Alastor loved her. Over the years, he probably crossed the line here and there, but he kept crawling into bed with this woman. They tossed the question of marriage back and forth like a hot potato, yet they refused each other over and over again. There were different reasons on this recycled list of excuses: independence, careers, commitment, friendship. Grey haired and retired now, he preferred life as a bachelor.
"Ah, you are a fine girl," he said, running his hand through her hair. There were lines on Lenore's face now, and she'd put on more weight, though she still held onto her beauty. The sex felt different nowadays; he still scratched the same old inch. The late afternoon sunlight poured through his bedroom window. "I invite you to dinner, Lenore, and you take me to my own bed."
"Yes." She started kissing him again. They lay there catching their breath. He commented on the streaks of grey in her hair, and her kisses stopped. She frowned. "You like it?"
He nodded. When he'd been forced into retirement and effectively and efficiently edged out by Rufus Scrimgeour, she'd been the only one to calm him down and implore him to see reason. They'd cast him aside three months ago, and it felt like another injury. As a consolation prize, he'd gotten the best retirement plan possible when he'd negotiated terms with the right people.
"Are you all right?" Lenore stroked his face and slapped his hand away when he looked away. Alastor went to take his magical glass eye out off of the glass on his bedside table; it swiveled as it cleaned itself in there. Alastor kissed her deeply. He'd buried his anger underneath a lot of love making since May She went along with it, though he suspected she tired of it. Lenore got out of the bed. "Alastor, get over it."
"You get over it."
Alastor popped his eye back into its socket. Lenore hated that this sounded like a plunger being pulled from a sink. His leg laid in a chair. Hadn't he given his life to the Ministry of Magic? His own father had died working for the government; he'd keeled over one day whilst getting ready for work. His mother, Diana, had enjoyed a quiet retirement. Thankfully, neither of them had survived to witness this embarrassment. He blinked a few times, letting the glass eye readjust itself.
"Your daddy was a professor. Does he even know what you do for a living?" Alastor snorted when Lenore said she'd claimed to be a detective in charge of some special unit. Alastor grunted as he got dressed and strapped on the leg. As she rattled on, he grew more impatient with her. "What? Sitting at a desk shuffling paper and chasing down petty thieves? It's not the same thing."
"Wizards and their Muggle stereotypes," Lenore snapped, fixing her clothes. She didn't often argue the point until he annoyed her enough. He followed her down the corridor. When he grumbled a usual line, saying whatever came to mind, Lenore rounded on him when they entered the sitting room. She jabbed a finger into her own chest. "What does it matter? Alastor, I'm one of them! I'm the daughter of a literature professor and a secretary, remember?"
"I wasn't talking about you," he growled under his breath.
He'd met her bookworm father. Alastor liked Professor James because it was thanks to him Alastor stayed in the know about contemporary and classical Muggle literature. Now that he was retired, he actually had time to sit down and enjoy a good book. He limped over to his bookshelf, found the Collective Works of Edgar Allan Poe and An Anthology of British Literature, and handed the two heavy volumes over to her. Smirking, he almost added the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, too, but he put that one back.
"Thank your father for me, will you?" He strode into the kitchen and took stock of the stores in the pantry. "Breakfast for dinner?"
"The Sherlock Holmes is a first edition." Lenore waved her wand over the texts and they disappeared. Alastor said he liked it, and Lenore said it was one of her favorites, too. She leaned on the swinging door leading into the kitchen, frowning at him. "I know for a fact he lent these to you years ago."
"Funny thing when you work sixty hours a week for forty years." Alastor cast a few simple spells. Bacon sizzled in one pan while eggs scrambled themselves in another. Potatoes chopped themselves on a cutting board, and dishes zoomed around. "You don't have time for a life."
She helped herself to a slice of bacon as the rest of it landed on kitchen towel. Lenore burned herself.
"I found time." Lenore found his hip flask and washed it in soapy water by hand. He watched her out of the back of his head. "You can tell me off if you'd like. Sanitation saves lives. After everything you've been through, I'd think you'd fear infection."
"You sound like Frank Longbottom," he said, dishing up plates. He shrugged off her comments. "I am a grown man."
"You're an idiot." She turned the hip flask upside down on the draining board after she'd cleaned this, too.
"There are cleaning spells for that." Alastor placed the plates on the table. "Eat, housekeeper."
"Oh, you're a funny man." Lenore hung the dishtowel on the range and sat down with him. "Isn't it funny how I accept food from you, and yet you won't accept so much as a sandwich from me? Unless you watch me make it."
"Maybe I'm poisoning you." Alastor shrugged again when Lenore dropped her fork, picked it up again after muttering this was simply Moody being Moody, and started eating. "Don't come crawling to me when you're …"
"Dead?" Lenore smiled at him when she got up to pour the tea. She did use magic to clean out his hip flask because it was quicker. She filled his first, poured her own, and sat down again. "You need more than one of those. Get a proper tea set, Alastor."
He made a face. "Nobody comes here."
Lenore gestured at herself. "I don't count? No, that's wishful thinking. What exactly do you do when Professor Dumbledore comes here? Please tell you've accepted the post. You're moping."
"I accepted." What else was he going to do otherwise? He wasn't moping. "Leaving tomorrow morning."
"Good." She seemed satisfied. Lenore patted his hand and muttered she worried about him.
"Why bother?" Alastor spread his eggs onto toast and took a swig from his hip flask. His mother had once said Lenore and Alastor acted as brother and sister. This bothered him; they passed a certain question back and forth to keep a game going. Lenore had come up with the hip flask idea, seeing as he liked to indulge in drink now and then. "You needn't worry."
"All right." Lenore stopped listening to him again; he could tell by the tone of her voice.
Alastor frowned, for something felt off about her, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. How would her face fall like that when he told her he headed to Hogwarts? She'd told him to get out and enjoy life. Well, really, she'd said get the hell out of the house and start living a life.
"What happened?"
She shook her head and stared at her plate. He cooked for a bachelor, so his food couldn't possibly be that good.
"Lenore. I'm only asking once."
"You're going to think I'm mad. No, on second thought, it's you." Lenore cupped her tea in her hands. Alastor grunted. "Something feels off."
"Explain." Alastor rolled both his eyes when she pouted at him. He got up, gathered the dishes, and dumped them in the sink. If Lenore wasn't sitting there, he would've left the washing up for later, but he didn't. He kept the magical eye on her. She applied lip balm and drummed her fingers on the table. "Explain more. Say something. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
"I don't know." Lenore sighed. "I'm tired, I guess."
He jerked his head towards the corridor. "There's a bed. If you want to spend the night, I'd be all right with that."
"And leave before you head off to school? How scandalous."
"What are you? Sixteen? I bet your father knows more than you suspect." Alastor dumped out the rest of his tea and rinsed out the hip flask. He knew Professor James wouldn't care. She rolled her eyes. " I saw that. How long have I shared your bed? People know."
She flushed with color. "Alastor."
"What? I could've said I fucked you."
"Alastor!"
"What? My point exactly. You are the professor's little girl."
Finished with cleaning the kitchen, Alastor went over to her and started massaging her shoulders. He did this badly. Even when they worked together at Auror Headquarters, he didn't care if or when people discovered them. Except for the ring and some recited nonsense about promises, the two of them were basically married. Common law didn't exist in the wizarding world, but if it had, they would've crossed that line a long time ago.
"You should move in." He offered her a key and balked when she reached in her pocket and produced a copy. "Never mind. Where'd you get that?"
He suspected she'd cast a Germinio Charm to create a spare key. When had he left his keys on the laying around? He snatched it from her.
"Albus Dumbledore." Lenore raised her voice when he walked away cursing fluently under his breath. Alastor went to add things to his trunk and triple check that he had everything. She followed him and stood in the doorway to his bedroom. Alastor found his key ring and ran through a quick mental checklist. "He seemed to think you needed a friend around. He set it via owl. About a year ago after you changed the locks."
"Breaking and entering," he said, wondering when he'd get a moment to fix all of his broken Sneakoscopes. He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into the second compartment; he'd almost forgotten it.
"Dumbledore had a key." She sat on the unmade bed and made herself at home. "Oh, I see. You know he has a house key to check up on you. He worries about you, too."
"Completely different." Dumbledore had stayed with him briefly a few summers ago in the spare bedroom. Alastor, who had worked well past five at the Ministry, had not wanted the old man to be stuck. Alastor's place was guarded by much more than a simple "Alohomora," so visitors usually had to wait or came back later. He tossed the key back at her. "It's yours."
"Thank you." She caught it before it slipped through her fingers. Lenore said she was fifty-five and saw no point in this fuss. "You have a key to my flat."
"Yeah. You offered it to me." He heaved himself to his feet and locked the trunk before he set his key ring aside. He set his clothes out for tomorrow, a habit he'd picked up years ago. "Keep your flat."
"Kicking me out already, are you?" She got to her feet and picked her traveling cloak off the floor. Lenore said she needed to go anyway because she had paperwork to catch up on. She kissed him good night.
"No. Where else are you going to find a place like that in London? It's nice. You and that violin student need a place. Mr. Jonathan Quincy." He sighed when she said Jonathan was a medical student who played violin; there was a difference.
"It's Jonathan," she corrected him for the umpteenth time.
"Mr. Jonathan Quincy. Future Dr. Jonathan Quincy." He always referred to Jonathan this way because it got on her nerves.
Lenore shook her head. "Good night, Alastor."
"See you around, Lenore. Let yourself in next time." He smiled when she waved goodbye, though he felt she started ignoring him again.
He got in bed before he realized she'd left her violin by his door. Thinking he'd drop it off before heading to school tomorrow, he popped out his eye, placed it in the saline solution and drifted off to sleep.
Over the next months, Alastor found he had a lot of time on his hands, although he didn't draft lesson plans or fix any instruments. In fact, he never got around to doing a lot of teaching. He'd never been a prisoner before, but he learned to deal with it. Everything, absolutely everything, came with time. He'd never hated anyone quite so much as he hated Barty Crouch.
This, he felt, must be what a dog felt like when it was locked in a cage. The man left him out three times a day to use the bathroom, although Alastor never left his office. He felt relieved Crouch wasn't a Leglimens, or he'd be in trouble. They didn't talk much. In fact, if it were up to Alastor, he wouldn't talk at all, but Crouch needed answers.
He didn't let the man touch him unless it was completely necessary. After a while, he needed help getting back in the trunk because he'd accidentally shattered his ankle. Small actions drained him.
"You're not really a threat," said Crouch, helping him into a chair. Alastor went back to his tune, ignoring him. "You're humming. What's that?"
Alastor merely stared at him and waited as Crouch healed him. He set the bone wrong. As the place got sealed with Silencing Charms, a measure Alastor would've taken himself, there was no chance of anyone hearing the screams. Frustrated and exhausted, he asked for a splint. Bandages shot out of the end of Crouch's wand and wrapped his injury.
"Wait. Wait." Alastor held up a hand, hating himself, as Crouch raised his wand, ready to place him back under the Imperius Curse. Why was he negotiating with this idiot? "You need answers. Ask me."
Crouch didn't trust him; this was a good sign. "You'll lie."
"Why would I lie to you?" The last time he did that, Crouch had him go without food for two days. "I … I can't do that."
"Tell me about your father."
"Tell me about your father." Alastor regretted these words the moment Crouch hit him in the jaw. He'd lost his composure for a moment and forgotten himself. "He's dead. Not that interesting. Muggle-born. Collected cigars."
"Mudblood," Crouch spat.
Alastor shrugged.
Crouch changed the subject, already bored with the subject of John Moody, although the man had been a gifted Auror. "Ever married? Who would want to marry you?"
Crouch cackled as if he'd said something funny.
"None of this is going to help you." What did it matter if Alastor Moody had been married before? If Albus had brought it up in conversation, he would've said her name. Alastor's mind drifted off as he imagined Lenore's blonde hair and her kind eyes. "Never married. No."
"Everyone hates you."
"I hate you."
Alastor sighed when the man climbed out of the trunk. Thinking he'd gone too far, he crawled over to his makeshift bed and cursed himself for crossing the line. When Crouch returned with food, Alastor did not bother thanking him. He picked up the sandwich and ate slowly. "Why are you doing this? It can't be because of Frank Longbottom."
Alastor wanted to punch Crouch when he laughed about this. He waited, reminding himself these things took time. What was the point of wasting his time getting angry with this man? As he sat there, Crouch took a swig of Polyjuice Potion, and his features distorted a little.
"I bet you're not getting a good night's sleep," said Alastor, gesturing at the hip flask. Crouch had to that stuff every hour on the hour even at night. Chances were slim that Albus Dumbledore would track this bastard down in the middle of the night, but he never knew who would come searching for him. "You've got nothing figured out, son."
Crouch glared at him. "I can kill you."
"Oh, yeah, you can do that quite easily, can't you?" It was not a threat or a challenge - Alastor stated a mere fact. When Crouch grabbed him by the throat, Alastor dropped his food and stared back into his own face. "You need me."
Crouch released him and backed off. When the man took out his wand, Alastor readied himself for a dose of the Cruciatus Curse or another punishment. Even without being locked up, Alastor wouldn't be able to fight it off. Instead of turning his wand on him, Crouch conjured a plate full of sandwiches and set it in his lap.
Before he bothered with explaining the rules to this game, Alastor got it. Answers meant food. Slowly, Crouch reached inside his robes and pulled out a small stack of letters. He took the unoccupied chair. Enjoying Alastor's puzzled look, Crouch lit his wand tip and unfolded the first letter. He read a line or two from each letter before switching to another one.
"'Alastor, when someone writes you, it's curtesy to write back'. 'You have common sense, sir, so I implore you to use it. Buy the book.' 'Jonathan asked after you, says he got accepted into King's. We're playing in the park tonight.' Who's this? Jonathan." Crouch smiled. Alastor, although he had meant not to do this, must have betrayed something behind his mask. He tossed Alastor set of hip flasks. "These were your Christmas present Who's Lenore?"
"No one." Alastor spoke in a dead tone.
"Well, I think that's a lie."
Knowing he held all the power here, Crouch reached in his pocket and took out a Christmas card. He burned the card with his wand tip and showed him a couple stationary photographs. Lenore sat on a bench with three younger men. Jonathan, who Alastor recognized, blonde curls, long and lanky, had his arms draped over Lenore's shoulders. This was the string quartet she'd joined three years ago. There other two heavier musicians, the viola and the cellist, sandwiched Lenore between them. He thought they were called Sean and Sam, though he wasn't sure, and Alastor didn't know which was which.
Crouch flipped the photograph over, showed him another. This one was of Lenore playing cello onstage. She wore a lovely plain dress.
"That's my answer." Crouch caught something in Alastor's eye. He changed his offer. In one hand, he offered the photographs, which Alastor wouldn't be able to see if the dark. In the other, he held the plate of sandwiches. This little chat had transformed into some twisted game. "Choose."
"What's the date?" Alastor hung his head.
"Christmas Eve." He said something about inviting Lenore out for lunch for perhaps a drink. Impatient, Crouch muttered something about a damn ball. Alastor, though he couldn't be too picky here, fought an urge to tell Crouch this was a day. Not the date. "Choose!"
Alastor took the photographs. As Crouch left with the food, Alastor closed his eyes and hummed to himself again. It took him ages to cotton on that this was Jonathan's rendition of "A Moment". Jonathan had played this over and over in Alastor's house one evening during practice. He pictured Jonathan and Lenore figuring out a bridge together as the cellist asked Alastor strange questions as he raided Alastor's pantry and stuffed his face. Crouch, probably thinking he was mad as he clambered out of the trunk, slammed the lid shut.
Although he wasn't sure why exactly, Alastor rarely bothered to ask about time. Whenever this ended, or when things took a nasty turn, he knew he'd die. Crouch, it seemed, was cleverer than he'd anticipated, and he wasn't forthcoming with information. He learned how to count time. However inaccurate it might be, and he knew he was off, it kept Alastor going.
When he fell ill, he laid there and let the fever take him. He guessed this was the flu because it was past the holidays, and not that much time had passed. The chills confirmed this for him. He welcomed the delirious thoughts because they took him away every once in a while.
One evening, Lenore knelt on the floor feeding him broth. It tasted awful. He'd refused food for hours, but she'd arrived. In the back of his mind, he knew people couldn't Apparate or Disapparate within the walls of Hogwarts Castle. If this were really her, he'd have better food. She would've bothered mending the stained and torn traveling cloak. People had called him mad for years. Was this it?
"Help me." He sighed when she lifted him into her arms. When had she gotten this strong? He laid his head on her shoulder, exhausted. When he felt the hot water on his skin, Alastor leaned back, relaxing in the sponge bath. It was easier to breathe. Her lips moved, though he didn't understand her words. "I can't. I can't get out."
Her touch hurt him. "You don't get to die. You think I'm letting you off so easily?"
"Lenore. Please." Alastor sat on the edge of the the bathtub; he let her dress him in a nightgown and dressing gown. When they moved over to the fire, the woman's face shifted into his own, though he stared into no mirror. This was no reflection. The man handed him pills, saying he got them from a matron. Alastor, cottoning on, said, "This isn't real."
"No. Your little wife isn't here. Take the pills." Crouch handed him a goblet of water. Alastor opened his hand. This angered him, giving Alastor the reaction he wanted. "You are stubborn."
"Yes, people who know themselves know who they are." Alastor baited him. If he could get Crouch to focus on something else, he got to enjoy his freedom from the Imperius Curse. "Your Dark Lord, this wizard you all worship blindly, he understands this, though the rest of you? Sheep."
Alastor had no interest in saving Crouch; he wished he'd die an agonizing death. These pills, whatever they were, were not poisonous. Alastor knocked them back. The fever and the sweats went away instantly. When he asked about how Crouch had come across these, he'd mentioned the matron in the hospital wing. Still cold, Alastor wrapped the dressing gown tighter around himself. He warmed his hands by the fire.
He handed the goblet to Crouch.
"You'd actually let the flu take you? Muggles die of the flu." Crouch refilled the goblet and said this with contempt. He laughed harshly. "The great Alastor Moody dead because of a common disease? What a glorious end, eh?"
"Everyone dies." Alastor didn't fear death, though he suspected Crouch did. "It doesn't matter how. You escaped yours when Daddy saved you, I'm guessing? Not a nice way to repay him, but to each his own. "
Crouch licked his lips. A tick. Alastor never did this, yet he wasn't going to tell his imposter. "My father is worth nothing. When I am welcomed back by the Dark Lord..."
"He would burn each one of you alive. Probably make you all watch." Alastor scratched his chin. It what he would've done. You-Know-Who was a harder egg to crack. Instead of losing his temper, Crouch handed Alastor a proper meal; this was only because he was ill and wouldn't last. He split the leg quarter into two and tucked in. It beat broth for dinner. The chicken noodle soup warmed him. "My grandmother said this works. Chicken noodle soup."
"House-elf made it." Crouch sat behind his desk. Alastor nodded. Until Crouch landed himself in prison, he'd probably always been served by a house-elf. Alastor would be willing to bet the man had never made a proper meal.
They retreated into their silence for some time. Crouch cracked a window, and Alastor enjoyed the cold air. He wasn't stupid enough to cry out. What would this earn him? Endless nights in his trunk without regular meals? Crouch would not starve him to death, but he'd come damn close.
"I met your wife at the Three Broomsticks." Crouch pointed his wand at the soup bowl and refilled it. That smile meant he had the upper hand again.
Alastor stared at him. Should he believe him? Crouch could say anything. Whenever the man needed to send an owl, Alastor drafted these by his own hand. It was a sick system. Crouch mentioned some letter about asking someone to meet him.
"She isn't my wife." Alastor said the first thing that entered his mind. He decided this was a lie.
"Oh. Good." Crouch went back to grading essays or whatever he did at that desk. Alastor lost his appetite, but he kept eating because he needed the energy. "She's an older woman, but she's special. The way she moves. Flexible. I can see why you like her. And the way she smells? What is that? Lemons."
Clang. Alastor dropped the spoon on the floor. He caught the empty bowl and aimed it at Crouch's head. He missed. The bowl shattered. They listened. There were footsteps. Crouch got up and dragged Alastor back across the floor. This time, desperate for someone, anyone, Alastor did cry out for help. Crouch threw him into the trunk. Alastor heard the rattling of the keys because Crouch had gotten rather good at this. Alastor pounded against the wall as Crouch spoke with the caretaker. Nobody heard him.
Alastor lay in a bed. He could tell it was an actual bed because the mattress didn't feel like a stone floor. It was quiet, but it wasn't a dead silence. When he opened his eye, he spotted blonde hair. Thinking it was quite unfair his first vision in the hereafter or whatever it was had to be Jonathan, he wanted to go go back to his dirt nap.
"Mr. Jonathan Quincy." He caught the lingering scent of some cleaning solution.
The matron bustled over to him. She wore a dressing gown and held her taper aloft. Without speaking to him, she took his pulse and wiped him down with a cold compress. When she introduced herself as Madam Promfrey, he gave his name and asked the date.
"June twenty-sixth," Madam Promfrey said, reading the panic on his face. She patted his arm, noticing his twitch. He'd been in there for almost ten months. She gave him some potion for that, although Alastor doubted this would fix it. "You're all right. I'm going to fetch Professor Dumbledore."
"Dumbledore."
He spoke to nobody in particular, for she'd already run off. How in the world had that much time passed? Alastor felt around on the bedside table and found his glass eye. It felt unclean, but he popped it in anyway and strapped on the wooden leg. This place appeared to be a hospital, though he was not at St. Mungo's. He got shakily to his feet when figures strode up the ward and regretted it a moment later.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lenore rushed past Professor Dumbledore and caught Alastor before he fell. She forced him back onto the bed. "Hi."
Alastor stared at her. Not believing his eyes, he scooted away from her like a frightened animal. If this was his mind locking him in a trap, it had kicked itself into overdrive and put on a convincing show. He looked around for his wand, but it wasn't there.
"That's her, Alastor, and this is yours." Dumbledore handed over Alastor's wand and pulled up a couple chairs.
"Mr. Jonathan Quincy married yet?" How bizarre was it that he owed his sanity to a male violinist he barely knew? He'd thought about the young man a lot over these last days.
Lenore beamed him and shook her head. "No. He hasn't even chosen a venue, and he's getting married next month."
"Better get a move on."
"I'm going to touch you now. Is that all right?" Lenore reached out and stopped when he flinched. Minutes later, when they were talking with Dumbledore, he took her hand.
"Who's Jonathan?" Dumbledore sat down. "You talk in your sleep."
Lenore laughed. When Madam Promfrey, Alastor and Dumbledore turned to face her, she cleared her throat and patted the bed. Alastor rolled his eyes and grimaced at her.
"He's a Muggle. Plays with Lenore. He's a fool. Medical student." Alastor raised his eyebrows at Lenore when she gave him a questioning look. "Heard about the medical school."
"I see." Lenore punched him playfully in the ribs and apologized when he winced. "He's not a fool. You were thinking of Jonathan?"
"I had a lot of me time. Do you want to know the dimensions of the seventh trunk? I can give you those, too." Alastor didn't want to admit, especially in front of the matron, a stranger, that he'd thought about her. Lenore said she didn't care to know about the trunk. He used the glass eye to search for Crouch, but there were no other patients in the hospital wing. "Where is he?"
"Dementor's Kiss," said Dumbledore sadly. No matter the crime, Dumbledore would never accept those creatures. He mentioned Fudge.
"If he wanted protection, he should've gotten an Auror as an escort." Alastor declined any potions from Madam Promfrey. He felt weak and tired, but he was fine. When she insisted he at least eat something, but Lenore and Dumbledore put his objections to rest. Madam Promfrey conjured chicken noodle soup. He shook his head vehemently. "Not that."
"Alastor," said Lenore testily.
"Let's try something else, Madam Promfrey." Dumbledore spoke kindly and didn't bother asking Alastor questions about his captivity. The matron flicked her wand; the soup changed into a casserole dish and a side salad.
"Sorry," said Alastor, glancing at the matron.
"Not at all, Professor. Let me know if you need anything." Madam Promfrey said good night and walked away.
Neither Dumbledore nor Alastor bothered correcting her. Alastor held the chunk of bread in his hand, and Lenore eventually took the other seat. Having them sit there and watch him eat made him feel rather uncomfortable; every time someone made a noise, usually one of the students lying in a bed, Alastor jumped out of his skin.
"It's okay." Lenore magicked a handkerchief and dabbed it on his pajamas after wiping his face. She'd taken on this role before, though Alastor doubted whether it had ever been this bad. "I've never actually been for the death penalty, but I would've killed that bastard."
"Execution doesn't exist here, Lenore," said Dumbledore. He offered her an owl. "The Minister requested a word with you."
"I'm not speaking with that man," she said, crossing her legs and ripping the letter in half and then again in quarters.
"You serve the Minister." Alastor reminded her.
"I serve the Ministry. He's a politician." Lenore tossed the scraps into a wastebasket. This wasn't, strictly speaking, true, but Alastor felt too tired to argue duties. He guessed Cornelius Fudge had angered her.
"Explain." Alastor nodded at Dumbledore.
"Well, it seems Cornelius and I are no longer friends. He's decided to go it alone." Dumbledore spoke quite calmly, though there was something in his eyes. "Before he left the castle, Lenore arrived and asked for a word on your behalf. He declined."
Alastor raised his eyebrows in surprise as he faced Lenore. "Why?"
"Why would I go to him? Because you served as an Auror for almost forty years, and I felt he needed to be reminded of what you gave to the government. And he walked away from me … so I followed him and shouted at him …" Lenore held her head high and stared determinedly at the wall. "… and it got worse. A lot worse. I said things. I got suspended. I might've handed him my letter of resignation and told him to go to hell. What the hell? I'm your …"
Alastor waited and set his tray aside and offered her his hand.
"Shut up." Lenore left the hospital wing. Dumbledore chuckled.
Alastor wanted to shout after her to quit whilst she was ahead and stay a committed quitter. She could take early retirement, seeing as she enjoyed a good standing in her career. If she didn't want to serve under this Minister, it wasn't likely the next one wouldn't be any better.
"I like her." Dumbledore smiled at Alastor.
"You keep saying that." Alastor laid down and snapped his fingers, remembering something that happened months ago. He still had a bone to pick with this man. "Who gives out keys to a house he doesn't own?"
"Alastor, that was almost two years ago." Dumbledore eyed him over his half-moon spectacles. Alastor snorted. "She's your … not your wife … why isn't she your wife again?"
"Not the point."
"She's your person. You need your person." Dumbledore shrugged when Alastor huffed, not accepting this answer. Dumbledore got to his feet. "You don't want her to have a house key? Take it back."
"Yeah, well," said Alastor, flailing around for a comeback.
Dumbledore, taking this answer as good enough, told him to get some rest. He'd see him at breakfast tomorrow.
Three weeks later, Alastor still felt like a stranger in his own home. He'd stayed for those last remaining days of the school year, though he didn't know why. Cornelius Fudge had asked Lenore to come back to work. He even went as far as to have Rufus Scrimgeour show up at Alastor's doorstep, but after her two weeks' notice expired, these efforts proved to no avail.
"Done means done, right?" Lenore said this so much he took it as her new motto.
She'd gone back and forth in her head, as he'd expected she would. She nodded, trying to convince herself. They shared a bedroom now, though he rarely touched her. The windows and the doors stayed open in the house. The front and back doors were under their usual protective spells.
"Alastor?"
"He's going to be late to his own wedding."
He zipped the back of her shirt made of some shimmering stuff and handed her a suit jacket and dress pants. Lenore dressed in front of him before they headed into the sitting room. The private, quiet ceremony would be held in a conference room at the university Jonathan attended. She offered her hands to him. Alastor sat back further on the couch and nodded at Nymphadora Tonks, who sat next to him. He had stuff to do. "No."
"I stole her off my team for you." Lenore jerked her head at Tonks and checked her violin case. Sean or Sam sat in a chair in the corner with his cello, his bow poised at the ready. "Come on. I'm the best man."
"And you still don't think that's odd? All his friends and he chooses you?"
"It's for Jonathan. He's getting married." Lenore made a face at Seth when he said James was pretty cool. She made a pretty boy. "Fools! For Jonathan? I need to practice."
"I don't care about Mr. Jonathan Quincy." He nodded at the cellist as he laughed. "He's roped you into this scheme. It's nonsense. Sam says so."
"It's Seth. The other one's Derek." Seth winked at Tonks.
"Dance with Seth. Seth? Change your name. Fine."
Alastor stood up when Lenore clicked her tongue impatiently and slapped her shoes on the table. As Seth struck up a chord, Lenore started dancing. She took Alastor's hand. They made it through a few turns before Tonks went to go get the door.
She knocked over a glass in her hurry, and Alastor jumped back a few feet. Jonathan thanked Tonks. He'd dressed in an expensive suit for the occasion. After setting his violin down next to the cello case, he waited for an appropriate stop to step in. Seth had only stopped playing briefly and picked up where he'd left off.
"Mr. Jonathan Quincy." Feeling an awkward sensation in his foot, Alastor stepped aside as Jonathan took over.
"Mr. Moody." Jonathan sounded slightly out of breath. Though he usually sounded afraid of Alastor or did a double take, his fear got replaced by determination this afternoon.
He was an exceptional dancer; he danced as well as he played the violin. Without missing a beat, he picked Lenore off the floor and spun her round four times before setting her down again and continuing the waltz. She kept moving those legs, and Jonathan lifted her and spun her round again; Lenore wrapped her legs round his waist.
"Oh, my God," said Tonks, as Jonathan spun Lenore around his back.
"Thanks, Lenore," said Jonathan, resting his hand on her diaphragm when the music stopped.
"Thank you."
"And you wanted me to do that?" Alastor gaped at the Lenore and waved a hand at Jonathan. "I can drop her on the floor, if we're being realistic about this. Where in the hell did you learn to do that, sir?"
Jonathan shrugged as if to say it was nothing. "School."
"School?" Alastor didn't believe him.
"The fiancée is a dancer at the arts university." Lenore slipped on her shoes. "I'm nothing compared to her. She taught him; Jonathan taught me."
"You're fine." Jonathan smiled at her and grabbed both violins as Seth packed up his cello. "Seth, on the other hand, has two left feet."
"And Seth's a bloke," added Seth. He tipped his hat to Tonks.
"The dancing physician." Alastor shook his head. What would they think of next? When Jonathan mentioned he was thinking of becoming a orthopedic surgeon, who he explained was a bone doctor, Alastor slipped off his shoe and sock off his actual foot, showing Jonathan his ankle. "Can you reset that?"
"Damn. What the hell happened to you?" Jonathan knelt down to check out the foot. "It's been set before?"
"Twice." Alastor glanced at Lenore and caught her look. The joint kept popping out. "If I told you what happened, Mr. Jonathan Quincy, you would not believe me. You don't want to know."
"You don't," said Tonks.
"I can't fix this." Jonathan sat on the coffee table and examined Alastor's foot gingerly. "I'm a medical student. Not a doctor, and you need a hospital. Someone botched this."
"A hospital," said Lenore dryly. "Imagine that."
"What do you do for a living, Moody?" Jonathan helped Alastor put on his sock and shoe again. On second thought, Jonathan decided he didn't want to know. He supported Alastor's weight and checked to make sure he had his wallet. "Come on, we're going to the hospital."
"No. You've got to marry your girl," said Alastor.
"Are he serious right now?" Jonathan rounded on Lenore. "Do you see this?"
"Yeah. Alastor." Lenore leaned on close when Jonathan backed away, still shaking his head in disbelief as he and Seth loaded the car. She lowered her voice, though the Muggles were no longer in earshot. "Are you kidding me right now? What idiot stands through that? I hurt you. I will drag you to St. Mungo's myself."
"You're missing your wedding." Alastor looked up when somebody laid their hand on the horn.
"I'll take him, ma'am." Tonks volunteered for pretty much anything. "You've got nothing to worry about."
"Okay. You don't get yourself hurt in the process. And you. Fool!" Lenore wrapped her arms around Alastor's neck and pecked him on the cheek. "You get that leg fixed, you hear me? I'm not going to stop worrying about you because it doesn't work that way."
"I love you, too, James," said Alastor. Lenore stopped, for he'd never actually said these three words to her before. Well, really, they were five, but she got the point. Tonks, embarrassed, flushed as violet as her hair. They both cleared their throats in unison as the horn blared again for Lenore. "Dance with your violin boy. Let me know what happens after the show. I want to know if he chokes."
"Mad-Eye." Tonks rolled her eyes when Lenore and Alastor shared a laugh.
"Conference room in the art building. Samuel Joseph Building, main conference room." Lenore grabbed her bag and gave hurried instructions. "Wear the suit I laid out for you."
Alastor said he'd been there around nine, though this probably meant he'd miss the ceremony. Lenore wiped her hair out of her eyes and waved goodbye as she closed the door.
"You and James?" Tonks smirked at him.
"Shut up. We've been friends since before you were born. Roll your eyes at me one more time, woman." After he went to change, Alastor started towards the front door. Tonks, still rooted to the spot, mouthed "friends". She reminded him of a certain someone. He threw the door open and barked at her. "Well, are you taking me to the hospital or not?"
He owed a woman a dance.
A few hours later, when Alastor arrived alone at the university with a healed foot, he clapped a hand on Jonathan's shoulder, and James slopped drink front of himself, shocked at Alastor's profile in the poor light. Jonathan, now a married man, introduced Alastor to his bride, a pretty little thing.
"Mrs. Jonathan Quincy." Alastor offered her his gnarled hand and ignored her hesitation as he turned back to Jonathan. "Teach me."
Jonathan, confused, hesitated. "Teach you what, Moody?
"Dance." Alastor couldn't find Lenore in the crowded place.
"Now?"
"Er, yeah. You got something better to do, Mr. Jonathan Quincy?"
"Nope. Let's go." Jonathan kissed his bride on the cheek and tossed her towards her bridal party.
Jonathan took him onto the makeshift dance floor and set his opened beer bottle on the steps. There were drunks and others milling around the place, making Alastor feel really uncomfortable, though he tried not to show it. Jonathan, counting to eight, showed him a few steps. When the young man took Alastor's hand, he wanted to call it quits. Guests and friends laughed good-naturedly.
"Won't your better half get jealous?" Alastor nodded at the bride, though she couldn't see him. Jonathan said he accepted a bet to dance with anyone and everyone who requested it on this wedding night. Alastor tightened his grip when Jonathan placed a hand on his waist. "This is strange, boy."
"It's all in good fun." Jonathan gestured at his cellist and the viola player. Chuckling, shaking his head, he called, "Where is my violinist? Mr. Moody and I are becoming fast friends."
Alastor followed his steps, though he was a shocking embarrassment next to him. "Is that what this is?"
"Mr. Quincy. Do you wish to have a violinist or a best man because you can't …" Lenore came out, and struggled to catch her breath when she spotted them. She carried two glasses of wine and downed them both.
"One of those was mine?" Seth pouted at her as he continued playing.
Someone took Lenore's empty glasses and went to fetch Seth another drink. Lenore said she'd wished she had a camera. Jonathan beckoned to her, lifting the hand he had on Alastor's waist. They switched places. Lenore fixed Alastor's stance, and he took her by the waist. Jonathan opened his drink, although Alastor told him to get another one.
"It's like walking down the street. Only different." Lenore took tentative step forwards. Alastor mirrored her badly. Jonathan howled with laughter when Alastor stepped on her foot with his clawed foot. Lenore recovered quickly and demonstrated with Jonathan before going back to him. "Ready?"
"No."
"Alastor, remember when you were learning to walk again?"
Lenore sighed when he nodded. They got through the first few steps without any further injures. After getting the basics down, pleasing a crowd of drunks, family, and friends, Alastor kept his magical eye on Jonathan. Jonathan, dancing with an imaginary woman, offered himself up as an example. Alastor mirrored him and dipped Lenore, keeping his normal eyes on her. Lenore, shouting out in surprise, enjoyed herself with awkward beginner.
"Mr. Jonathan Quincy. I'm pretty sure the good doctor just felt up his phantom girlfriend. Someone should alert the wife."
Alastor spun her around. Lenore, nodding, laughing madly, slowed down as Alastor rested his hands on her waist. When they started again, Alastor tapped her thigh, and she shook her finger at him playfully. He corrected his own stance and held her close as he turned her again. Jonathan turned to go back to get his wife, his empty bottle in his wand. When Alastor waved good night, Jonathan did a double take and tripped over his feet as he disappeared into the crowd of well-wishers.