Part I
And prologue to the omen coming on..."
Shakespeare's Hamlet, 1.1.135-6
The overwhelming sounds and smells of Diagon Alley washed over Alastor Moody in a constant, disorienting wave. Plump, matronly witches were haggling loudly with tired-looking vendors while the smoky scent of frying fish drifted in from a crowded restaurant. Shrieking children darted up and down the avenues, clutching toy wands that emitted spasmodic bursts of purple smoke into the chill morning air, and dodged the stray dogs that yipped happily at the heels of an annoyed wizard, who was peddling hot sausages.
In the midst of all this, Alastor strolled in silence; as always, watching attentively, but taking part in nothing. He was tall, dark, and nineteen, but seemed older, with deep-set, tenebrous eyes and a lean frame. His step was not one of a young man; it was unmeasured, listless, and impatient, the wandering pace of a man not quite sure what to do with himself.
Alastor stopped at a pushcart loaded with various pieces of celestial equipment. A wizened old warlock was leaning wearily against it, examining a stack of astronomy charts and twisting his hat in his gnarled hands. He didn't even bother to watch Alastor pick up a glittering lunascope, run his long fingers over its smooth surface, and then replace it before moving on.
He continued like this for some time, gliding from cart to cart and window to window, slowing occasionally to examine a set of Gobstones or a new kind of quill or a tank teeming with slimy green frog spawn, but it was all the same to him. Alastor could leave London and only come to visit Diagon Alley once every year, and still, it would all be the same.
The same energetic salesmen would be roaming the streets, waving trays of waterproof parchment and self-cleaning dishes over their well-oiled heads; the same giggling girls would gather outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, admiring both the shining new prototypes and the handsome young employees; the same shifty characters would lurk at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, leering at passersby and swapping rumors.
No, Diagon Alley would never change.
And still, Alastor continued making his way up and down the same route, every day, smiling at the few shoppers that detracted from their busy mornings long enough to wish him the customary "good day".
Perhaps it was because Alastor had nothing else to do. He didn't seem to fit the criteria for any specified occupation, and he hadn't known where to turn after graduating from Hogwarts. Everyone else in Alastor's year had moved on; Gladys Gudgeon was working overseas for the Ministry, Edgar Crockford had taken on the family business and was running his father's shop...
Alastor, on the other hand, had only held temporary odd jobs, lasting him only a few years, ranging from organization of Daily Prophet deliveries to assistance in Muggle Repelling Charms at the recent Quidditch Cup. It wasn't that he needed the economic support; Andrew Moody, Alastor's grandfather, was one of the more prominent figures in wizarding society, and he supplied Alastor with food, clothing, and even his own apartment. (However, Andrew was granted with his elusive grandson's presence only very rarely.)
Alastor, however, pushed all of this from his mind as he strayed to a narrow table at the side of the road. There was nothing noticeably different about it, or the wizard loading his goods for display, but most shoppers only glanced at it before quickly turning away, without even stopping for a good look.
But something caught Alastor's eye; a slim golden rod, balanced between two supports. It was revolving slowly in the sunlight, and Alastor couldn't remember seeing anything like it in all his trips up Diagon Alley. Intrigued, he moved closer. He realized that he'd never seen the other things scattered across the table, either. Curiosity got the better of him, and Alastor looked up at the merchant in charge of this merchandise.
He was tall, with sandy blond hair and ruddy cheeks, and tight muscles were knotted in his calves and shoulders. His hands were quick and efficient as he unloaded the contents of a crate set on the sidewalk.
"What's that?" Alastor asked, in the abrupt and unprecedented way that was his nature. He pointed at the spinning rod.
The sandy-haired man followed Alastor's gaze. "That? Detects heavy emotions...anger, deceit...see, it starts turning faster once it senses them."
Alastor watched the instrument make another wobbly revolution. Next to it was a small, greenish-blue orb, about the size of a marble. Inside, what appeared to be cloudy smoke was swirling sluggishly.
"And that?"
The tall man picked up the glass ball, shook it slightly, and laid it against his wrist. The smoke sped up and turned bright orange, then began to throb in rhythm. "See? Senses pulse, basically. It does come in useful."
Alastor, instead, was looking at a long, jagged scar that ran from the merchant's wrist to his elbow. His whole arm, in fact, was covered in small scars, though they were scarcely visible beneath his pale complexion. But the man, who seemed not to notice, handed Alastor the orb and went back to unpacking.
He set up what looked like a giant Sneakoscope, a goblet holding drops of shimmering, glittering liquid, and an strange-looking pendant that seemed to be humming. Although he rarely talked to the dealers in Diagon Alley, Alastor now asked, "where did all this come from? Is it yours?"
The man only shrugged. "These are just some old dark detectors; a few are mine. Anyway, some people like having a Secrecy Sensor or Vitaglass around the house. Makes them feel safer, I suppose, especially with Voldemort becoming more powerful and all."
Alastor blinked. He had never heard anyone else say Voldemort's name aloud, not ever. This man had obviously seen enough of the world to gain some immunity to the fear usually associated with the verbal acknowledgement of the Dark Lord's real name. Alastor was feeling an increasing respect for him.
"Who are you?"
"Christopher Camdyn," the wizard replied. He looked long and hard at Alastor, who only returned his searching stare. And Camdyn seemed to find something in Alastor's eyes, because he suddenly smiled slightly; he then put down the large, oddly-shaped crystal he had been holding and reached out to shake Alastor's hand. "I'm an...an Auror. One who seeks out and imprisons followers of Voldemort."
As Moody's fingers curled around Camdyn's, and he watched the Sneakoscope glisten in the sunlight, Alastor felt a strange surge of both interest and renewal. It was the beginning of something, and for a split second he knew what, and then lost it.
"We'll meet again," Camdyn said, stepping back to talk to a witch who was interested in the pendant.
And that was that.
Alastor didn't think of the encounter again until almost three months later.
"You lying, cheating, piece of scum."
"It wasn't me, I swear --"
Alastor blinked sleepily. Voices in the hall had awakened them, and now he lifted his head from the pillow to hear better.
"Mr. Crabtree, if you come with us, there needn't be any trouble."
"So get up, you disgusting excuse for a human being."
Three voices. One must be Augustus Crabtree, Alastor realized; the eccentric, elderly recluse who also lived in the apartment building, but, however seldom Crabtree emerged from his own room, Alastor couldn't remember him begging and simpering as he was now.
"Please...I didn't...I never..."
"Mr. Crabtree, we are placing you under arrest..."
And the other two voices, Alastor couldn't place at all. The first was rough and menacing, the second, cool and unruffled.
"...both for your alliances with many acclaimed Death Eaters, and also for the murder of an innocent man."
"You killed your best friend, you dirty bastard. Do you deny it?"
A dry sob.
Alastor was getting to his feet. Crabtree was in trouble, that was certain, and no matter what was happening out there, he had to help. He groped around for his wand.
"I didn't think so. Now, get up and come with us...there's a nice cell in Azkaban, waiting just for you..."
Alastor pushed open his door, poking his head out into the dark corridor. The first thing he saw was Augustus Crabtree, cowering in a shadowy corner. He looked awful; his eyes were red, face pale and twitching, both hands pressed to the wall. Two men were standing over him, clutching their wands. One had red hair and freckles that made him look younger than he really was, but the other was much older, with a mess of white hair tied back at the neck.
"Don't make this harder, Crabtree," the redhead said, in the same calm tones.
"Liars!" Crabtree shrieked suddenly. The other two men glanced at each other quickly, but didn't say anything. Eyes now blazing, Crabtree continued, "you know nothing. Nothing! And you cannot have us, He will --"
There was a blinding flash of light, and Crabtree slumped against the wall. Alastor froze.
"Ben, I told you not to --"
"He's only stunned, don't worry," the old man growled, bending over the prone figure. "Ready to take him back? We still should try to find --"
"Stop!" Alastor yelled, a bit late, banging the door open and leaping into the hall. "Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Go back to bed," grunted the elder, waving him away. He squatted down next to Crabtree and raised his wand.
Alastor also lifted his, fingers trembling slightly, and before he could think, he shot a beam of silver light at the man on the floor.
The old man -- Ben? -- cursed violently and tumbled backward onto the carpet, clutching his arm in pain. Alastor couldn't quite believe what he had done, so he just stood there, feeling stupid. Alec, however, started chuckling.
"Shut up, you twit," Ben muttered, and Alec bent down to pry his fingers away from his arm. The skin was smoking slightly, and Ben winced as Alec prodded it with one long finger.
"I -- I --" Alastor stuttered. Alec was getting to his feet, leaving Ben sitting on the floor and looking murderous.
"He'll be all right," Alec murmured, stepping closer to Alastor, who backed away a few paces. "in fact, it may do him some good."
"I'll have you someday, Alec," Ben snarled from the floor, but Alec only smiled.
"Anyway," Alec said nonchalantly, moving closer, as Alastor retreated, "you asked what we were doing. We are taking this man" -- he gestured at Crabtree -- "under arrest, on the Ministry's orders."
Alastor made a strangled noise.
"Here," he said, pulling Alastor over toward Ben. He dug in his heels, but Alec's grip was firm. He was indicating, however, that Alastor look at the man lying on the floor. "Augustus Crabtree. You knew him. Look, look and tell me what you see."
"Huh?"
"No," Ben spoke up, shaking his head and still holding onto his shoulder. "I'm not doing it again, Alec, we don't need another one. Besides, he's just a stupid kid."
Alec didn't say anything, but only pointed again at Crabtree. Feeling slightly dizzy, Alastor knelt down beside him.
Silence.
"Well?" Ben said, mockingly. Alec kicked his companion with an impatient foot.
Alastor studied Crabtree's face, still frozen in horror, eyes blank and empty. Then he blinked, rapidly, eyes glazing over, and wobbled before shaking his head quickly. "You said he was a Death Eater?"
Ben smirked at Alec, before saying, "worse than a Death Eater. A lying, cheating coward who helped murder one of our Aurors and tried to gain control of some power. Too weak."
"But Ben, didn't you see him?" Alec was saying. He was still looking at Alastor. "He almost had it. His eyes...you could see it. And he heard us."
Ben snorted. "We don't have time for this, Alec -- we have to get back." He stood up, glanced at his steaming shoulder in disgust, and then at Alastor with the same scorn.
"We need someone, Ben."
"We do not. And I'm going. Do you want me to leave you here?"
Alec shook his head.
"Wait," Alastor said again, "what do you mean? What did I --"
"I'll be back," Alec said, as Ben grabbed his arm and dragged him away, "you --"
Then, quite suddenly, all three men were gone.
Alastor stood alone in the corridor, arm still outstretched, and blinked again. Silence descended slowly, sinking into the building, and Alastor wondered vaguely how anyone could have slept through all the noise the two Aurors had been making. Or had it all been a dream? After all, the entire ordeal didn't make any sense.
Alastor hurried over to the corner of the hall where Crabtree had been pitched earlier. The shabby wallpaper was slightly scorched, and Alastor ran his fingers over the burn marks with a puzzled expression on his face.
All this lay heavily on Alastor's mind in the days that followed. Two encounters with Aurors, a society he'd never even heard of, were enough to tell him something.
Crabtree's things were removed from the now-empty bedroom, and Alastor watched from the door of his own apartment; looking first at the men descending the stairs with furniture and then to the corner of the hall where Crabtree had crouched days before.
He paced his room restlessly, wondering; after all, nothing had disturbed the unbroken rhythm of his quiet life before, and this was something to be pondered. Why had both Alec and the man in Diagon Alley studied his behavior so; what did they see in him, anyway? Something more than he had realized, somehow?
Yeah, yeah, I never finished. I know it's awful...eternal good luck to everyone who writes for this forum. You people are awesome writers. And remember, writer's block is a luxury. (This has long since been recited to myself as I pound my head against my notebook, or vice versa.) If you've stooped so low as to be interested in the non-fanfic stuff I scribble at, or just want to say 'hi', pop me an e-mail at inkblot03@yahoo.com. I may be back someday after I get a good grip on this sophomore year stuff, who knows...CONSTANT VIGILANCE!