Lots of churches have stained glass pictures of Mary. The boy sees a glowing picture of Mary holding Jesus. He's in a church. Ms. Lupin, where did they find the brother's body?"
"In an empty shed."
"Was there a church nearby?" Moody asked, suddenly catching on.
"Yes, St. Peter the Apostle. He was Mark's patron saint."
Dumbledore stood up then, smiling. "Then I believe I've done all you need from me, Alastor. I leave the rest to you."
Moody watched him go, still somewhat confused. Fletcher gasped. "Ms. Lupin, is there a St. Peter's Catholic Church nearby?"
She blinked. "Yes, three of them."
"Three?"Moody started, but Fletcher smiled. "Are any of them for that particular saint?"
And that's when Moody got it.
* * *
"So, you think that he does all his dirty work in a church dedicated to his saint?" Figg asked.
"It makes sense. He dedicates his evil to his saint and his god. That's why the first boy was found near one," Fletcher explained.
"Only problem is, can we find the boy in this building before he gets killed? The only advantage we have is that we're so soon in working," Moody growled. Fletcher pulled out a map that Grimwald made.
"He was able to see Mary, right? A, quote, 'Picture of Mary holding Jesus.' That's right over there, Moody."
Alastor Moody is a hard man to anger, but he was pissed off right now. He ran over to the window, smashing through it. He rolled on the floor as he landed, snapping up with his gun cocked and ready.
There was no one there.
He continued to search the floor, eyes sweeping for the slightest hint of movement.
It was the sound that gave it away. The satisfied grunt of sexual release.
Moody ran over to the source of the noise. There was the boy, bound, gagged, and bleeding. The kidnapper was also there, pulling out of the boy as he grinned in a way that showed he was sated for now. He also was bleeding, but Moody didn't care.
Moody shot the man in the back twice. The man turned around, growling.
"Whaddaya think you're doing?" he hissed.
"Step away from the boy! I mean it!" The man did, but he stepped towards Moody, who cocked his gun again in anticipation. "Fletcher, Figg, Wayne! Get the boy out of here! I'll take care of the father!"
The man hissed again. "That bitch took my boys away. You're not giving them back to her. I just wanted to give them a present."
"You sicken me," Moody snarled behind clenched teeth. He fired again.
He wasn't missing, the shots just had no effect. He couldn't figure out why not. He kept shooting.
The man jumped, tossing the gun aside. He started to shift forms, his hand becoming a wolf's paw, complete with claws. Moody didn't have the time to realize this when the man had scratched him,raking across his face, taking his right eye and a chunk of his nose.
Moody ignored the pain and the lack of sight, bringing the gun up again. He loaded it right under the man as the other resumed his attack, saying a chant. He fired once more into the man's heart.
"Rot in Hell, you perverted fuck," Moody whispered sharply as the man jerked back in pain.
"Moody!" Fletcher yelled. "Are you alright, Moody?"
"I'll live. He won't. The boy?"
Wayne said calmly, "A few heavy cuts and bruises, but he'll live. The man had not gone easy on him sexually, though."
"I don't think therapy will help any, though," Figg added. "We should check after the full moon. If he's got 'Daddy's Gift', he'll not need it."
"So it's true, lycanthropes can't be harmed by normal bullets..." Fletcher shivered. "Never thought I'd face one."
"Normally they don't act this severely. Most of them are good people, actually. Lucky for us all, especially the boy, I knew that lead- to- silver spell."
"Silver fucking bullets... We should custom order those."
Moody smiled at his protégé. "Now that is the best fucking idea you've ever had, Fletcher."
Hush little baby
Don't say a word
Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking-bird
And if that mocking bird don't sing
Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring
* * *
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our treaspasses, as we forgive those who treaspass against us. Lead us not unto temptation, and deliever us from evil, for Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, Forever and Ever. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen," the boy prayed, crossing himself as he said the final line and crawling into bed.
His mother walked in then, smiling. She went to his bedside, brushing aside a strand of dirty-blonde hair that had fought its way to rest against his eyes and bent down to kiss his forehead.
"I heard you praying, Remus."
"I just felt like it would be a good idea tonight, for some odd reason."
She smiled wider. "It's always a good idea. Don't ever lose faith, honey."
"I won't, Momma. No matter what happens." She nodded, tucking him in and turning off the lamp by his bedside nightstand. She started to leave, but he called out, "Momma?"
Like any mother, she turned back to her child,concerned. "Can you leave the window open? It's really hot in here tonight." Her worries dismissed, she let out the breath she didn't realize she had taken and crossed the small room to open up the screenless window.
He rolled over, pulling the sheets tighter to himself.
The night was warm, but that was not the only concern. Sylvia Lupin had every right to worry. And little Remus Lupin, four years old, had every right to pray.
* * *
Sylvia was crying, a female police officer comforting her as the others searched the boy's room for clues.
"Has this been a concern before?" one officer, a hardened man with long gray hair and small, paranoid black eyes named Officer Moody asked, taking out a notepad.
"No, not since I moved out of London. I thought... Maybe Remus would be safer here..."
"You moved out here for your son's safety? Was his health a concern?"
Sylvia shook her head. "No. Not his health. It's... His father. His father was..."
"His father was a concern?" Moody said this almost nonchalantly, taking down everything in the room. Sylvia just nodded. "We had two boys. I was a mythology major, so I named them after Remus and Romolus, the founders of Rome. We never married, we were never in love. We just met in a bar one night and things led to me being pregnant with twins..."
"Date rape?" Moody offered.
"Consensual." Moody wrote this down."Anything else we should know?"
"He... We were never a couple..."
"We have that much down."
"...But I refused to let him near our boys. I just didn't trust him for some reason. Just an intuition, you understand?" Moody nodded, and she continued. "I raised them for a while, by myself. But three months ago, he came back. He claimed he'd gotten a gift. A very strong gift. And he wanted to give it to his boys. But they were only four years old, I didn't want him near my children. And so, I called Scotland Yard to make sure he couldn't come near us. But somehow, he managed to sneak past them that night. He broke into our house and kidnapped Romulus.
"We searched for three days before we found it."
"It?" Moody asked, looking up from his pad to lift one eyebrow quizically at her. She choked back a sob, nodding.
"It. We found his body only. It was bleeding from all sorts of cuts, and it was broken and battered. The autopsy... The autopsy revealed the boy had been beaten and raped for at least two of the three days, had not been fed in the previous forty-eight hours, and had been subjected to a blood transfer of some sort. When they matched the semen from the rape, it was his father's."
"His own father did that?" Moody showed a sliver of disgust beneath his hard mask of nonchalance. Sylvia nodded again.
"That's why I moved. They- Scotland Yard- couldn't find him, so I took Remus and moved here. I thought he'd be safer here. But now..."
"You believe it was the father, then?" Sylvia nodded again. "So, do you think that the boy may have a chance if we start to search now?" Sylvia nodded once more. Moody put the pen and paper away. "Right then. Fletcher, how did the perpetrator get in?" Officer Fletcher, who had been assigned the window, read off his paper. "Perp came in from the window here. He jumped through or wore gloves, because there's no sign of finger printson the windowpane. We assume he landed here-" Moody stopped him with a hand guesture. "You believe a man jumped from the ground to the second floor?"
"It seems unlikely, I know sir, but if you look here, about a foot away from the window, you can see a sign of an impact of somesort. He wore steel- toed boots, as seen by the indentions here-"
Moody walked over to where Fletcher was standing. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph..."
"After the perp jumped inside, he walked over to the bed, obviously quietly because Ms. Lupin did not know the boy was gone until this morning, and used this to sedate him." Fletcher handed Moody a plastic bag containing a rag. Moody opened it, sniffing.
"Chloroform. Sweet Jesus, he used chloroform on a sleeping baby."
"Yes, sir. We see no signs of struggle. However, this also supports our "Jump" theory, because the sheets and the rag all have fingerprints."
Moody looked at Fletcher with an angry glare in his eyes. "You're saying, a man jumped twelve feet straight up, landed inside a room standing up-right after coming through a three-by-four foot opening, walked over to the boy's bed, poured chloroform on a rag, pressed it to the boy's face to keep him from waking up, then jumped out the window again while carrying a sixty pound child, all without making a single sound?"
Fletcher nodded. "The soundless belief came from Officer Figg's earlier questioning of
Ms. Lupin, in which she said, quote, 'The walls are rather thin, and my bedroom is right next to Remus. I sleep lightly, the softest noises can snap me awake. That comes in handy when you worry about your boy,' end quote."
Moody looked impresses at Fletcher's investigation, but with a hint of doubt in his voice he said, "That theory is pretty far-fetched, Fletcher."
Fletcher sighed. "I know, sir, but it's the one that makes the most sense."
* * *
For perhaps the first time in Alastor Moody's twenty-seven year police career, he wanted Scotland Yard's help. He wanted Scotland Yard, the American Federal Bereau of Investigation, every private detective and manhunter and mercenary he could find. He was determined not to let this boy go.
Moody had never let a case go by unsolved. He was once Scotland Yard's top investigator and police analyst, handling everything from stolen jewelry to triple homicides. But they had let him go after he had proven that he was completely untrusting of everyone and paranoid well past help. Truth be told, many of those he worked under wanted him gone long before he had been let off, because his methods were unconventional. He'd taken Fletcher, a twenty-two year old rookie he'd taken under his wing, along with him when he left, and he moved his base to another in London, where he took cases Scotland Yard deemed unimportant. Or, in Ms. Lupin's case, from people who didn't quite trust them. Moody, no matter what else was said, go the job done, and for the past eight years had been getting it done without help from anyone but his four man team.
He wanted that help now.
Fletcher walked up, sighing. "Grimwald's been running investigations for the past three hours, and still we have nothing. Usually he has a hundred possibilities in a third the time."
Moody looked over at his most trusted employ. "Fletcher, what kind of man rapes and kills his oldest son, then takes the boy's twin three months later?"
Fletcher shrugged. "I don't know, sir. It's sick."
Moody nodded. "Yeah, it's sick, but I can't shake this feeling that there's more to it. D'you get that?" Fletcher smiled. "Yes, sir. I wonder if we should try the... unconventional methods?"
For the first time all day, Moody smiled. "Now there's the first good idea I've heard in a long time, Fletcher. Yeah, let's try that. Call my old friend Albus first, he'd be much better at it then I would."
"Albus... The man who taught it to you?" Fletcher was amazed.
"Yeah. Take the green box."
Fletcher walked over to Moody's car, opening the trunk. He pulled out the small green leather box he found there, opening it carefully. Inside was a small glowing ball, which he palmed. He began to chant in Latin, focusing his magic to call the man.
* * *
Albus Dumbledore is over a hundred years old, but he looks like he's only in his late sixties. The man is one of the few remaining wizards to date. He knows not all people have a potential for magic, and he searches for those who do to train them. In the past fifty years, he has found a sharp increase in the number of those able to preform it, as well as an increase in demonic activity. He trained many students in his day, but now he decided to deem his students worthy of recognizing and training their own pupils. Alastor Moody had done so while working for Scotland Yard, training Michael Fletcher. After he left, he found Arabella Figg, a post-crisis therapist, and Jeffry Grimwald, a seventeen-year-old computer programer. The final addition came with Kim Wayne, a certified medical student. All of them recieved magical training from Moody, and also learned several forms of martial arts and sharpshooting. Moody wanted the best he could get, and he got it. And Dumbledore was proud. Another of his students, Minerva McGonalgall, had become headminstress of a school she worked at, where she offered any students who had magical potential private tutelige. Poppy Pomfrey had become a doctor, using magic to help heal the most chronic cases. All his students had turned out well- With only one exception.
Thomas Riddle had also taken up students, but not for the better. Dumbledore suspected that was the secret behind both the increase in magical and its demonic equivalent. Yes,
Tom was one to look out for...
He heard the chanting then. A small green ball glowed, and he took it, causing him to travel to a wooded area.
"Mr. Dumbledore, I assume?" a young brunette asked cautiously.
Dumbledore read the tag on his uniform. "Officer Fletcher? Would you be Alastor Moody's Officer Fletcher by any chance?"
The man sighed gratefully. "Yes, sir."
"He has a lot of praise bestowed on you."
"Really? Well, thank you, sir, I had no idea he spoke so hi-"
"That's enough, Fletcher. Go get Grimwald." Fletcher walked off. Moody turned to his former instructer.
"Hello, Albus."
"I would be right to assume this is a serious matter because you felt it necessary to contact me?" Moody sighed.
"A little boy was kidnapped, Albus."
"You've handled such cases before."
"Not like this. The boy was taken from his room, supposidy by his father, through an open window he'd jumped through. No magic was used, not a sound was made. Just in, grab, and out."
"How is this so strange?"
"The boy's window? It was barely more than a square yard. Twelve feet up from the ground, nothing to climb up to it. The walls were thin. There's something wrong there, Albus. And no magic was used."
Dumbledore nodded. "This is really getting to you, Alastor."
"My team has no idea what could have happened! The only lead we have is that the boy's father had taken his twin brother earlier this year. And the boy was beaten and raped, Albus. These boys... They're only babies, Albus, four years old. And I saw the pictures of the first boy's body, thinking it might help us out. I don't want his brother to go through that, Albus. No child deserves that. No person deserves that, much less a child."
"How can I help?"
"I was hoping you could talk to the mother. Get some resonance. I've never been too good at that."
"What can you tell me beforehand?"
"Don't mention we're wizards. The woman's religious- Catholic. Single mother. Already lost one boy, so she's fairly upset about this. I'd say she's about twenty-five, at the most. Lean a little up or down. Nice lady, makes some damned fine tea."
"What should I tell her I am?"
"A situation analyst, one I reccomended to come and help." He agreed, and went to talk to the woman.
* * *
"Get anything?" Moody asked when Dumbledore returned. Dumbledore held up a cookie. Moody sighed. "I meant for the case, Albus."
"Just that the father was also a heavy Catholic, and that he'd gotten a 'Strong gift' he wanted to share with his children. And that he'd had no interest in men before, and certainly none in little boys."
"Is that helpful?"
"Quite. There's only one thing that can give a man that much physical strength and yet so much stealth if the man had any sort of religious faith. The switch in sexual orientation also is a clue. Did you run a scan for demonic energy, Alastor?"
"Demonic? No, why would there be any- What do you think happened, Albus?"
"To put it simply, Alastor, the 'gift' their father recieved was the gift of Lycanthropy."
* * *
There's a light ahead of me. Far up above, near the roof.
I wonder if I can reach it? I wonder if I can fly? If I could just fly away?
It hurts. Why does it hurt? Who is that? That voice, that voice in my ear. It's whispering.
I'm cold.
I feel pain. Lots of pain. Who's there?
Please tell me who's there.
God help me.
I see Mary, holding Jesus, where the light is. It's not that bright.
Is this ...?
* * *
"He's in a church!" Dumbledore said suddenly over a glass of tea at Ms. Lupin's. The others sat there, aghast.
"What do you mean, Mr. Dumbledore?" Sylvia asked quietly.
"The boy's father was religious. What if he never stopped being religious?"
"Preposterous, religious people don't kidnap and rape little boys!" Fletcher growled.
Moody silenced him.
"Actually, a lot of the harshest crimes imaginable have been down by people with religious intent. But still, why do you think the boy's in a church?"
"Because he can see Mary."
"Mary?" Moody asked. Sylvia nodded. "The Virgin Mother, Mary. I would assume you're not Christian, Officer Moody, or you would know that."
"Mary..." He didn't see it. "What do you mean, Mary?"
"Lots of churches have stained glass pictures of Mary. The boy sees a glowing picture of Mary holding Jesus. He's in a church. Ms. Lupin, where did they find the brother's body?"
"In an empty shed."
"Was there a church nearby?" Moody asked, suddenly catching on.
"Yes, St. Peter the Apostle. He was Mark's patron saint."
Dumbledore stood up then, smiling. "Then I believe I've done all you need from me, Alastor. I leave the rest to you."
Moody watched him go, still somewhat confused. Fletcher gasped. "Ms. Lupin, is there a St. Peter's Catholic Church nearby?"
She blinked. "Yes, three of them."
"Three?"Moody started, but Fletcher smiled. "Are any of them for that particular saint?"
And that's when Moody got it.
* * *
"So, you think that he does all his dirty work in a church dedicated to his saint?" Figg asked.
"It makes sense. He dedicates his evil to his saint and his god. That's why the first boy was found near one," Fletcher explained.
"Only problem is, can we find the boy in this building before he gets killed? The only advantage we have is that we're so soon in working," Moody growled. Fletcher pulled out a map that Grimwald made.
"He was able to see Mary, right? A, quote, 'Picture of Mary holding Jesus.' That's right over there, Moody."
Alastor Moody is a hard man to anger, but he was pissed off right now. He ran over to the window, smashing through it. He rolled on the floor as he landed, snapping up with his gun cocked and ready.
There was no one there.
He continued to search the floor, eyes sweeping for the slightest hint of movement.
It was the sound that gave it away. The satisfied grunt of sexual release.
Moody ran over to the source of the noise. There was the boy, bound, gagged, and bleeding. The kidnapper was also there, pulling out of the boy as he grinned in a way that showed he was sated for now. He also was bleeding, but Moody didn't care.
Moody shot the man in the back twice. The man turned around, growling.
"Whaddaya think you're doing?" he hissed.
"Step away from the boy! I mean it!" The man did, but he stepped towards Moody, who cocked his gun again in anticipation. "Fletcher, Figg, Wayne! Get the boy out of here! I'll take care of the father!"
The man hissed again. "That bitch took my boys away. You're not giving them back to her. I just wanted to give them a present."
"You sicken me," Moody snarled behind clenched teeth. He fired again.
He wasn't missing, the shots just had no effect. He couldn't figure out why not. He kept shooting.
The man jumped, tossing the gun aside. He started to shift forms, his hand becoming a wolf's paw, complete with claws. Moody didn't have the time to realize this when the man had scratched him,raking across his face, taking his right eye and a chunk of his nose.
Moody ignored the pain and the lack of sight, bringing the gun up again. He loaded it right under the man as the other resumed his attack, saying a chant. He fired once more into the man's heart.
"Rot in Hell, you perverted fuck," Moody whispered sharply as the man jerked back in pain.
"Moody!" Fletcher yelled. "Are you alright, Moody?"
"I'll live. He won't. The boy?"
Wayne said calmly, "A few heavy cuts and bruises, but he'll live. The man had not gone easy on him sexually, though."
"I don't think therapy will help any, though," Figg added. "We should check after the full moon. If he's got 'Daddy's Gift', he'll not need it."
"So it's true, lycanthropes can't be harmed by normal bullets..." Fletcher shivered. "Never thought I'd face one."
"Normally they don't act this severely. Most of them are good people, actually. Lucky for us all, especially the boy, I knew that lead- to- silver spell."
"Silver fucking bullets... We should custom order those."
Moody smiled at his protégé. "Now that is the best fucking idea you've ever had, Fletcher."