Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.

Dark Days: Alastor Moody

            October 30, 1997. Alastor Moody cast his magical eye about, searching the room for anything amiss. Gray shadows mingled with glossy white images, showing everything contained in every shelf, cabinet, and chest in the room and beyond. He sighed with a sense of relief and plopped down on the narrow mat, pulling off his boot and massaging his sore foot. Grumbling quietly to himself, he then rubbed the flesh above his wooden leg, which had begun to swell painfully. Merlin's Beard, I'm getting too old for this.

He had just returned from a mission in downtown London, which had him walking the dark paved streets most of the night but not finding any actual quarry. After four exhausting hours, he received an owl from McGonagall to give up and return to headquarters. The Deatheaters were apparently no longer anywhere in the area.

A small scratching noise from the corner of the room caught his attention, and in a fluid motion Moody whirled around to face the attacker, his wand pointed at the sound. In front of him, the chest of drawers towered menacingly. He examined this with his magical eye, seeing a glowing ghost of a rat underneath the dark gray form of the chest. "Accio rat!" he hissed, and reached out his hand to catch the startled form as it zoomed toward him.

He held the rat up to the light and examined it with his good eye. He had not seen the rodent when he scanned the room: it must have snuck in while he was taking his boots off. It was gray and filthy; skinny and sickly. Eyeing the creature with contempt, he prodded it with his wand, giving off a small bit of blue-white light.

The rat blinked its shiny black eyes at him, more befuddled than ever. "Not an animagus, apparently. " he muttered to himself. He put both hands on the rodent and twisted it sharply, until a small crack was heard. He tossed the dead rat into the wastebasket, and went about removing his coat, knife, and utility belt. He changed into his pajamas, slipping his wand into the loops he had sewn on to the outside of the right thigh. He lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Sleep would come, he knew, before too long. Within an hour or two, his mind would stop whirling and he would dream fitfully of wide-open green fields and of better days.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

October 31, 1997. "A Halloween party?" Moody growled, pronouncing each word slowly, his voice dripping with disgust. He stared across the dinner table at Nymphadora Tonks, who glanced timidly away, a bit of lettuce lodged in between her two front teeth.

"Sure, why not?" she asked innocently, shrugging.

"I can make you a pretty impressive list of why not!" Moody exclaimed. "We're at war! Our missions are failing, our friends are dying, and our chances are fading. These are the darkest times we have ever faced, girl -- this is no time for celebration!"

Tonks paused, her fork halted in midair in front of her mouth. Her eyes darted nervously over the bit of salad, as if trying to decide whether or not to ingest it. "I think that's all the more reason for something… well, upbeat." She plunged the food into her mouth and began chewing vigorously.

Moody scowled. Child, what do you know? "I get it. A morale booster, right?" He could scarcely contain his outrage.

"Yeah, something like that," Tonks answered, smiling brightly as if he were convinced.

"Let me tell you something, rookie," Moody responded, putting a sarcastic twist on the last word. "In the face of You-Know-Who, when the Deatheaters are laughing their fool heads off at you, your precious morale isn't going to save you then!"

Tonks frowned, abandoning the idea. "No sense it having it, really; you'd only depress everyone all over again."

"Yeah, and maybe save all of their lives in the process!"

Moody reached into his robe and pulled out a small hunk of bread. He sniffed it cautiously and then bit off a chunk, chewing thoughtfully. They sat there, not saying a word but merely glaring at each other.

They were inside of a small room beside the main chamber of the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters. It had originally been an office of some sort during its Muggle Occupation, but had been made into a make shift dining room. A door, which had likely been torn off its hinges elsewhere in the old warehouse, was placed on thin legs and served as the dining table. It was crude and shabby, but effective for their limited purposes. Just like everything we have.

"When is Remus getting back?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Moody reined in the series of biting comments that came to his mind. Be civil; we're all in this together. In the past few weeks, he and Tonks had been spending a remarkable amount of time together: some unusual quirk in the mission schedule meant they were both at HQ at the same time, and often alone. Just a freak statistical coincidence. Unless… unless she's a servant of the Dark Lord, sent here to pester me unto… no, not likely. "Lupin is out on assignment, just like everyone else. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, or when he will be back," he said, for the umpteenth time. It seemed like every time he got on her nerves, or in fact when anything seemed to bug her, she would start asking about Lupin.

Tonks made a dissatisfied face. She, like many others, seemed to of think him a "senior member" of the Order, somehow privy to the plans of McGonagall. In truth, this was far from true; he knew that their leader saw him as half-insane and paranoid, almost to the point of being useless. As a consequence, he often found himself on seemingly endless errands that were far-removed from the true action. He had not seen any real action since he had happened upon Potter and Snape at Hogwarts.

For that matter, he knew that Tonks had not been in the heat of things in some time herself. With that fact, it suddenly dawned on him why he saw so much of the young auror; McGonagall did not trust either of their abilities. They were here to baby-sit the other.

Crap.

"All the same, I wish he would get back soon," Tonks said, her voice thick with genuine sentiment.

"Tonks," Moody pronounced, surprising her by speaking at all. "I don't mean to bring anybody down. It's just that tonight isn't a good time."

"What do you mean?"

"It's Halloween night; there's evil abound," he said quietly.

"Superstition," Tonks replied dismissively.

"Maybe so, but it was on this night, sixteen years ago, that the Dark Lord wandered into the Potter home and killed a couple of our best wizards," Moody pointed out, ending her haughty attitude at once. "In fact, he's shown a real liking for this day over the years, and I think this year might not be any different. I can certainly agree that the Order's running pretty ragged, and maybe a celebration is called for. But, girl, tonight is no time to relax."

Tonks looked about ready to say something when they heard a knock at the front door. In truth, the entrance to the old warehouse was far-removed from their location, but they had enchanted the front door so that any knock would reverberate throughout the building.

"I'll get it," Tonks said, shooting out of her seat and out the door.
            "Be careful!" Moody called after her, without thinking about it. "Remember: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He was not certain, but he thought he heard feminine laughter echoing down the hallways. Foolish girl.

Moody cocked his magical eye in the direction she had gone. With a bit of mental organization, he had learned to interpret the various shadows in his sight into form and depth; he now focused his attention on seeing the front door. When they had set up shop in this warehouse, McGonagall had insisted on charming the door so that his eye could not pierce it. This limited his abilities, it was true, but it also kept unwanted wizards from peering in.

He watched as a white glossy form in the shape of Tonks arrived at the door, peered out through the enchanted peephole (there were no actual holes in the door, also for security purposes), and then swung the door open. He growled lowly; he was constantly reminding Tonks to be more careful about whom she admitted, to obtain the password first.

Gauging by the white shapes, he was fairly certain that it was Lupin and Hestia Jones that came through. Behind them came an unfamiliar skinny form. Moody growled again; he was not fond of newcomers in their secret headquarters.

Within a couple of minutes, the four of them had made it back to the makeshift dining room. Lupin, Tonks and Jones came striding in, carrying a few shopping bags. "Hey there, Alastor. Tonight, we've got a guest," Lupin announced.

"Who is he?" Moody growled.

"I'm Seamus. Seamus Finnigan. I was a student at Hogwarts, and a friend of Harry's," the thin boy responded in a thick Irish accent.

            "Oh, a friend of the Golden Boy's, are you?" Moody snapped, turning angry eyes to Lupin and Jones. "Then I guess you're to be trusted. Because we all know that the Dark Lord's never turned anyone against us before!"

            Finnigan was taken aback; he looked back at Moody with a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

            "He's been cleared by McGonagall," Lupin stated defiantly.

            Well, then I guess he MUST be trustworthy. "Fine then," Moody grumbled. "But know this; I'm watching you, boy."

            "Get off his case, Moody," Tonks said angrily. "He's had a rough couple of days."

            "What's the matter with you, boy?" Moody addressed Finnigan.

            "I just returned from me home, in Ireland," the boy answered, his voice unsteady. "My village was attacked, and almost everyone was killed. I escaped with me Mam. We… didn't know where to go."

            Moody felt his anger melt away. "I'm sorry to hear that, son," he said, as softly as he could manage.

            Finnigan nodded and continued. "We went to Hogwarts, and McGonagall sent me here. I've missed too much school this year to just be put back in classes, so I may go back next year to finish up and graduate. For the meantime, I guess we've both joined the Order."

            "Any enemy of the Dark Lord is welcome among us," Moody stated, earning appreciative looks from Lupin and Tonks. But until you prove that's what you are, I will be watching you.

            "Anyway, we're supposed to cook up a little bit of a feast tonight," Jones interjected, holding the shopping bags a little higher. "Nothing big, just a little better than we've been having around here. The rest of the group should be showing up soon."

            "Hmmm… sort of a party? A little morale booster of sorts?" Tonks asked, eyeing Moody triumphantly.

            "Something like that," Lupin agreed. "Minerva's idea."

            "It's a good one," Tonks said, punching Moody gently in the shoulder.

            Great. Get everyone together in one place at one time – makes it easier on our enemies.

            Indeed, in the next half hour the old warehouse went from nearly vacant to teeming with activity. Mundungus Fletcher and Emmeline Vance showed up from patrol duty at St. Mungo's. Arthur Weasley showed up with three of his five remaining sons; the rascal twins and Bill. Igor Karkaroff and Viktor Krum came in with a few other Bulgarians. Sturgis Podmore and Potter appeared a little while later, having been sweeping through the Black Manor.  

            "Seamus!" Potter called, delighted. On his shoulder sat Dumbledore's Phoenix, Fawkes, looking rather comfortable.

            Odd. I've never heard of a wizard taking another's familiar.

            "Harry, it's good to see you," Finnigan answered.

            "What brings you here?" Potter asked.

            Finnigan's face fell. "They came and attacked my village. They killed everyone."

            Potter's face softened with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that."

            "I see… you've gotten a Phoenix," Finnigan said in a brighter tone, likely trying to steer the conversation away from death and suffering.

            "Yeah, it's Fawkes," Harry said quietly. "It was Dumbledore's."

            "Oh."  

Everyone joined in for the dinner preparations. They made a huge baked ham, mashed potatoes dyed orange, stuffing, refried beans, and a punch bowl of pudding for dessert.

            "Whew!" Tonks exclaimed, wiping the perspiration off of her forehead. "We could really use a house-elf for this sort of work."

            "LOOK NO FURTHER!" squeaked a small voice from below. "Here I is!"

            Moody, along with the other members of the Order, looked down to see Dobby standing on the ground, smiling broadly.

            "What is you needing, Tonks?" the amiable house-elf chimed in.

            "Er, could you set the table, for maybe… twenty five people?" she asked hesitantly.

            Dobby snapped his fingers, and the table was magically set for twenty-five in the middle of the large gathering room.

            "Man, making dinner is a lot easier when you're around," Tonks observed.

            Dobby beamed.

            Within minutes, dinner was served. Moody, who had just dined on his supply, declined any further (untested) sustenance. He was content to look on as the hungry members of the Order gorged themselves.

            "Hey," Fletcher said suddenly, looking all about the crowded dining room in confusion. "Where's McGonagall?"

            Moody whirled his magical eye about, sweeping through out the warehouse. He had become rather accustomed to doing a security scan of the building, and could accomplish it by then in remarkably little time. "Not here yet," he answered.

            "Hmmm, she's late," Fletcher observed, and dove back into his ham.

            The exchange did not go unnoticed by the rest of the table. "You don't think something's… wrong, do you?" Tonks asked.

            The rest of the dining room fell silent, turning to face Moody. I'm almost sure of it. "I guess there's no reason to assume that," he said slowly.

            As if to answer his question, the fireplace on the wall suddenly ignited in bright flames. McGonagall's head appeared inside of it, her face drawn with worry. "I need everyone's attention, immediately!" she declared.

            Moody and several others got to their feet and rushed to the side of the fireplace.

            "What is it, Minerva?" Lupin asked.

            "I have received an urgent owl from Fudge; the Ministry is under attack!" McGonagall's head answered. "The note says that the Deatheaters are attacking in force. It's the largest gathering of their kind we've ever seen."

            "So… this is it, then?" Lupin asked, running his hand through his thin hair. "The final battle?"

            "It appears so," McGonagall answered. "We have little time to talk. I will go and lock down the school shortly, and then join you there. Make sure that you are all prepared for battle, but do not act until I arrive."

            "Minerva-"

            "Can it, Potter; wait until I get there," She repeated, and then disappeared into the flames.

            Moody, Lupin and Potter got to their feet slowly, the eyes of the entire room on them. "Alright folks, you heard the lady. This is it," Lupin declared. "This is the Final Battle. Minerva will be joining us shortly, and we will defend the Ministry of Magic. I'm giving everyone five minutes to prepare themselves, and then we await Minerva together. No one moves without her word, is that clear?" Lupin aimed his last comment, over his shoulder, but it was not clear whether he was addressing Moody, Potter, or both.

            "As you say," Moody muttered.

            "Perfectly clear," Potter replied.

            "Good, Dobby, would you be so kind as to clear the table for us?"

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            October 31, 1997. They Apparated into an unused store room deep underground. Powerful spells cloaked the Ministry to present such magical access, but apparently they had suspended the field in a highly secret place or two, to allow for emergency access. And this certainly qualifies as an emergency. The room was almost pitch black, and completely empty save for an old, broken desk in the corner.

            "Alastor, are we alone?" McGonagall whispered.

            Moody looked around, shifting gray shapes about in his head. "Yeah, looks that way. I'd say we have a couple hundred yards to ourselves."

            "Okay, then," McGonagall said, her voice louder. She cast a small lighting spell, illuminating the room. "We're going to divide into teams of four or so, with one leader in each group.. Seamus, you're with the twins and Krum, led by Lupin. Arthur, you're in charge of Bill, Angela Finnigan, and Mundungus Fletcher. Karkaroff and Podmore, go ahead and join Vance and Jones. Hestia, you're the leader for your group. Tonks, Potter and Moody are with me. Is that everyone?"

            "Yep," Lupin informed her.

            "May I express my objection to being separated from Viktor?" Karkaroff spoke up.

            "As a matter of fact, you may not," McGonagall replied curtly. "I can't tell you what to expect out there, so at this point we're just going to arrive and respond. If I or any of the other leaders throw up orange sparks, we all bug out and convene at headquarters. Clear?"

            "Clear!" Lupin, Arthur Weasley and Jones responded in unison.

            "Okay, good. Lupin, take your troops and set up a position on the periphery. Your job will mainly be surveillance; you're the eyes for the group."

            Moody grunted. This was the job for one man, not a team of four. It was clear that Lupin's job was not surveillance at all, but merely the preservation of the youngest members.

            "As you command," Lupin said, bowing.

            "Alright, go on then. Outside this door and to the left, you'll find an air shaft which ought to lead you to the top of the building under which the Ministry hides," McGonagall instructed. She held the door open and ushered them out.

            "I don't think I need to tell the rest of you what that was all about; I'll be damned if I'm going to let the youngest members of our group endanger themselves unnecessarily," she went on. Moody was not the only one glancing at Potter after this announcement. "Arthur, Hestia: your teams will be struggling against the bulk of the Deatheater assault. Take this passage to the right until it ends at a staircase. You'll find that it takes you into the heart of the Ministry. I don't know what you'll find when you emerge, so do be careful."

            Jones and Weasley lead their teams out the door and vanished down the corridor. "Which leaves the four of us," McGonagall said heavily. "We have two objectives. We will engage the bulk of the battle only as we need to. We must first try to find and secure Fudge. Thereafter, we will be… attempting to nullify their most powerful weapon."

            Moody was startled at her words; she had just as much as told them that they were out to kill the Dark Lord. Three pairs of eyes turned to Potter, who stared stonily back.

            "Moody, give me a hand with this," she said, crossing the room to the desk. Between them, they slid the desk away from the wall to reveal a large fireplace. She lit a fire inside, and produced a bag of Floo powder, which she held up for all to see. "We will be going directly into the office next to Fudge's. I don't need to tell you that we may find our deaths on the other side, but I'm hoping it will be vacant. Either way, we will be plunged into action soon upon our arrival. We have no time to delay, but I want to make one thing clear first. Harry, it is not your job to kill The Dark Lord."

            Potter looked surprised, but nodded. Moody recognized the gesture; he had given it often enough himself, as a youth trying to placate adults. Atta Boy.

            "Okay, I'll go first," she said, distributing handfuls of powder. "Moody, you're next and then Tonks. Tonks, be sure to give us a full two minutes before you come through in case we need to push the desk out of the way to make room."

            A minute later, Moody and McGonagall were throwing their combined weight into the side of the desk in the secretary's office. They slid it away from the wall and stepped into the empty office. In the distance, they could hear a battle raging, but they still seemed to be on the outside of it.

            "So far, so good," McGonagall said. "Say, Moody. I know that… well, things sometimes happen in a battle that one doesn't expect. If I, um, am taken, I leave you in charge of signaling the retreat."

            Moody's face brightened a bit; pleased to be given some real responsibility. "You can count on me," he reassured her gruffly.

            A few seconds later, they pulled Tonks and then Potter (who still had the Phoenix on his shoulder) through the fireplace. "Okay, team," McGonagall said breathlessly. "Follow me." She opened the front door of the office and stepped out. Moody followed with the other two into the abandoned hallway. They stole quietly across the carpeted floors, watching carefully in every direction.

            "Something's wrong," McGonagall murmured to Potter as the group reached the door to Fudge's office.

            "What's that?" he whispered back.

            "There are all kinds of spells protecting this office; alarms ought to be going off all over the place," Moody informed him.

            McGonagall found the door slightly ajar, and with a surge of bravery shouldered her way into it.

            "So, what you're saying is that someone's already been here?" Potter guessed.

            "Yep," Moody said, stepping into the office. "Well, I guess we've done our first job – we've found Fudge."

            He may not have been secure, but he certainly was not going anywhere. Beside his charred and mangled corpse was an unmistakable green bowler hat.

            "Well, I wish it were not so, but I must say I'm not surprised," McGonagall stated. "Very well, then. Into the fire."

            She led them quickly back out the door, and they broke into a run down the hallway. Within minutes they arrived at large fountain room in the heart of the Ministry. The statues, which had been replaced following the battle between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord over a year ago, had been crushed anew. Under the broken pieces of these, Ministry wizards were taking cover and aiming spells upwards.

            The four of them looked upward to see the London Night sky. Several levels of building had been torn through, and a gaping hole larger than most houses gave a window to the outside. Deatheaters were zooming about on brooms, exchanging fire with Aurors and soldiers on every level of the Ministry. Up on the surface was the main knot of enemies, a group of roughly forty, sniping downwards. Behind them, immense figures ravaged about, tearing large chunks out of the building.

            "Giants!" Tonks exclaimed.

            "What is he playing at?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Giants? In the muggle streets of London? I can't see how we'll hide our existence now!"

            "I guess You-Know-Who isn't worrying about that anymore," Tonks remarked.

            "Fawkes," Potter said quietly. Moody looked over to see that the Boy-Who-Lived was addressing his familiar. "If you have any tears to spare for our soldiers, I'm sure they could use your healing." With that, he flung the bird out to find their wounded comrades.

            Moody saw a pair of Deatheaters on brooms swoop in their directions, wands at the ready. "Get down!" he shouted, shoving Tonks and McGonagall behind a nearby concrete column. Potter dropped to the ground and rolled afterward, sending a flash of green light up at them as he did so. One of the Deatheaters fell off his broom, falling several floors before landing in the middle of the fountain.

            "Avada Kedavra!" Moody declared, shooting at the other. The Deatheater managed to swerve violently at the last second and avoided the spell. He appeared to lose his balance, caroming wildly about for a second. Potter brought him down before he recovered.

            "Nice spell work," Moody muttered, impressed.

            Potter did not respond, except to growl "Where's Voldemort?"

            "Don't worry, son, you'll get your date with destiny," Moody said. "There's plenty here for us to deal with even without going after him just yet."

            "Harry, I told you-" McGonagall started.

            "Can it, Minerva," Potter breathed. "We all know what this is going to come down to."

            McGonagall scowled. "All the same, I wish you would let me do my job, and kill Lord Voldemort."

            Potter shook his head violently. "That won't do."

            "INCOMING!" Tonks shrieked.

            Moody took his eyes away from the escalating argument between McGonagall and Potter and looked out to see that a giant had leapt from the surface, several hundred feet above, and landed heavily in the middle of the fountain. Cracks spider-webbed out on the floor from where he had landed, but he seemed unhurt.

            "Oh, crap," Moody breathed.

            Potter leaned around the corner of the column, and fired off a stunner at the giant, hitting it in the side of its head.

            The giant appeared as if it had taken a heavy blow, wobbling a little on its feet. Them it turned and started charging at them.

            "All together now!" McGonagall shouted, and all four of them let out stunners that coalesced on the beast, which flopped over on its back, unconscious.

            "We've got to get up there," Potter said, pointing up at the surface. "That's where Voldemort will be."

            "Harry, leave the Dark Lord to me!" McGonagall insisted.

            "Okay, you can have him," Potter said shrugging. "That is, if you get there first!" With that, he dashed out from behind the column and started firing green bolts at an incoming formation of Deatheaters on brooms. He took three of them out before he even reached the safety of the next column over. The other five in formation swerved away to avoid them, and Moody, McGonagall, and Tonks contributed to the attack, dropping three more of them. The last two turned upward in retreat. Potter knocked another off of his broom as they escaped.

            I've never seen shooting like that before.

            "Potter, where are you going?" McGonagall exclaimed. Potter had raced out into the open and pulled a broom out of the fountain, after untangling it from the legs of its Deatheater. He mounted the broom and lifted off, still firing at Deatheaters. "Come on, we've got to follow him!"

            But as soon as these words escaped her lips, two more Giants landed solidly in the middle of their floor. Moody and the two witches pressed back against the column, and between them and the Ministry wizards on the level, they managed to bring them behemoths down.

            "Broomsticks, quickly!" McGonagall ordered, taking a step into the open.

            Moody laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. "Come on, Minerva; that's a trick for the youngins," he observed. That, and the exceptionally foolish. "We'd never make it to the surface that way. Let's go see if any of the elevators are operational."

            She did not seem pleased by it, but followed him back under the stone awning. They worked their way around the periphery until they came to an elevator. Just as they arrived, though, the door opened up and four Deatheaters emerged. Moody and the witches dodged behind another column. Moody reached into his belt and pulled out a small vial, which he hurled into the interior of the elevator. A resounding explosion sent flames roaring fifteen feet outside of the lift, and the bodies of the Deatheaters were flung away in peaces.

            "Maybe the next lift?" Tonks suggested, observing the smoldering wreckage.

            The next lift they reached was already ruined, the doors opened wide, and the cables snapped. The third lift they came to seemed operational, and with a sense of trepidation they boarded it, and rode up to the top, the last level before the surface.

            From that level, they had a much closer view of the battle. The throng of Deatheaters on top had thinned considerably, many of them on broomsticks or fighting on the levels below. There were still three Giants up top, tearing up whatever they could find, from muggle cars to pieces of the building, and hurling it down at the Ministry wizards.

            "Over there!" Tonks exclaimed, pointing directly across the level. Arthur Weasley could be seen peering out from behind a corner, firing red spells at the enemy. Behind him three more shapes aided his effort. They seemed to be concentrating their attack on the Giants, sending up blasts of energy four at a time.

            "Where is he?" McGonagall exclaimed, slapping her hand against the wall in frustration.

            "Who? Potter or the Dark Lord?" Moody asked.

            "Either!"

            "I don't see them," Moody answered, his jaw dropping in astonishment It can't be. "But I do see a dragon." He pointed skyward, far above the battle.

            "Merlin's beard!" McGonagall breathed.

            Indeed, a Common Welsh Green was swooping down on the scene. On the back of the beast, they could barely make out the figure of a rider, wand out, casting spells at the Deatheaters.

            "He's on our side!" Tonks said.

            This appeared to be the case, as the dragon flew in low, letting out a giant stream of fire into the thick of the opposing forces. It was traveling at a great speed, and collided powerfully with one of the Giants. The head of the Giant came off neatly in the claws of the green beast.

            "Bitchin'!"

            Moody spun around to see that they were not alone; The Weasley twins had appeared on the level, with Krum and Finnigan in tow.
            "What are you doing here?" McGonagall shouted, irate. "Where's Lupin?"

            "That's a fine question," one of the twins said.

            "Could be anywhere by now," the other echoed.

            "We gave him the slip," the first continued.

            "Right after we got here," the other finished.

            "There was no way we were getting cut out of the fight," Finnigan interjected.

            "Yah, ve vant to fight, too," Krum intoned.

            "I gave you strict orders!" McGonagall protested.

            "So you did," the second twin agreed.

            "But we belong here. They killed our brother, and our mother, as you might remember," the first twin said, all trace of merriment gone from his voice.

            "Very well. Just do me a favor, and make sure you survive," McGonagall said through gritted teeth.

            "No problem," Finnigan reassured her.

            "Less talking, more fighting!" Moody exclaimed. The seven of them took up positions of relative security, and began firing spells at the Deatheaters around them. The arrival of the dragon seemed to be working well in their favor; the remaining Giants had been slain, and the main group of Deatheaters scattered.

            "Stupefy!" Finnigan shouted, knocking a stray Deatheater off of his broom. The rider fell a couple of a hundred feet before landing on the floor in a disgusting heap. "At this point, we might as well be using the Killing Curse!'

            "I think… I think we're winning!" Tonks exclaimed, almost bubbly with joy.

            "Don't get ahead of yourself, girlie. The enemy can still kill you just when you think you've attained victory," Moody warned. "Constant Vigiliance!"

            "Over there, attack!" McGonagall called, gesturing to two formations of flying Deatheaters who were attempting to engage the dragon.

            The group turned their attention to the defense of the dragon, though she hardly seemed to need it. Stunning spells ricocheted off of her thick hide, barely seeming to affect her.

            "Well, fair play to Harry!" one of the twins shouted, pointing above them.

            Moody turned to see Potter, still riding his broom, appear from somewhere on the surface. He knifed through the air in a high-speed twisting motion, evading a bevy of spells aimed at him. He continued to press the attack, dropping Deatheaters every few seconds. Moody paused in his own attack, marveling at the prowess of the young man. Incredible!

            Tonks had apparently been right. One of the Deatheaters still on the surface raised his wand, and sent a shower of green sparks across the surface and cascading into the Ministry itself. All around them, the Deatheaters winked out in small flashes of white. Surrender! Moody attempted to count how many Deatheaters had survived this attack, but could not.

            "It seems that the Anti-Apparation field has fallen," McGonagall observed.

            Moody watched the scene with a sense of immense relief; the battle was over. He kept his eyes on Harry, who had flown around behind the Deatheater that had sent the retreat signal. A green bolt flew from Harry's wand, laying the other man low.

            "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

            Moody turned just in time to see McGonagall topple over beside him. He returned fire immediately, bringing down the Deatheater lurking in the shadows. Blast! How did I let him sneak up on us! He cast his magical eye about, doing a thorough sweep of the area a few seconds too late. The perimeter seemed secure; no more Deatheaters lay in wait.

            But the damage was done; Minerva McGonagall, leader of the Order of the Phoenix and Headmaster of Hogwarts, was dead.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            November 1, 1997. Moody poked his head into the room cautiously. Potter and Arthur Weasley sat on the ground, grim expressions on their faces. Between them lay the corpse of Percy Weasley. Dark Days these are. "Potter," he interrupted as quietly as he could.

            "What is it, Moody?"

            "Where is Fawkes?" Moody asked. If he's lost that bird…

            "I, er, sent him to be with Ginny. Right after the fight," Harry answered, sniffling. "I wanted to be sure she was safe."

            Arthur Weasley, whose head had been hanging, now turned his eyes toward Potter. His look was a mix of suspicion and appreciation. "You-you love my daughter, don't you?"

            Potter breathed in heavily, and looked the man in his eyes. "Yes sir, I do."

            "Thank you," Weasley replied simply.

            Moody decided that this situation needed no more of his attention. He shut the door to the room quietly and turned back into the heart of the compound. He quickly located Lupin and Tonks, who were attending to the injury of Jones, and reading the riot act to the Twins and Finnigan.

            "Don't ever pull that sort of stunt again!" Lupin commanded, his voice soft but severe. The McGonagall way. "We're lucky you both weren't killed."

            "Yes sir," the twins said in unison. At any other time, they likely would have argued; but the Death hung heavily in the air as well as in everyone's thoughts.

            "Owowow!" Jones exclaimed. She had received a nasty burn on her right shoulder, and Tonks (whose attention had wavered slightly) had just pulled the bandage too tightly on top of it.

            "Oh, sorry," Tonks said, turning a little red.

"Lupin, may I have a word?" Moody asked.

Lupin looked at him for a moment, then glanced at the twins. "Sure." They left the other five wizards and wandered into an empty corner of the large meeting room. "What is it, Alastor?"

"Do you have any idea who that dragon rider was?" Moody asked quietly.

Lupin shook his head. The dragon and its mysterious rider had disappeared just as quickly as they had arrived. The Order had not had enough time to say "thank you", much less obtain the identity of the rider. "No, no idea. But it's a good thing he turned up," Lupin observed. "Otherwise our victory might have been turned into grim defeat."

"Victory?" Moody asked, incredulous. "What do you mean?"

Lupin looked taken a little aback. "Well, we won, didn't we? We survived!"

Poor, stupid man. "I suppose, that if the goal of the Deatheaters had been the elimination of all resistance, then we kept them from it," Moody growled. "I think they were after something else though; namely the destruction of the Ministry. Yesterday, we were soldiers of the state, fighting to save the land from the Dark Lord. Now, there is no state to serve. Now, we're just rebels to be mopped up at his leisure. We thought this was it, the final battle. But it wasn't. I hate to say it, Lupin old boy, but we lost the battle tonight, because they accomplished exactly what they wanted to."