Ambushed
(From "The Adventures of Mad-Eye Moody")
The old man paused in his preparations for his journey to focus an ear on the dark, silent house. "I'm sure I heard a noise" he thought. He waited, but, nothing could be heard.
He shook his head and resumed packing. "Must be getting jumpy" he reflected. "My wards would give me ample warning if I had visitors."
His thoughts turned toward tomorrow, to arriving at Hogwarts again. He realized he was anxious and full of anticipation. He was looking forward to this new challenge.
"Albus was right, he's always right." The old man thought with relish. "After almost fifty years of an active, dangerous life, I can't stay cooped up in this bloody house. It'd be a death sentence for me."
A crooked smile creased his seamed, scarred face. He couldn't wait to meet the kids; couldn't wait to pass along the lessons learned in a lifetime of struggle against malevolence and horror.
"Who knows, there might be a new Tonks or Kingsley in the group. I hear the Potter kid has done extraordinary things and Molly's son has a world of potential."
He paused again, all senses on the alert. There in was again: a sharp, wooden cracking sound. "I'll take a look" he thought, rising to his feet and grasping his wand and his wooden staff. "I didn't get to be this old by ignoring warning signs."
He stumped briskly to the doorway of the sitting room and paused there to take a quick survey. His right eye, a round, glassy electric blue orb, whirled and scanned the room and peered thru the walls to check the grounds.
Then, he froze. His eye had detected a breach in the carefully crafted magic barrier surrounding his home. Someone had meticulously unraveled his warning sigils and created an opening into the dwelling. And without alerting him; this indicated: 1) they were strong wizards, 2) they were here for no good reason, and 3) they wanted things kept quiet.
As he raised his wand to send out an alert, a calm, cynical voice said "I've shielded the house against communication, Moody, so it's just you and me."
Moody immediately centered all his senses on the voice's location. There! The overstuffed chair in the middle of the room. Now, he could see the depression in the cushions, weighted down by an unseen body.
"Disillusioned" he muttered."No wonder I couldn't detect you right away. But, I'm on you now, you scum."
"Then, there's no sense in maintaining my camouflage, is there, Moody?" the quiet voice responded. A slight shimmer filled the air in front of the chair, and then, a man was standing there, studying Moody.
He was a pale young man with straw-colored hair and freckles. He was gaunt, nervous, and had the look of someone who had suffered tremendously. But, Moody knew no amount of suffering was enough because, he knew that face.
It was a face that had haunted Moody's infrequent nightmares, knowing he'd been too late to save his former apprentice and her husband.
"Crouch!" he snarled, pointing his wand dead-center on the intruder's chest. "Barty Crouch Jr.! I'd heard you'd died and were buried in Azkaban"
Crouch Jr. grinned maniacally. "As that witty American Muggle wrote: 'Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'" he giggled.
"How did you get out of Azkaban? And how did you get in here without me knowing?" Moody growled.
"Why, in both instances, I had assistance from extremely talented wizards. But, I didn't come for small talk, Moody. I have another purpose for this visit."
"I can guess" Moody snarled. "But, your vengeance will come with a heavy price tag, Crouch."
"Believe me, Moody; I would kill you right now, without a moment's hesitation, if I had my choice. But, I'm after a grander objective and it's imperative to keep you alive."
"You're as big a fool now as you were back then, Crouch" Moody snarled. "If you couldn't handle me with Bellatrix, Rastaban, and Rodolphus backing you up, what makes you think you're up to the task now, when you're alone?"
Barty Crouch's eyes, tinged with madness, lit up at Moody's words and he laughed an insane cackle.
"Oh, yes; the Lestrange family outing that brought your wrath down on us. I had nearly forgotten about that little incident."
"So, tell me, Moody" the young Death-Eater sneered. "When's the last time you saw dear, sweet, little Alice? I remember the last time I saw her, she was a pitiable sight: sobbing, moaning, gibbering, crawling on all fours, wallowing in her own excretions . . ."
"SHUT UP, YOU SONUVABITCH!!" Moody roared, striding forward and letting loose a blast from his wand.
Barty Crouch was blown backwards by the explosion, landing in a heap on the carpet.
"I ought to kill you right now" Moody growled, advancing on the fallen Death-Eater.
Crouch watched Moody approach, again laughing his hysterical cackle. "No, Moody; I've learned much more since we last met. I'm smarter and far more dangerous." He paused to twist his face completely up at Moody. "And, I have too much respect for your abilities to come alone."
Moody felt, rather than heard, the snarling, high-pitched voice behind him. "STUPIFY" it shrieked and numbness began to seep into every cell of his body, every nook and cranny of his mind.
He heard Crouch laugh madly and shout "Well done, Wormtail! The master will be most pleased. Now, drop the disillusion and help me get ready; the authorities will be here soon."
As he sank to the floor, all Moody could think, over and over again, was: "Caught from behind . . . Shot in the back like some rank amateur . . . Shot in the back." Then, everything disappeared into oblivion.
The next sensation he was aware of was dark: complete, all-encompassing, lonely dark. He couldn't see properly. Reaching up, he could feel the blank space where his magic eye should have been.
Feeling down his left thigh, he reached the stump of his knee joint, then nothing. He was aware of the cramped, confining space that had become his world. The trunk! The bastards have me in the trunk. And it's moving.
He tried to rise, to at least meet whatever was in store on his one good leg, but, he could hear Crouch's voice whispering in his ear "Lie still; remain silent; do not try to escape."
"Perfect" he thought bitterly. "Stunned from behind, imperiused, and locked in my own trunk. And Dumbledore wanted me to teach defense to his students. Okay, kids! Here's a sterling example of what not to do; courtesy of your has-been, ivory-skulled professor."
As he lay in the pitch darkness, with only his own thoughts for company, Moody resolved that, come what may, his retirement was officially over. He'd tried to step away from evil, to isolate himself from it, but, evil had sought him out and taken him.
"If I ever get out of this" the thought raged in his brain, "I'll get involved in the fight again. I'd rather die as the hunter than the hunted."
Nine months later, he got his chance.