I write original fiction under the same username on Fictionpress and Royalroadl.
A short story about one of my favourite Harry Potter characters, I don't like the books anymore, I've grown out of it. But I have read many good fanfictions and have fallen in love with the genre over my last three years of reading fanfiction. I don't really think this one shot is that good. But I will just bring it out instead of it gathering dust on my files. It will be worth it if only one person enjoys it. Eventually going to add another HP one shot to this story as a semi gathering of short stories. Therefore I will not mark it as complete. Hell, maybe it will be a disjointed continuation of this story.
The graduation ceremony of Hogwarts was always something to look forward to, especially the student-only after party.
Fireworks, talks of teachers, and funny stories of their youth floated through the air whimsically, no alcohol though.
The school faculty wasn't allowed to provide such beverages to its students. After all wizards and inebriation were already a volatile combination, drunk magical teens were a whole nother story.
-/-
Alastor slammed down another shot glass and threw the empty vessel over his by the loud proclamation of "Who threw that!", he had probably hit someone. Not that he cared, there weren't a great many people who he would willingly see again after his education turned to its end.
"Alastor, Alastor, Alastor what will we do with you, you burgeoning alcoholic." While that might have been what Arthur thought he said, what had came out of his mouth was more akin to a trainwreck of vowels and consonants. It took a moment for Moody to respond to his drunken friend, partly to understand what was said, but mostly to keep himself from laughing. Arthur had made quite a fool of himself, after all.
"Weasley, by the way yer talkin right now, you probably drank more than me." The redhead leaned over his shoulder to try and stare him in the eyes, but because of his drunken state he didn't quite manage the risky manoeuvre, and landed on the table face first.
Not seeming to notice this fact, he continued speaking, words muffled by the close proximity of wood to his mouth.
"I'll will hav' you know, I haven't not drunk anything even remo- remlo- a little alcofolic my whole life."
The hardly legible sentence caused his year mate to nod, "And you shouldn't! This 'Alchofol' that you speak of must be a treacherous substance, best not to go near it you hear me!?"
His words fell on deaf ears, Weasley had fallen asleep on the table. How he managed that with the blaring sounds of the orchestra coming from right behind him was a mystery.
Moody stood up, his knee still aching from the drunken Quidditch match he had partaken in after finishing all his N.E.W.T.s.
Not being the most sociable of the lot he wanted to return home. His first reason being that he wanted nothing to do with the exceptional foolery the now Hogwarts alumni would create, (as tradition by now,) and the other reason being his mother, who was waiting for him at home.
Walking through the oddly chilly July weather, he fished out an anti-hangover potion from one of his pockets, made precisely for this occasion. Apparating while drunk was the fast way to getting splinched after all.
And it never hurt to be prepared.
The telltale feel of being squeezed through a small tube enveloped him when he passed the ward boundary.
The scene shifted from a serene and tranquil night, with the background noise of a party going on, to one of absolute desolation as the small town his family lived in crackled merrily in the flames.
Alastor didn't move for a second, judging by his surroundings he was in the town square, or more precisely what was left of it.
Was it Grindelwald? Or had there been an accident? Why were there no aurors, or at least the sirens of muggle police in the distance?
Quickly pulling out his wand he pointed it at one of the burning wreckages and shouted, all thoughts of silent casting and the statue of secrecy forgotten.
"Aguamenti"
A ceaseless burst of water sprouted from his wand, and he was feeling quite proud of himself, until he noticed the flames remained unaffected.
Which meant this was the work of dark magic, which meant Grindelwald, which meant
"MUM!"
He didn't even look for other people, because as callous as it sounded, he didn't care.
Running towards his house. He almost tripped several times, he wasn't as foolish too use his newly learned apparition in such an emotional state.
Every thought he had was blown away, like a children's toy in a storm, when he arrived at his childhood home, surrounded now by bright red flames.
A man wearing the standard army uniform of Grindelwald standing over a writhing body as he continuously applied the cruciatus on it. The second Alastor made eye contact with the person being tortured he knew who it was. The blue eyes, once loving, now begging him, warning him to run, belonged to his mother.
A warning he wouldn't heed.
"You bastard I'll kill you!" Before the soldier even heard of his intention Alastor had already hurled a silent explosion curse in his direction.
Just for it to be calmly deflected by a flick of a dark wooden stick in the hands of the monster standing before him.
The man simply rolled his eyes, "This is why I hate cleanup duty, when you go out to kill someone dig two holes indeed." With a flick of his wrist the woman that had tried to feebly stand up and run, or apparate or whatever was decapitated.
By a twist of fate, the head rolling over to her son's feet face towards him, empty blue eyes staring at him, almost accusingly.
The soldier was saying something, his lips were moving grotesquely, something so inhuman should not dare take such a form. Blood was rushing through Alastor's head, the only thing he heard his heartbeat.
Before he even noticed what he was doing Moody had raised his wand towards the still talking man
Avada kedavra.
The green line left his wand just like the hatred he felt didn't leave his body, the soldier managed to dodge to the side cursing loudly. He didn't manage to dodge the second one, it only seemed to give him a nosebleed though.
The soldier's lips flapped once again at the dazed silent teen standing by the head of his mother.
Why wasn't he dead!
Before the man actually decided to fight Alastor started barraging him with spells, prank spells, duelling spells, everything. Even a single second of incapacitation would be enough.
The man scoffed and batted all of them aside with apparent ease.
Then he started counterattacking, curses of all colours came at him, some he dodged others he blocked.
Alastor was jumping and twirling avoiding for all his life's worth. Being a part of the duelling club had paid off after all.
It wasn't enough, a sickly yellow curse was coming at his legs while he was midair, in a moment of clarity he pointed his wand at his foe prompting the soldier to raise a blue shield.
A shield that didn't help him as a steel garden ornament stabbed him through his back.
Alastor collapsed, staring dazedly at his leg, ignoring the now dead enemy he tore away his pant leg to find the spell had hit his foot and was quickly rotting it's way towards the knee.
The same knee he'd hurt in his drunken Quidditch match. Funny that.
Alastor didn't know how to heal, he had wanted to become lawyer after school, but he did know some things about dark magic. The leg had to go.
A quick diffindo solved that problem, the flesh parting easily from the magic originating from its own body.
While he was staring transfixed at his now bleeding stump a crack resounded through the showcase of a tragedy his garden had become.
"Fried-!" Before the man even had a chance to react to his dead comrade his body slumped over in a flash of green, eyes glassy as they stared into nothing.
"Third time's the charm." Alastor muttered to himself as he lowered his head and once again turned his attention to his now missing leg.
Was it the shock that was making him respond so apathetically.
He raised his wand one last time, towards his bleeding stump, while surrounded by the flames that seemed to avoid him the last word he said for the day was.
"Incendio"
-/-
"From what I understand you have recently lost your remaining family, are you sure you are capable of making this decision young man?" The teen nodded causing the grey-haired bespectacled man to tilt his head dubiously.
"Are you sure, the scars you will receive in this line of work won't go away as easily as the one you got in Hogwarts." The teen nodded once again causing Gulden to sigh.
So many youths coming to help in the war effort, so many ones who didn't return after they gave all they could, he tried to convince him one last time.
"You are aware that you might be forced to take the lives of other human beings if you continue down this path, Mr Moody?" Here the youth seemed genuinely confused.
"Other human beings?" Gulden nodded, "I was under the impression I was going to be fighting dark wizards."
The sounds of a metal leg hitting the floorboards as the owner went to get his registration papers resounded through the sparsely decorated room, Moody's face haunted Gulden that night.
Like every time he sent a good upstanding British youth to war.
Edited by ShadowWhat and Talon Searunner.
I tried to write a bit of drama, tearjerker whatever you want to call it. I don't really think it came out well. But I see fanfiction as practice. And I think I learnt a few useful things while writing and editing this.