Note: I feel compelled to write this because, though he appears in many of my stories, Alastor Moody has rarely been used by me as anything other than a form of comic relief! But I like to think there is something more to him than paranoia and lectures! So, here is a first attempt at writing a Moody who does a bit more than chase after Dark Wizards and demanding Constant Vigilance! I have no idea if this is IC or not...but still...here goes...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
My Girl
It was a clear evening, which he might have thought rare even for summertime had he not instead been considering the lack of a breeze amongst the long grass, how it made his progression towards the lane so much louder to any enemies that might be watching. He stuck to the grass for a good while longer, keen for the little cover it gave him, before pausing to take a good look around the surrounding area. Then he checked again. Then a third time, because you can never be too careful in times like these.
That, Alastor Moody reminded himself as he did every day, was a fact.
Once satisfied the lane was relatively safe, he stepped out from the grass and stomped on up the muddy pathway, the twinkling lights at the Burrow's windows glowing softly in the distance.
It was growing late, he realised, later than he had anticipated. But he hadn't dared leave his latest surveillance post until Shacklebolt had turned up and been briefed in full detail. Twice. Because nobody ever took everything in the first time round. That was a fact.
Shacklebolt himself had come from The Burrow, and Moody's first thought had been to inquire as to whether or not his fellow Auror had been drinking along with everybody else because such a thing would be utterly foolish when there were Death Eaters to spy on.
But he hadn't asked, not straight away.
Instead he'd found himself asking:
"Did you see her?"
Shacklebolt had grinned and told him that yes, he certainly had.
"How was she?" Moody had inquired, and Shacklebolt had grinned wider than ever and simply said:
"Glowing!"
And Moody had smiled for the first time in hours and grunted:
"Of course she was."
Originally he had intended to set about organising the next Order Meeting once Shacklebolt had relieved him. Because these things don't organise themselves. Or get organised properly, when he left it up to anybody else.
And yet here he was, stomping his way steadily up towards The Burrow's front door.
Because he wanted to see her glowing, wanted to see her on this, what was apparently the happiest day of a person's life.
He hadn't even considered going to the actual wedding. It hadn't really occurred to him, he'd been much too busy. But as the lane before him widened into something resembling a yard, Moody found himself realising that he wished he had been there.
He wished he'd watched Nymphadora get wed.
She'd known he wouldn't show up. She'd asked about it anyway, just a few days earlier when they had taken a watch together nearby Malfoy Manor.
"Are you going to come to my wedding, then?" she'd asked, pausing in her peering through a bush to glance over her shoulder at him, and he'd grunted somewhat non-committally, leaving her to give a snigger and mutter: "I thought not!"
He'd been surprised at himself when her rapid and all too accurate conclusion had left him feeling rather pained.
For somebody who prided himself on his ability to be unpredictable, Alastor Moody was, apparently, very predictable indeed. Especially to Nymphadora, who seemed to think she knew him far too well for her own good. Worst of all, she seemed to be correct in her assumptions most of the time, and she probably didn't have the faintest clue that whenever she pointed out just how surly and grumpy and set in his ways he was, his snapping at her in response wasn't actually proof.
No indeed, it was an attempt to hide the fact that her joking comments sometimes stung.
Because contrary to popular belief, he did have a heart, he wasn't entirely preoccupied with all things dark and dangerous, and he would have loved to swap watches with somebody and gone to her wedding. He had grown fond and even attached to Nymphadora over the years. Watching her get married would have been something he would have treasured. Because he could treasure things. Because he was bloody well human, thank you very much!
Nymphadora had always been an insufferable little know-it-all, right from the first day he'd come across her. In fact he was pretty sure the only reason he had initially forgiven her for it was because one of the things she seemed to know was that he deserved her respect. Even if it was in a somewhat shambolic sense of the word the vast majority of the time. She had always been that niggling little presence at the back of the Ministry's lecture theatre back during her Auror training, the one to snigger or make a joke and Moody had been quite sure she'd fail the first round of tests abysmally.
Except of course she had passed them with flying colours. Literally. Because everything to do with Nymphadora was blindingly bright and colourful. He'd started to look past the jokes and the neon coloured hair and ripped jeans, and found himself presented with a young witch with a backbone of steel, a girl of such fierce conviction and resolve that he'd known in an instant that she was one to watch.
She'd saunter into the Ministry each day, bright eyed and cracking jokes that would infuriate him, and promptly bury her nose in a regulation book or two, entirely lost to the world for several hours as she attempted to memorise the words upon the pages. She was always the last to leave the library at night, one of the first to arrive the next morning. She'd laugh and call out to her fellow cadets during practical exercises in the gymnasium, leading her instructors to tell her to shut up. But when her name was called Moody would watch her stand up, square her shoulders and that intense concentration would flare up again. She'd refuse to sit back down again until she'd disarmed somebody, hit her designated target or cast a spell worthy of the instructor's approval.
She'd hit a brick wall when it came to the first year Stealth and Tracking tests. He'd watched from a doorway as she'd tripped and stumbled through the different tasks, giving up on half of them and managing the rest with difficulty. The whole display had made him cringe and quite frankly it had been somewhat beyond him that she, who always tried so hard and had yet to get a particularly poor mark in anything, could fail so appallingly. Once the whole ordeal had been over and she'd been informed on the spot that she had failed and had a week until her retest, she'd trailed out of the room and he'd stepped aside to let her pass him.
He'd only ever been watching her, up until then. He'd barely spoken a handful of words to her, one to one. But as he'd watched her shuffle dejectedly down the corridor towards the elevator, Moody had told himself that the sight before him was a mighty shame. Because she'd make a bloody fine Auror, given half a chance. But nobody was going to give her a chance, not if she failed Stealth and Tracking again in seven days time.
She'd been rather startled when he'd appeared on the doorstep of her parents' house that evening. He'd known because when her father had summoned her to the door she had stared at him in silence. For once, lost for words.
Eventually she had asked him if he wanted to step inside, and he'd consented to stomping over the threshold into the hallway. Her mother had offered him a cup of tea, which he had quite naturally refused, and he'd known Nymphadora was still out of sorts because she didn't snigger or comment. He'd looked her up and down, scrutinizing, and she stared back at him, unblinkingly. Eventually she had grown a little fidgety and he had decided to put her out of her misery.
"That was quite a spectacle you put on this afternoon." he'd grunted, and he'd expected her to scowl or retort, but instead she shrugged, her cheeks tinged pink.
"I suppose." she'd mumbled, and he'd been bemused by her lack of fire.
"You suppose?" he'd snapped, ignoring the way that her parents were both peering at him from the around the kitchen door, their expressions rather outraged at his sudden attack upon their daughter. "You buck up your ideas, lass, d'you hear me? You'll be a nobody with talk like that!"
Nymphadora's gaze had dropped to her shoes and he'd reached to grab hold of her by the arm, giving her a firm little shake that made her jump.
"You listen to me," he'd growled as the young witch had looked up at him again, dark eyes rather wide. "I've had my eye on you! And d'you think it's that bloody hair of yours that caught my attention, eh? Well think again! I know what promise looks like! I know a decent Auror in the making when I see one! And you're one of them! Now don't you prove me wrong! Don't you let it all slip through your fingertips! Fight your corner, lass! Hear me? Fight your bloody corner, give it all you've got! Because I'm right behind you, and I can't bloody fight it on my own! Are you with me?"
And Nymphadora had simply said:
"Um..."
"Gymnasium." he'd informed her, still grasping hold of her arm as if he thought she might try and make a dash for the stairs to her right. "Five AM sharp. If I don't see you I'll bloody well come round here and drag you there myself! Are we clear?"
"Crystal." the young witch had managed to utter, and with that he'd finally released her and headed straight for the door. She'd watched him go, rather dazed, only for him to pause in the doorway to look back at her, warning:
"And I don't want any faffing around, d'you hear? Or else!"
And he'd known then that he'd given her hope because she'd finally cracked a grin and asked:
"Or else what, Mad-Eye?"
In response he'd stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind him.
He'd run her utterly ragged in those seven days. He was pretty sure she had never quite forgiven him for it, even if she did manage to scrape a pass in the retest. Despite her fatigue she had shown up at ten minutes to five every morning and had, for the most part, done precisely what she was told to as well as she could manage. She had been unnaturally quiet for the first few days, until she herself began to notice her improvements. After that, despite his best efforts to ignore it, she grew cheery and chatty.
She actually had a good sense of humour. But he hadn't admitted that to himself until quite recently. Prior to that he had simply allowed himself to categorise her as amusing.
He had continued to keep a close eye on her ever since, guiding her, encouraging her, discouraging her, giving her advice. He was pretty sure she didn't listen to at least half of it, or if she did she made it her business not to let him know it. Which was typical, really. Young people. They're all the bloody same.
For somebody so young, Nymphadora simply wasn't. That was another thing he had come to realise over the years, and he suspected this underlying maturity that was never immediately apparent might well have helped shape his early impressions of her. Even if he hadn't realised it at the time.
It was remarkably unsurprising, then, that she'd ended up with Lupin, and if anybody could pull off a marriage like that one, it was Nymphadora.
It was Lupin who came to answer the door when Moody finally reached it, and after going through their latest long list of security questions the werewolf reached to pull open the door.
Lupin was one of the only ones who ever went through the entire procedure properly, and at this thought Moody scowled a little at how careless some people were when it came to security. He vowed to bring it up at the next Order meeting. He'd drum it into their bone idle heads if it damn well killed him!
Lupin was looking unusually well-dressed. He stepped aside to let the new arrival inside, and Moody offered him a grunt in greeting, only to suppose he owed him slightly more than that the evening after his wedding.
"Evening, Alastor." the werewolf greeted, and Moody reached to grasp him by the hand, giving it a firm shake and offering him a wide smile.
"It's done, is it?"
"Yes."
"Any trouble?"
"No, it all went to plan."
"Glad to hear it! Well then, where's your missus? I want a word with her."
Lupin seemed to take a disproportionate amount of pleasure from being asked this question, and as Moody let go of his hand he gestured towards the sitting room.
"She's in there, Molly's just put the kettle on for tea if you want one."
Moody made a beeline for the sitting room. He found it positively swarming with Weasleys and a sprinkling of other Order members and he spotted Nymphadora sat upon the lumpy sofa by the fireplace.
Merlin, he'd never seen hair so pink. He'd never wanted to, either, it probably did his magical eye no good.
She was laughing somewhat hysterically at something one of the Weasley twins had just said, slumped back in her seat and head thrown back, the sort of laugh that he made a habit of grunting irritably at. For her wedding she had donned a very simple slip dress in white and was just reaching for a glass of fizzing champagne from the coffee table when he stopped her in her tracks.
"Nymphadora?"
She, and everybody else in the room for that matter, turned to look at him stood in the doorway, and as they all murmured distinctly merry greetings, he ignored them all, both normal and magical eyes fixed upon her as he requested: "A word."
He had managed to sound much too stern, but then again he always did, and she didn't seem bothered as she put the glass back down and slipped out of her chair and onto her booted feet.
Only Nymphadora would get married wearing Doc Martens.
Moody strongly approved. Being constantly vigilant was an entirely lost cause in stiletto heels. No girl of his would be that bloody stupid.
As she picked her way through the crowded little room, Moody scowled at such a thought, but as she sidled past Bill Weasley and offered him an utterly glowing smile he found himself admitting that the scowl was unnecessary.
Because Nymphadora was his girl.
He'd never had children, never wanted to either. But of all the children he'd never had and never wanted, she was the only one he felt compelled to hold on to, the one he somehow thought of as being truly his girl.
In the past few years he'd stopped being proud of his efforts to guide her and started to be proud of her efforts to guide herself.
He'd not analysed what had gone wrong for her when she had lost to Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries. Instead he'd simply allowed himself to feel worried sick about her.
He snapped at her far less now, instead when she said something infuriating he ignored her or even allowed himself a half-chuckle.
He'd not lectured her about how crucial it was that she pull herself together when Lupin had refused her the first time round. Even if he was sure it all put her at risk, dulled her reactions and smothered the fire in her belly. Instead he'd tried his best to exclude her from dangerous missions and spent longer than he cared to admit fantasising about wading into Greyback's territory and single-handedly dragging Lupin out of there so that he could bloody well hex some sense into the man. Sometimes he had lost his temper with her, this empty shell of a girl, because though he had never truly been in love he'd be damned if he'd sit around and watch emotion waste her away as it did. He hadn't known what to say, so he'd simply end up snapping at her instead. He liked to think it had done her some good. She'd kept it together, just about. And here they were now, standing in the hallway together, she with a ring on her finger.
And that was how he knew it. How he knew she was his girl. Because he truly cared for her, worried about her until it made him sick to the stomach, laughed with her in his own way, went against the greater good he was always so keen on to keep her out of trouble...
Their conversation was interrupted for a brief second before it could even start by her husband slipping past them to join the others in the sitting room, his progress faltering for a moment when she reached to catch hold of him by the elbow.
"Is there any cake left?" she asked, rising up onto her tiptoes and stealing herself a kiss before Lupin frowned a little and decided:
"Maybe a couple of slices."
"Can I have one?" she asked, fluttering her eyelids exaggeratedly at him, and he dropped a kiss upon her forehead with a snigger as he assured her:
"You certainly can."
Moody watched him make a u-turn and head back into the kitchen, before she finally graced the grizzled old Auror with her full attention.
"Wotcher," she greeted, grinning broadly, and he took a moment to look her up and down.
"You've done well." he decided, giving his head a nod, and for a moment she glanced down at herself as if he were talking about her attire, so he added: "Remus is decent. I have time for him."
She probably didn't really care about his approval, but he felt compelled to give it anyway.
"Oh, right." she said, as if it wasn't really a compliment at all and just a statement of fact.
He tried again.
"I'm very happy for you, you know. And proud! Very proud! Sticking to your principles, not giving up! Don't you ever stop, because it doesn't matter what the Ministry or whoever has to say about it. You know what's best for the two of you, what's right. Don't let anybody get in the way of what the two of you have, d'you hear? Because love's a force to be reckoned with! It's our greatest strength! Love and be happy! You deserve nothing less! Alright?"
Nymphadora opened her mouth to say something, and he was quite prepared to hex her if she said chose now to crack a joke, but then she closed it again, settling instead on a small, gentle smile.
And Moody was certain that for once she was, without a doubt, taking note of what he had said.
"That's my girl." he found himself murmuring, reaching to pat her somewhat gingerly upon the arm.
They regarded one another for a long, silent moment, and he felt rather as if they had come to some sort of understanding about one another, despite overall having said very little. Then, to his surprise, she took a step forward and leant to peck a kiss upon his scarred cheek, announcing brightly:
"Yep! That's me!"
His jaw clenched a little in surprise at the movement, because he hadn't seen it coming. Her slight titter suggested she felt some sort of amusement at having clearly surprised the man who was never surprised by anything. But she didn't say anything, for at that precise moment Lupin reappeared with a large slab of chocolate cake on a plate, and she turned to positively beam at him, exclaiming:
"Ah! Brilliant!"
"It's the last piece." the werewolf informed her raising an eyebrow, and she gave a chuckle and said:
"Alright then, are you going to hand it over willingly, or am I going to have to fight you for it?"
Lupin pursed his lips together in consideration, eying darting between her and the cake, before he took an abrupt step backwards and challenged:
"Come and get it!"
"Right!" Nymphadora made a show of squaring her shoulders, fingers flexing as Lupin backed off towards the kitchen. "You're asking for it, Sweetheart..."
And with that, she charged down the hallway with a war-like cry of:
"GIVE ME THAT BLOODY CAKE!"
And as Lupin skidded into the kitchen and hastily darted round the scrubbed wooden, leaving the pair of them to circle around it, she making the occasional dive to snatch the plate from his hand, Moody threw back his head and laughed.
Finish.