Diagon Alley wasn't much is the Russian's opinion, a old-fashioned cobblestoned street lined with quaint buildings upon both sides of the street as the eye could see. The street was crowded that day, bodies pushing and sliding one another without pause like a rushing river as the so called 'Wizards' rushed about their daily business.
To be honest, the rouge was half tempted to just turn around, he wasn't suicidal enough to walk into such a crowd where anyone could put a knife in his back without anyone seeing, but his damn curiosity always did get the best of him. A whole civilization just hidden away by a beaten brick wall filled with scientific unknowns and all the answers to why in the Seven Hells they where stalking him...
Damn. If he didn't know better he'd claim the spy was purposely tempting him as there was no possibility of turning back with those thought drifting through his head.
So he did what he always did when face with a world of unknowns and unspoken doubts:
He took a breath, allowed a smirk to twist onto his lips and placed one foot in front of another, slipping slowly but surely into the crowd with a liquid grace.
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.
There was something nauseate familiar about the child these sheep people called savior. It was utterly ridiculous as he was quite certain he would recall anyone with eyes the same shade as Agent Nigel's especially if they where hidden behind such hideous wiry frames as the portrait indicated.
Still, there was something about that name: Harry Potter; that made something deep inside him ring with familiarity even though the rouge was quite certain he had never meet a person with such an unfortunate name
A very unfortunate name that would likely jinx the child as Harry, though not commonly thought about; meant to persistently carry out attacks on and Potter was just the English word for Putter; a golf club of all things. So the way the rouge saw it they either
A.) Wanted the poor Kit to be constantly attacked,
B.) Wanted him to be a Pro Golfer or
C.) They wanted him to be a Pro Golfer that was constantly attacked for whatever reason- The Russian wasn't quite sure which was worse when he took a moment to considered the options.
He knew that face.
The elder of the two could feel his fingers tighten ever so slightly around the corners of his book as he stared at the infant's photo.
He knew that face, he knew those eyes, he saw them everyday and not in his own mirror.
Father Above.
That Mad Russian of his had brought him a Savior.
It explained oh so much: The Floating water, the living animals, the appearing out of nowhere when he knew he left the Hatchling in a crib, the flying toys and bottles.
And most importantly: Why the Wizards where stalking his Arch Nemesis.
What if they suspected?
What if someone had seen Red take the Hatchling?
Did the Russian even know what he had gotten himself into?
A quick glance across the library table showed the rouge starring intensely at a portrait, his brow furrowed, lips pursed ever so slightly and lone golden eye narrowed in consideration.
Judging from that look alone, it was highly unlikely.
If there was one thing the British Spy had learned over the years it was:
Never Attack Red from behind.
The younger of the two had a kin sense of danger and naturally quick reflexes that made many senior spies jealous. It was a shame no one ever bothered to inform the Wizard waiting just outside of the Leaky Cauldron for them that.
Still credit was due where credit was owed, he hadn't even heard the peg legged man move and likely wouldn't have realized they where under attack if not for the rouge stopping for a brief second as he sniffed the air only to spin on heel as his hand lashed out.
For a moment all the spy could do was bring himself to stare at the Russian, arm outstretched as it stuck the air. For a millisecond he had completely believed the younger had finally lost those last precious few marbles he had left.
At least until a variously scarred man with a peg leg appeared out of nowhere, stumbling backwards which a cloak seeming to be made of moonlight hit the concrete. The man caught his balance quickly raising a stick- a wand identifying the man to be a Wizard- at the younger of the two without hesitation.
Unfortunately for him, Red hadn't lived this long by hesitating or being over confident. Before the wand was even halfway raised a throwing knife had slipped from the younger's sleeve into his waiting palm only to strike out; severing the wand into two clean part.
The man seemed frozen for a moment as the tip of his wand clattered against the ground, both his dark eyes seeming to widen ever so slightly. Red had no such issues as the blade struck out again, this time catching the man's face from his cheek, through his right eye and all the way to his hairline.
Deciding he had witnessed enough and that it wouldn't due for the younger to kill their source of integration, the elder grabbed the younger's wrist stopping the knife from cutting the man's throat.
"That's far enough Love. We still need him for integration. He can't talk if you slit his throat."
That golden eye narrowed at him as a scowl twisted onto the younger's face.
"He can write. "
"It'd be easier if he could talk."
For what seemed like hours but was only second, that lone eye had connected with his own: Hardened and stubborn like the man that owed it before flashing with annoyance as the younger relaxed ever so slightly.
"Brilliant!" The elder released he younger's wrist ignoring the look the smaller shoot him as emerald eyes came to focus on the man clutching at his right eye on the ground, "Now then, I believe we have some questions you can answer for us."
Alastor Moody had meet the Devil that day, of that the Auror was certain.
Laying in a Saint Mungo's bed, staring at the white sterile walls, with bandaged wrapped tightly around his head covering the now empty right eye socket. The eye had been unsalvageable, the tip of the Devil's knife having not only managing to cut his eye into two but also managing to sever the optic nerve in one fluid gesture.
If not for the emerald eyed man who had been walking with the Devil, Alastor was certain the Devil would have killed him without hesitation. Thankfully the Devil didn't get the opportunity to do so or he never would have been capable of speaking the code for his Portkey that saved him from the Emerald Eyed Man's questioning- if one could call it that.
Which was why he was here, staring at a wall while he carefully thought over his father's words.
"I warned you before Lad, " His father spoken from his bedside with a firm tone, "Constant Vigilance! Just because they don't use a wand doesn't make one defenseless. "
'Constant Vigilance.'
He had never taken his father's loud pariniod ranting about the issue seriously before but now...
After he had met the Devil, after he knew it walked with man as one of them, Alastor Moody decided it would be the prefect Life Motto for him to follow.
After all- the Auror allowed his mind to drift to the memory of that lone golden eye glowing in the dark street way as a stray cloud blocked out any light from the moon on that starless night- Who knew when the Devil was coming back.
But when he did, Alastor would be waiting for him.
