Chapter length: 1,196 words
Chapter verse: Movie
Chapter summary: Anger and awareness. Awareness and anger. Which came first, Alastor Moody had no idea, but both hit him full on as he woke in the white of the hospital wing.

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Disclaimer: Anything that is familiar does NOT belong to me!

Bloodshot Skies, Blue Eyes
Anger and Awareness

Anger and awareness. Awareness and anger. Which came first, Alastor Moody had no idea, but both hit him full on as he woke. The white of the hospital wing slowly came into bleary focus as he blinked once, twice, thrice, until finally he felt another's presence. The stern, lined face of Minerva McGonagall looked down at him from his bedside, as she uncharacteristically wrung her hands.

"Alastor?" She enquired gently. "Are you awake, Alastor?"

He merely grunted in response, reaching lamely towards his eye on the table beside him. Her overbearing gaze was beginning to unnerve him, but he said nothing as he popped the spherical object back in with a small 'squelch'.

"Do you..." McGonagall began, having slightly paled at the abnormal sight, "remember anything?"

Moody rolled his eyes- or rather, rolled one eye while the other scoured for his leg- and grunted again. How could he not remember? A nice dinner ruined by bangs and crashes, then the annoyingly snivelling sight of Pettigrew, and... Crouch! He jerked upright from the bed, immediately swinging his legs over the side as McGonagall's eyes widened.

"Alastor!" She exclaimed as he seized his leg and scrambled to attach it, before changing her tone to a more commanding speech; the sort of tone she often used on students. "You must stay in bed, Alastor!"

"Gotta find Crouch." Moody merely grumbled, already standing and making for the doors, his staff in hand.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alastor!" She cried, hurrying after him. "You cannot parade around the school in a dressing gown!"

"Watch me." He growled back, pushing through the doors and surging down the hallways. Where would he be? Where would he be? Where- the basement was the obvious answer; it had been used before for such cases. He took a left turn, then a right, all the while ignoring McGonagall's calls and threats from behind him. Most likely it'd be Snape guarding the scum. Was that wise? An ex-death eater guarding a death eater? No matter what Dumbledore said, he'd never truly believed that a death eater as deep as that potions master could change sides in a click. Still, Snape may also find joy in Crouch's pain... he may stand back and watch.

"Professor Moody?" A voice exclaimed from above. Ha! Professor: as if he'd done much teaching. He glanced up to see three students peering curiously down at him over the banister of a staircase.

A girl, a boy- one of the Weasley clan by the look of his red hair- and another boy, dark-haired with rounded glasses perched on his nose: Potter. For the shortest of seconds he paused, before recovering himself and continuing down the hallway.

"Later." He threw the growl over his shoulder, wondering dimly why McGonagall's voice was becoming distant. It was amazing what a one-legged man could achieve when angry.

"Granger, Potter, Weasley! Back to class this instant!" She had changed the unusual threats to stern orders, though through the back of his head Moody could clearly see the three students join the chase. Outrunning an elderly witch was one thing, outrunning three young teenagers was another thing completely. There was only so much a one-legged man could do. Especially a one-legged man of his age...

Aha! But to his luck- rather baffling considering his recent severe lack of the thing- his destination was steps on front of him. He didn't bother with his wand, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was still in the hospital wing, and burst straight inside. The potions master stood at the side of the door, his wand at the ready, but he merely acknowledged the furious Auror with a lazy flick of his head and watched as Moody ignored him completely and headed straight for the middle of the room.

Barty Crouch Junior jumped to his feet as the Auror came charging towards him, evading a flying fist but unable to duck out of the way as Moody seized the front of his oversized shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Kept me locked up in a trunk, Crouch." He growled fiercely. "Bad idea."

Barty's eyes twinkled, and a gleeful smile spread on his lips as he glanced down at the fists knotted into his shirt.

"What'd happened to constant vigilance," He drawled, his voice half strained by Moody's grip, "eh, Alastor? May I call you Alastor?"

The Auror cursed angrily, bringing his arm back and his fist around. Crouch's head whipped to the side with the striking impact, but the twinkle and smile lingered on as he faced him again.

"I take that as a no then?"

Moody growled furiously, throwing his fist into Crouch's stomach and feeling a slight satisfaction at the pained grunt it provoked. He brought his staff around the gasping man's head so hard, that while he didn't lose consciousness, he was thrown to the floor with a 'thud'.

"Alastor!" A voice cried out from behind him, alarmed and shocked, but he chose to ignore it and swung a kick at Crouch, again satisfied at the gasp. "Alastor, stop this madness! Severus, stop him!"

"Not to worry, Minerva," The flat monotone voice of Snape spoke dully, "I'm sure Professor Moody knows what he's doing. He is an Auror, after all."

Smart man. Moody threw another kick... and another... And another...

"What are you doing here?" Snape's tone changed abruptly, "Thirty points from Gryffind-"

"Professor!"

"Professor Moody!"

"Professor, stop, this is wrong!"

It was the last cry that stopped him, and surprisingly it seemed too high to be McGonagall. Moody froze, slowly dropping his foot back to the floor and glancing over his shoulder. There stood Snape, McGonagall- who seemed divided whether or not to use her wand- and the three students, the female of which gazed pleadingly at HIM rather than the downed death eater. For a short second he looked into her brown eyes, and found the unmistakably clear glint of intelligence. This was wrong.

He looked back at Barty Crouch Junior, on his knees on the floor with his arms wound around his stomach. What had he done? Utterly horrified, Moody took a step away from the death eater, and watched him shake with hacking coughs as they wrenched his thin form.

For the first time since the trial, all those years ago, he saw Bartemius Crouch Junior for what he really was. This was the pureblood son of a powerful man of the ministry. This was the very same Slytherin who'd achieved 12 O.; more than many wizards. This was the man who'd overpowered him in his own home, and had the wit to manage to mimic him in front of even Albus Dumbledore himself.
And yet what he saw was a scrawny stick of a man, driven out of his mind by the neglect and malign of his father. And whose hand was now speckled with blood from his raw hacking.

Finally the unforgiving coughs ceased, and Barty looked up at him, an insane grin lighting his face and a deranged glint in his eyes.

"If you enjoyed that," He giggled, looking every bit the demented death eater, "just imagine what my father would have felt."