CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Fire Whiskey as Alastor Moody lifted his flagon to his lips and drank heavily turned down the volume on Mad-Eye Moody's thoughts. It brought to him memories of good times past, and he let himself dwell in them rather than think.
And at this moment, he was both here and not, existing in two moments. Somehow, it steadied the grizzled old Auror, gave him the resolve to go on.
Fire Whiskey was Moody's one vice in this world, and he intended to make a virtue of it, savor it, not a race to the bottom of his flagon.
When the liquid settled, he brought it to his weather-cracked lips and let the amber fluid sit in his mouth a while before swallowing that sweet, blessed sip of his precious whiskey.
Alastor closed his eyes, dwelling on only the flavor, blocking out everything else that was currently troubling his paranoid mind. Merlin's beard, it was good.
And then he opened his eyes and regarded the reason behind his visit, which was currently eyeing him with a small level of amusement and interest in those cobalt twinkling orbs behind his half-rimmed moon silver spectacles.
It could have been water in his silver flagon, but it wasn't. It wasn't and everyone bloody knew it.
Already the paranoias and worries of his day were beginning to fade, and that was even before he had taken the second swig of drink. Moody pursed his lips into a thin line as he regarded Professor Dumbledore, currently seated behind his desk.
The pair of them had Apparated back to Hogwarts, the enchantment temporarily lifted by Albus. McGonagall had headed back to Order headquarters to give an update. The man could think better in the confines of his own office, or so Dumbledore had claimed.
Moody cautiously regarded the Hogwarts Headmaster from the other side of his mahogany desk, the damned thing perfect in its slight imperfections, made more wonderful by the passage of time and the age in the wooden swirls of the desk's surface. Dumbledore patiently clasped his ringed fingers together, waiting.
Mad-Eye watched as Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and the light from the flames in the fireplace and the nearby candle that he had lit to provide warmth and light through his rather dimly-lit office illuminated the older wizard's tired, lined, and careworn face, the wrinkles boring deeply into his skin.
Albus's expression was one of frustration and fatigue. He had had enough. This man had stories to tell, and experience danced on his lips like a curious child.
And yet, Dumbledore stayed silent, those listless eyes just watching Moody, not telling, the firelight adorning his skin and bathing it in an amber-like hue.
"How in the bloody hell could Snape have let this happen? How could I have let this happen?" Alastor growled, hearing the crack, and warbling in his voice as he lifted his flagon to his lips again for another swig. "This is my fault."
"The fault is not of your making, Alastor," Dumbledore spoke up, his voice soft and reserved, though there was no mistaking the hardened edges of his voice. "We could not have anticipated that Miss Tonks would attempt to go off on her own, nor that Severus would make little to next to no effort to put a stop to it. Both parties are at fault in this regard, Alastor. You are not to blame here, Alastor. Miss Nymphadora should not have been so brazen in her efforts to want to take on Barty Crouch Jr. alone, and Severus should have made more of an attempt to dissuade her from going alone. It is they who are at fault in this regard, not you."
"But it might as well have been my fault, for I have as good as killed her tonight by not checking up on the girl more often. If she would have told me what she was planning, I could have stopped it," Moody growled, not bothering to hide the note of self-loathing in his tone. "The girl is my protégé, and had I known what she was attempting, the bloody fool, I would have forbidden her from it. Tonks did not think this thing through! Her actions have consequences, and now look what's happened, and it's my fault. I should have stopped her—"
"Do you really think that would have stopped her, Alastor? Somehow, I do not believe that it would have. Nymphadora Tonks possesses a stubborn streak, not unlike that of her mother's. It's in her blood, Alastor." Dumbledore challenged, though his tone was not accusatory. Merely curious. "Miss Tonks is an Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She, like everyone else inducted into the organization, knows the risk. She was agreeable to the dangers that are posed."
Moody said nothing in response, he merely proceeded to scowl in anger.
The Hogwarts Headmaster sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as he shoved his half-moon silver spectacles back in their proper place on his face where they belonged and regarded the old Auror quietly.
Moody pursed his lips into a thin line, and before he could open his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the arrival of one of the figures from the oil portraits behind Dumbledore's desk.
"Sir," began Armando Dippet nervously.
Dumbledore's cobalt blue eyes seemed to lighten slightly as the enchanted portrait behind him spoke up, and he slowly swiveled his head about to regard the portrait, a growing look of concern in his eyes.
"What of Miss Tonks, Professor?" Albus asked, his expression grim and his tone quite solemn. "Is there news, Armando?"
"Miss Nymphadora Tonks is in a private ward of St. Mungo's, sir, expenses covered by you, effectively relieving the financial burden from her parents, per your request, receiving the best possible care that the institute can provide for her, but…"
Former Hogwarts Headmaster Armando Dippet started nervously, and Moody furrowed his scarred and singed brows into a twisted frown as he could not help but notice that the former Headmaster had a nervous tic of weaving his fingers in between his knuckles, and he was actively avoiding Albus's eyes.
"Go on." At Dumbledore's urging, it was not exactly a request, and there was no mistaking the hardened edges of the older wizard's usually kind tones.
The oil painting of Headmaster Dippet frowned and let out a tired sounding sigh, twiddling his thumbs in a fit of agitation.
"Her condition is critical, sir. Miss Tonks has developed a high fever, though the Healers are working on bringing it down. But that is not where their concerns lay, Headmaster. It's the wound at her ribcage that is giving her the most trouble. Her Splinched arm has been mended, thanks to the essence of dittany, but whatever happened to her during her fall, her wand hand is damaged, sir. Nerve damage is what the Healers are inclined to believe. In time, she will recover, but not without pains and a great deal of rehabilitation on her part, Albus. But the wound in her ribcage is not responding to the usual treatments, for the wound keeps re-opening and bleeding, no matter the methods used, sir. I do not know if perhaps the blade the Death Eater that struck her with it was cursed with some form of Dark Magic, but there is every possibility that it was. And…"
Armando Dippet paused, sticking out his bottom lip in a slight pout, unsure if whether or not he should continue, though, after an unusually stern look from both Albus and Moody, the former Hogwarts Professor gave a reluctant little sigh.
"The tensions between the young witch's parents and the werewolf Remus Lupin are quite high, sir. The Healers are threatening to remove the young man from the premises, based on…accusations, sir. The woman's parents believe Mr. Lupin will ah...try to force himself on her and...please, I beg of you, do not make me say it. They will not let him into the room to see her, sir, and as a result, the man is not taking their refusal lightly. Shall I tell them you will be arriving on the morrow, sir?"
The portrait's figure visibly flinched.
"She has spoken of wishing to see Mr. Lupin several times in various states of delirium, sir. It's the fever speaking, but I do believe there is a part of Miss Tonks that truly wishes to see the man, deep down, though she knows it not. He did save her life, after all, Albus. I think that it would be good for her, sir. And for him."
"As do I," responded Albus quietly, stroking the ends of his long gray beard as he was contemplating the correct course of action. "Very well, Armando," he sighed, and Moody could detect the edges of the man's patience being tested. "Please return to St. Mungo's and inform Remus that I will be arriving in the morning and that he is to return to Grimmauld Place immediately. Tell him do not to engage further with Andromeda and Ted Tonks. He should sleep while he can and get some rest. Given what he's done here tonight, he's earned it. Pass along the same advice to Andromeda and Ted Tonks as well. They too could use the rest, as it has been a stressful night for all involved, though particularly for Miss Tonks. She needs rest, and the constant stress will only worsen her condition and exacerbate her injuries and will not aid her in her healing process whatsoever. I do not think Miss Tonks will be up for receiving any visitors until the morrow anyways, so best to leave her be for now."
Professor Dumbledore paused, seeming to need a moment to gather his thoughts as he twirled his wand in between his fingers. Armando dipped his head in acknowledgment of the Headmaster's message, and turned to go, but paused when he heard Albus call out. "Armando." Professor Dippet slowly turned.
"Sir?" The former Hogwarts Headmaster's tone was cautious and wary.
Albus turned back around slightly in his chair to regard Alastor, and Alastor could detect the faintest traces of rage in the Headmaster's rapidly reddening face.
Though when Professor Dumbledore raised his voice to ensure the painted figure of Armando Dippet heard him, Moody could detect no traces of anger in the old wizard's voice. "Please kindly inform Remus not to do anything rash until I arrive in the morning around ten o'clock, and all parties involved in this little dispute shall kindly still their rage and find it within themselves to behave as the responsible, mature adults I know them all to be, particularly Andromeda."
Armando hesitated. "And...what happens if they do not, sir?"
Dumbledore sighed. "If they do not… I shall know, Armando. And do take care as well in advising Mr. and Mrs. Tonks that should I find out that they have laid a hand upon Remus in anger or anything else of a volatile nature in retaliation against my decision to appoint the man as Miss Tonks's partner for the entire year, that they should be soon dealing with me, and they shan't like it, I am afraid, Armando," he said, and he reached for a quill and fidgeted with it. "My decision on this matter is final. Remus is Nymphadora's new partner, for a year, two years, perhaps indefinitely, for all I know. If they do not like it, they'll deal with me. All of them, Armando."
"Very good, sir." Armando murmured it under his breath and soon, the figure began walking through the other portraits, hands clasped behind his back and murmuring under his breath to himself, too faint for Moody to entirely make out what the former Hogwarts Headmaster was saying, though occasionally he caught a few choice grumblings such as, "The audacity. Would never have believed it. What the girl must think of her parents, a full-on brawl in the middle of the hallway, it's no wonder she doesn't speak to them and she's practically disowned them both," he growled, nodding his head to other painted figures.
Moody snorted and repressed the urge to roll his one good eye as he leaned back in his chair and waited until the portraits had quieted their grumbling to speak. "What of him? The bloody git escaped," he snarled through gritted teeth.
"Yes, I surmised as much," Dumbledore remarked, eyeing Moody's blackening eye over the rim of his spectacles. "What exactly happened, Alastor?"
Alastor heaved a sigh of frustration, raising his wand to his temple, closing his eyes, and extracting a silvery thread from his long mane of grizzled hair.
Professor Dumbledore procured a thin glass vial from an inner pocket of his gray robes and swiftly caught it as Moody hovered his wand over the vial's opening.
"See for yourself," Moody barked, well, moodily, and folded his arms across his chest, pursing his scarred lips into a thin, rigid line that almost vanished.
It did not take a genius like Dumbledore to see that the Auror was sulking.
His curiosity intrigued, Albus gave a wave of his hand and revealed the Pensieve hidden underneath a cabinet in his office, and waved his wand over the basin's silvery mist, and shot Moody a questioning look before looking into Alastor's memory of what transpired that could have led to Barty Crouch's escape.
"Do feel free to help yourself to some of the Lemon Snaps while you wait, though a word of caution, they do tend to snap at you," Professor Dumbledore kindly offered.
Moody merely grunted in response at the Headmaster's poorly timed bad quip, an ill attempt to lighten the tension, and Albus shook his head, not wanting to waste any more time on pleasantries.
Not when Miss Tonks's life hung in the balance, and perhaps there was a connection that Alastor might have missed.
Professor Dumbledore emanated a tense exhale through his nose and closed his eyes before submerging himself in the silvery shrouded mist that engulfed the bowl and curled up into the air as thin vapor wisps.
If Tonks were to survive this, then he needed to know everything about what had happened to her while being held captive by Bartemius Crouch's son.
What the man's motives were for her.
Why he wanted her. And so, Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and completely submerged in the silvery liquid, cool as it bathed his face, and allowed the Pensieve to look into Alastor Moody's mind, allowed the device to take him back to where it happened….
Though Moody would never dare admit this to anyone bloody else for as long as he drew in a breath, the cold look reflected on Barty Crouch Jr.'s face gave him the shudders and sent a chill of revulsion down his spine.
The younger man seemed to have no sense of humanity at all. His heart was made of crude stone, the way he had brutally tortured and attempted to rape his young protégé.
And he smelled of blood. Of danger.
Their captive, still being held firmly in place by the old oak tree's roots, had barely said more than two words to him.
Lupin had gone ahead in a manic frenzy, the fool, not wanting to wait until Moody had Crouch properly detained, a foolish act that caused the grizzled old Auror to shake his head in disbelief.
All of this over a girl he's not met yet…
There was no doubt in the aging Auror's mind however, that Remus would like Tonks. She was so radically different from any of the other Order members, and though Nymphadora was still quite young, she exuded a certain sort of wisdom that was well beyond her twenty-four years of age that was unlike anything he'd ever seen before in another human being.
Tonks was truly remarkable. Moody's thoughts on his young protégé were immediately interrupted as Crouch threw back his head, as much as the tree's trunk would allow him to rest his head against the gnarled bark, and he laughed.
"Shut. Up. You open your wretched mouth to speak again, and I'll engorge your tongue, Crouch, and watch you choke on it. I'll only be too glad to watch you die," Moody growled the command, whispering it through clenched teeth, his blood turning to ice in his veins as the man's laughter was cold and listless, and then another one of what could only be Tonks's screams in the distance rent the air, deep in the heart of the woods, and Moody visibly flinched.
Crouch quieted, though the occasional snort still left his lips, and perhaps against his better judgment, Moody felt his entire body stiffen and the old Auror asked the question that was burning on the tip of his tongue.
"What's so funny?" Mad-Eye growled.
It took Barty Crouch Jr. a moment to find his voice. "You go to all this effort just to subdue poor little me. But I have to disappoint you, Alastor, that it will not work. You think you've won. You haven't."
His words were cold and devoid of any emotion. Before Moody could angrily open his mouth to retort and tell the man to shut up again, he continued.
"Alice thought she could be rid of me. Well. She's wrong," he answered blasely, so casually, as though he were discussing the weather with Moody and skirting around the fact that he'd savagely tortured a young female Auror from the Ministry of Magic, near to the point of her death.
It was a moment before Crouch spoke again, and his sharp, angular head had turned to the side, and when he looked back towards Alastor's general direction again, Moody furrowed his scarred brows into a frown. Crouch was grinning.
"If only this one of yours knew your dirty little secret," Crouch breathed, his dark eyes glistening with unshed moisture that Moody knew was not tears. "That in your own way, Mad-Eye, you really do care for her, don't you? But you will not let yourself feel it. I wonder why that is, hmm? Why won't you? You should tell her. It's only a matter of time before you won't be able…"
Moody felt his temper swell at the dark wizard's poorly, thinly veiled threat and was about to retort when something in the Death Eater's voice gave the old Auror pause.
Crouch did not sound malicious, but rather…curious, wanting to know why he was. Alastor felt himself hesitate.
The scum of the earth was right, damn him. That it should have been simple to admit to his young protégé that, yes, there was a part of him that thought of Tonks like his own daughter, but this was as good as it was going to get for someone like him.
When the pressure of his days at the Auror Office was inside him, not like a tangled knot but more like a ticking time bomb, he needed to let it explode somewhere safe.
He needed to go somewhere where it couldn't do lasting damage, and that was why he had taken on Nymphadora Tonks during the girl's Auror Training.
And that was why Tonks had him. Whenever he needed to vent, she called him, and she knew what was coming.
It wasn't an exchange, not in the same session. He got to yell his lungs out as much as he wanted and be a vengeful crass wizard of fury, and she would sip her tankard of Butterbeer and nod in all the right places, content to listen to Moody's rantings until his piece was finished.
It would only be when Mad-Eye would pick up his own flagon of Fire Whiskey that Nymphadora would ask him if he were ready for her perspective, and if he were, he would keep drinking, otherwise, his shouting would begin again.
Her job was to tell Moody how she thought the other side likely felt or would react in the stories he as her mentor relayed to her, what fears and insecurities may have motivated them, tone down Mad-Eye's paranoia and his temper rather than egg the grizzled veteran Auror to that point of no return.
Then he could return to his office at the Ministry of Magic and talk things through.
Sometimes, Nymphadora was right, other times, she would be way off the mark and miss, but Moody couldn't very well talk to anyone else whenever he needed to vent like that. No one deserved that kind of treatment from him.
And Tonks was just the same. She would seek Mad-Eye out, he went, she vented, and he listened. Maybe that was why he liked the vibrant witch so much.
Alastor could not say for certain what his reasonings were, but it worked, whatever kind of fond relationship they had between the other. He did not gossip.
No one knew his secrets or Tonks's but for the two of them. Moody didn't know, sometimes he just felt like getting that rage out was the best thing he could do for himself.
Something Lupin needs to learn how to do, he thought darkly. For the younger man would have killed Crouch if not for her scream…
"I'll come for her again, you know. My sweet Alice. Lovely, succulent Alice. I'll come to her in the middle of the night. Perhaps sneak into her room at St. Mungo's. Steal another kiss. Take all of her next time. Make him watch. She'll love it," Crouch's taunting words spat more than spoken in an attempt to goad Moody into responding cut through his thoughts of the vibrant pink-haired young witch, and Moody blinked, startled back to reality. He let out a growl and ground his teeth, locking his jaw in rage.
Moody felt a hot fire-spark of anger ignite deep within the pit of his stomach, and the man's words, what he was implying he would do to Tonks chilled his insides.
"Shut. Up." He barked, shoving the tip of his wand at the pale column of the man's throat. "A word of advice, Barty. You really don't want to upset me right now. I did not consider myself a hero until you came after my protégé. But now it's war."
As if to prove his point, Mad-Eye dug the tip of his wand further into the man's throat. Crouch managed a muffled gasp but did not attempt to speak.
"You crossed the line tonight when you kidnapped Tonks, and I don't forget, boy," he snarled through clenched teeth. "I won't rest until you're beaten, and I don't mean just beaten down, Crouch. I mean dead. You escape, there won't be a place you can hide. I'll find you, destroy you, and you best pray it's me that finds you, because if it's him…" Here, Moody gave a curt jerk of his head towards the woods, at the spot where Remus had bolted, taking after the scream that pierced the woods, smirking at Crouch's rapidly paling face. "Then there won't be anything left of you to find. Your precious Death Eater scum will never even find what's left of you, boy. I don't care how it happens. I don't need you to suffer, kid. I just need your cold, black snake-like eyes extinguished from this earth. I can see it in your eyes. You think this an overreaction, but it isn't. You underestimate my relationship with Nymphadora. You're right. I do care for her. Don't think I'll play by the 'rules' either. I'm allowed to exterminate vermin like you that attacks young women," he snarled, spitting at Crouch's boots. "Which is why I'm going to enjoy this, boy, just wait…"
Moody lowered his wand slightly and pointed it at Crouch's chest, and that was when everything erupted into hell the moment Barty Crouch Jr.'s gaunt face erupted into a wide little grin.
He heard something whizz right past his scarred, half-missing ear, and Moody realized a fraction of a second too late that Crouch had used nonverbal magic to summon his wand back into his wand hand.
"Goddamn you—" he swore, and he did not even have a chance to react as his holler reverberated in his ears. And then it hit him like a block of ice that this was all a bloody trap.
Merlin's left saggy buttock! Son of a bi…he WANTED me to goad him so that I'd get angry. He wanted me to set him free so that I could kill him, so he could escape at the last second.
Moody did not know who he was angrier with at this moment: Crouch, for being so damned sneaky and the cunning little snake that he knew him to be had gotten one over on him, or himself for being so foolish and not realizing what had happened until it was already too late to stop.
"Bombarda!" Crouch bellowed, pointing his wand at the ground, at the tree root nearest his leg.
Moody's one good eye twitched behind the lid as the tree binding Crouch to the trunk exploded, one of the pieces of splintering wood hit poor Alastor square in his good eye, and no sooner than did the limbs that held Crouch hostage disintegrated, the world around the pair of them had become illuminated.
Crouch shouted something inaudible, and the fire that poured from the tip of his wand as he bolted back towards the front of his safe house, flashed into existence in a wash of red and yellow sparks, completely engulfing Moody.
The fire around the grizzled old Auror held its head up regally and proudly as its destruction spread while glowering at the surrounded man, daring Mad-Eye to challenge its awesome power. It ate everything in its path.
Yellow, red, and orange. The colors of autumn, yet this autumn caused so much damn destruction. This…this was not just fire.
It was Death. It was a giant wave, a firestorm, rolling in on itself, undulating like some grotesque creature hell-bent on the old Auror's murder. And it was hurtling towards him at a staggering speed.
Growling in frustration, Mad-Eye ground his teeth in anger and raised his wand.
"Augamenti!" A steady stream of water poured from the tip of his wand and as soon as the last flame was extinguished, coughing, winded, one hand clutching at his side as he wheezed and gasped for breath, he lifted his head, struggling not to inhale any more of the smoke into his lungs than he already had.
Coughing, a gnarled, scarred hand raised over his eyes to shield his eyes from the worst of the engulfing, thick plume of smoke that lingered in the air, the minute there came an opening in the smoke's wake, Moody was just in time to see Crouch raise his hand from a distance away and raise his hand and wave, though Barty Crouch Jr.'s face moved a little too slowly as if he were taking in the surroundings more than anything else.
And then he grinned.
As he did so, the temperature outside fell a little. Even in the dim light of the encroaching thunderstorm, the Auror saw the Death Eater's bared teeth. It was a Cheshire Cat grin of sorts, the kind that was so wide it was more as if he wanted to eat everyone rather than offer up a hello.
Mad-Eye Moody let out a yell that was so like a booming bark, and he knew the entire street of Muggles heard it, his scream of rage echoing between the tiny terraced brick houses on the other side of the street, creeping under the doors and squeezing through keyholes, traveling through the windows like they weren't even there.
Mad-Eye growled in frustration and shoved his wand in the pocket of his brown trench coat, clutching onto his walking stick tightly for support as he hobbled towards the general direction that Remus had sprinted off to in order to find Tonks.
"He escaped… goddamn it. Lupin's going to be ticked," he swore through gritted teeth as he continued clumping his way further into the woods, careful to mind his step to avoid tripping over fallen branches and gnarled tree roots. This was not the end of Crouch's kidnappings and murders, far from it.
It had only just begun.
Professor Dumbledore emanated a tense exhale as the Pensieve thrust him violently out of Alastor Moody's memory, less than an hour old at this point.
He pursed his lips into a thin line as he smoothed his set of gray robes and turned back to regard Alastor, the grizzled old Auror helping himself to a Lemon Snap, wincing as he plucked one out of the dish on Albus's desk, holding the fanged, snapping piece of candy between his thumb and forefinger.
"You're as bad as Hagrid. Why the bloody hell would I want to eat something that can bite my tongue off, you tell me that, Albus," Moody barked, and Albus stifled his smile as he came to recognize the comment was meant to be a minor insult at Albus's fondness of unique candies.
He made no comment as Alastor without another word popped the Lemon Snap into his mouth, and the moment the enchanted piece of candy made a squeak of protest bared its tiny little fangs and attempted to bite off Moody's bottom lip, Alastor let out a groan and bit down.
The noise from the Lemon Snap died instantly, and Moody pulled a face as he swallowed the candy, choosing to chase it with a swig of Fire Whiskey.
"You saw it, then," remarked Moody by way of greeting when Albus strode back behind his desk and sat down, a grim expression etched on his lined face.
Mad-Eye Moody did not need to elaborate on what 'it' was, in this case.
"I did. I am inclined to agree with your assumption that it would seem that Miss Tonks continues to remain in grave danger and will not be 'out of the woods,' so to speak until Mr. Crouch is captured," Dumbledore began solemnly.
Moody gave a silent nod, signaling he understood, though there was a look back in the forest clearing earlier, in Remus Lupin's eyes that he did not quite understand.
"Albus," he began gruffly, his voice brazen and gruff as he rose from his chair, wincing at the stiffness in his joints as he did so. Merlin's beard, but he was getting too old for this. Every one of his damned joints bloody well ached. "I'll lead a search team, see if we can't track Crouch's movements. If I know men like that scumbag, and I like to think that I do," Moody growled angrily, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he regarded Professor Dumbledore, who was observing the grizzled old Auror in somber silence, "he's going to want to come after her. Finish what he started, the slimy git," he insulted. "Tonks is in danger."
Professor Dumbledore nodded. "She is. Though I must admit, I feel much safer knowing that she has a good man like Remus by her side to help her during this difficult time. I do not think that, given I've had time to reflect on it, that Professor Snape was the suitable choice for her as a partner in the Order. No. I think these two will be…a much better match for each other, in time, I am inclined to believe, perhaps maybe more than that."
"What of Lupin, sir?" Moody asked as he hobbled towards the Phoenix statue which would escort him back downstairs. "Should he be informed, sir?"
Albus furrowed his gray brows into a frown, weighing the pros and cons of telling the much younger man of the fact that Crouch fully intended to come after Miss Tonks again.
For now, he was inclined to believe his hunch that the young witch would be safe in Remus's care back at the Order's headquarters.
"No. Speak nothing of our conversation here tonight to him, Alastor," he answered softly, at last.
The look of abject shock and horror must have been evident on Alastor's face, for Professor Dumbledore felt his beard twitch without prompting as the older man lifted his chin and jutted it out slightly defiantly, to better meet Moody's piercing gaze.
"I think that such information now would only upset the pair of them, and added stress, given the severe scope of her injuries and we don't know how long she will need to recover, is the last thing Miss Tonks needs at the moment, would you not say? And…correct me if I am wrong in this regard, though I must confess, I am almost never wrong when it comes to matters such as this, but…. Would you not say you saw something tonight, Alastor? I cannot quite explain it, though Remus does seem to care for her, in his own way, though I do not believe him to be aware of his own feelings, Alastor."
Mad-Eye snorted, his grip on his walking stick tightening. "That he is not," he grunted sardonically in response. "I think that you are right in that they will make good partners, but…you saw something else in his eyes, didn't you, Albus?"
Professor Dumbledore felt his beard instinctively give another twitch as the corners of his mouth turned upward in a half-little smirk, and one of his lids gave a little twitch as well.
Of course, he had seen something and had every right to suspect that his instincts would, in time, prove to him once again, that he was right, though he had no intention of letting anyone in the Order know of this.
Though he did know that Remus had spent entirely too much time alone, brooding, and lost in a vicious cycle of depression, melancholia, and self-hatred, of which all were entirely unwarranted behaviors, and what little he did know of Nymphadora Tonks was that she too, was something of a loner, regarded as an outcast at the Ministry of Magic's Auror Office for her unique appreciation for the Muggle world, given that her father, Ted, was Muggle-born.
She was smart. Incredibly smart to qualify as an Auror at such a young age, the youngest in the Ministry of Magic's history, to Albus's knowledge, and he considered himself a man who knew a great many things. Resilient, stronger than anyone gave her credit for, for he himself had never heard of a young witch climbing up an entire woodland ravine sans the use of magic with a Splinched arm, a stab wound in her ribcage, and a broken ankle.
Miss Tonks's strength was...truly remarkable, and unliked anything Albus had ever seen before.
Hopefully in time, just the companion that Remus John Lupin needed to find some small semblance of peace.
Though he could not very well alert anyone of his true intentions as to their newfound partnership, so Professor Dumbledore chose to offer Alastor a kind but knowing little smirk, an interesting gleam twinkling in his cobalt orbs.
"I can neither confirm nor deny the truth to that statement, Alastor," he said airily, dismissing the aging Auror's claim with a curt brush of his weathered hand.
Mad-Eye Moody's eyebrows shot so far up onto his lined forehead that they almost disappeared into his hairline, though he offered no follow-up comment or snide remark, for which Albus was grateful.
The Auror barely succeeded in hiding a yawn from him, and a quick glance at the clock on the mantle above the door told him it was now just past six o'clock in the morning. What a long bloody night. "Good night, Professor. Or morning, I guess I should say," he grumbled.
Dipping his head in acknowledgment, Mad-Eye Moody shoved his scarred hands into the pockets of his trench coat and stepped onto the stone platform behind the statue and Albus waited until the statue had effectively swiveled its way slowly down the stairwell and out of his office as it escorted Alastor out of his office.
The Hogwarts Headmaster heaved a heavy sigh and felt his shoulders slump and he rested his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in his hands.
What a long night indeed, he thought tiredly, feeling his eyelids start to droop out of sheer fatigue and exhaustion.
And it was going to be an even longer one for Miss Tonks…