Chapter Two
Potions and conversations
When we arrived at the cottage, which was chilly and had been vacant for some time, I realized that Harry had passed out during transit. With a few waves of my wand, I had a fire lit in the hearth and fresh linens on the bed, which was tucked away in a very defensible corner of the large open room that also included a small parlor-like space near the hearth and an adequately sized kitchen. The bath was near at hand as well.
I lifted Harry again, extracting a rattling sigh from him, and gently deposited him on the bed before pulling up a chair. I reached under the bed and pulled out a medical kit that I kept stashed there. One could never be too prepared. I had needed it myself more than a few times over the years. I rummaged through the box, looking for something that I could give him for his fever and something to take care of those bruises. Of course, I realized, he would need something for the pain and any possible internal injuries as well. I wasn't in the mood for taking chances, though I suspected that his wounds were only skin deep.
I frowned immediately when I began to skim the warning label on the Fever-reducing potion.
"Do not use with the following other medicinal substances," it said, before listing everything from dreamless sleep potions to bruise remedies to stomach tonics to simple healing potions. Swearing quietly, I returned the potion to the kit and rubbed my face with both hands. I could still take away all of the nasty bruises, but using the fever remedy was out of the question. That bit would have to be done the old-fashioned muggle way.
With a sigh I removed a jar filled with a lime green substance and labeled 'Bruise Remedy' from the box of supplies. A pungent, although not entirely unpleasant aroma wafted from the container as it was opened. It reminded me of a combination of spices, one of which I felt certain was rosemary, and white gardenia after a summer shower, but much stronger. Many of the things in the kit smelled far worse; I knew that from experience.
After tossing the ragged blanket aside and making a mental note to dispose of it later, I carefully unbuttoned Potter's over large nightshirt, which hid many of the colorful marks that his relatives had given him. I wasn't certain who was to blame for them, although I very strongly suspected that it was the head of the Dursley household. I had not liked the look of that man, and he seemed most capable of brutality, though his wife seemed as though she was not above hitting the young man with a rolling pin or something if she were in a foul mood.
"Merlin's beard! Where to even begin!" I thought to myself, sitting down on the edge of the bed to begin my work and dipping my fingers into the cool and gooey medicinal substance.
His skin radiated a disconcerting amount of heat as I rubbed the greenish balm into his skin where it was bruised. The ugly marks shrank and disappeared within minutes. It was almost as though they had never been. The varying shades of older and newer bruises gave way to the pale color of his skin. It was in some small way quite satisfying to see them vanish. If only there weren't so many of them.
But I also fought to keep my anger in check as I massaged the bruises away, but it wasn't easy. Potter, if I remembered correctly, was nearly fifteen years old. Had he endured this sort of treatment since the death of his parents? Had anyone known? Had anyone cared?
The jar was almost as empty as I began applying the potion to the last of the visible marks, a bit of purple near Potter's navel. He moaned weakly in protest and spasmed sharply away from my touch.
I wiped my slightly sticky and gooey hands on my trousers and tried to hush him, sounding awkward and fumbling even in my own ears.
"There, there, lad. I'm only making the bruises go away. Nothing to worry about," I said in a softer growl than usual.
If only my vocal cords hadn't been so damaged, I might have been better able to console the boy. But it was the best that I could manage. And besides, learning how to comfort people had not been included in Auror training, and I had failed to pick up the skill on my own along the way.
"Are you really you?" he asked me feverishly. His eyelids seemed heavy.
"Yes, I am," I said with a bit of a smile. "Professor Dumbledore sent me to check on you. I didn't like what I found, so I brought you here," I explained slowly and carefully.
"Can I have something to drink? Please?" questioned Harry, growing at least marginally more lucid. He sucked his dry lower lip. I was willing to bet that he had had precious little to drink in days. Very dangerous, especially with that fever.
"Of course, lad," I nodded, reaching for my hip flask, which was the nearest thing at hand.
Then I paused, looked at the flask, which I counted among my most personal possessions as it was very nearly poison proof and a gift from my late father, and then I looked at Harry.
"He doesn't have anything he could slip in here, does he?" I thought to myself. "Of course not. He doesn't have any pockets or anywhere else to hide anything," I decided, and what were the chances of it being something that the silver flask couldn't magically counter? Rather slim, but still ...
"Check his mouth," I thought quickly, anxiously. After my recent lapse in vigilance, it was hard not to give into the paranoiac impulses and reflexes that I developed over the years. They had served me well as an Auror, but no so much since I had given the occupation up.
"Don't badger the boy," I thought as I argued silently with myself.
I finally, after that moment of hesitation, handed the flask to Potter and slipped an arm behind him to sit him up. Fear flashed through Potter's very expressive eyes and his hands were shaking as he raised the flask hesitantly to his lips.
"That's a good lad," I said as he slowly sipped from the silver container. He was smart enough not to gulp. Or else cautious.
"It's water," said Harry in mild surprise.
I chuckled softly and asked, "You didn't think I walked around at all hours of the day, on duty and off, dulling my wits and slowing my reaction time with spirits, now did you, Potter?"
"I never gave it very much thought," he answered, returning the flask.
I could not resist taking a cautious sniff of it before replacing the cap and tucking it away again. Old habits, unfortunately, die very hard.
"Potter," I said to him, reclining him back against the rather firm pillow, "you have a very high fever right now, and I can't give you a potion for it, but we must get that fever down."
"All right," he said, sounding rather lethargic. I could hardly blame him.
"We have to do this the muggle way," I explain, leaving my spot on the edge of the bed. Potter looked at me blankly. I don't think he understood. "A lukewarm bath," I told him. Maybe I imagined the nervous look in his eyes. "It's got to be done or you'll cook from the inside out," I said to him.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"I'm going to run you a bath," I growled. "Stay put while I'm gone," I instructed him, sounding perhaps a bit too severe. He only nodded mutely and closed his eyes.
The stone floor of the bath was magically heated, making the room a few degrees warmer than the main room of the cottage. I could feel the warmth through the soles of the thin muggle shoes I was wearing as I started filling the old tub. The sound of the water rattling through the aging pipes before spilling into the basin was rather soothing. And my nerves needed it.
Albus had given me instructions to make sure that Potter was doing all right. The end result of carrying out those instructions was that I had an ill young wizard lying in the other room. I had few doubts that I could do the simple things here: get his fever down, provide the medical attention that he needed, and keep him safely hidden away from Voldemort at least for the moment. But from what I had been told about the end of his school year, including the death of his classmate Cedric Diggory, and what I had seen myself of his summer, Potter was going to need more than just a soak in a tub and some potions to set him right again. Was I really qualified to handle such matters?
When I returned to the other room, Potter appeared to be sleeping. I sat down on the edge of the bed and shook him gently awake. His eyes looked bleary behind his glasses as he opened them.
"Don't be afraid," I told him as he shied away from me.
"It isn't because you're ... It's because I'm ... You wouldn't understand," said Harry quietly.
"Wouldn't I?" I laughed softly. I thought I knew what he meant by that: not because I'm me, but because he was not feeling like himself. "Never mind that. Move at your own pace, but we don't have all evening," I advised, holding out my arm to him. I knew he wouldn't be able to walk to the bath without a little assistance. He didn't look strong enough.
"Thank you, sir," he mumbled before accepting my help.
When we entered the bathroom, I noticed Potter glancing from the clawed feet of the antiquated tub to the claw at the end of my wooden leg. I wondered what he, feverish and very unsteady on his feet, was thinking.
"Can you undress and get into the tub without any help?" I questioned.
"I think so," said Potter. A flush of scarlet crept into his pale cheeks as he took his eyes of the tub and look up at me.
"Well, you won't need to worry about passing out and drowning," I informed him, tapping my wooden leg against the basin, "as I have charmed the tub to prevent anyone from drowning in it. If my enemies want to drown me, then they'll just have to bring their own damn tub." It was one of the many safety features of the cottage, most of which I had put into place myself over the course of the years. Though the fixture was quite old, I was rather proud of the impressive array of charms that had been placed on it.
"Thank you," said Harry awkwardly as I let go of him to be sure that he could stand unassisted for a few moments. I think he might have given me an odd look most likely concerning the tub.
"Do you want me to stay or would you rather have some time to yourself?" I asked him as he swayed slightly.
Harry hung his head for a moment and answered, "Some time, sir, if you don't mind."
"Of course not," I said with a firm nod. I had expected that answer, but being an admittedly poor judge of how other people felt, I thought that I should ask him. "Call out if you need anything or if the water gets too cold for you," I said before clumping out of the bath and closing the door. I left it ever-so-slightly ajar so that I could hear him if he yelled for me.
I walked over to the hearth and the conjured fire that I had lit earlier. It was time to get in touch with Dumbledore. I knew what I wanted to do about the situation, other than slowly and mercilessly torture the people who were responsible for Potter's condition. I wanted either to send him to Albus, who could protect him in any eventuality, or keep him there with me at the cottage, which was rather formidably defended, not to mention secluded. I tossed a handful of powder in the fire and took a deep breath.
"Albus Dumbledore," I said in a very low voice, the one that my colleagues had often referred to as a growl.
Some minutes later the headmaster's head appeared in the flames.
"Alastor, what can I do for you?" he asked cheerfully enough, and maybe that cheerfulness was what set my temper off again.
"If anyone but you had sent that boy to live with those people, I swear on everything holy I would blast them into tomorrow," I hissed.
"Calm down, Alastor, and explain what has happened. Is Harry all right?" questioned Dumbledore with concern in his eyes. Belated concern, in my opinion.
"No thanks to those idiot muggles. I'm ... I'm in the process of patching him up," I said, rubbing my thumb across the dent in my nose and struggling to put a lid on my flaring temper.
"Good. Should I have Poppy come ..."
"No, I don't think so. I've managed to take care of the bruises. I just have to get his fever down and give him a healing potion for good measure."
"Thank you, Alastor. It means a lot to me that you're taking care of the situation. How long are you willing to look after him?"
"Until school starts, I suppose, though if he could stay with you he might be safer ..." I hinted. There were few places in the wizarding world so safe as that school, especially with Albus Dumbledore there.
"Impossible, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore.
I nodded that I understood, which, of course, I didn't, before asking him, "How could you send him to a place like that, Albus? I have to ask or the question will drive me mad."
"I thought he would be safe there, Alastor, safe from Voldemort and his followers."
"There are other dangers in the world," I reminded him.
"Yes," he conceded.
"I don't know if he would have lived through this summer. He was ill ... and I can tell that no one was looking after the lad," I winced as soon as I had spoken. The hitch in my voice had given me away. I knew what had caused it. The boy in question was the son of my former protégé, my favorite young Auror-in-training and his wife who worked for the Department of Mysteries. Old memories from another time.
"He has someone to look after him now, it seems," said Dumbledore with a muted chuckle in his voice and a twinkle is those blasted blue eyes of his.
I knew what he was saying, what was hidden in those softly spoken words. I had lost my parents, who were both Aurors, to Grindelwald when I was in my final year of school at Hogwarts. Just two months away from entering the training program at the Ministry. Just two months away from joining them in the fight. And my old transfigurations' professor had thought that I had no one to look out for me after that. Luckily, I had not been in his house. The old man would probably have tried to give me lemon drops or some nonsense. Instead he just looked at me, and the other Slytherin orphans in his classes, with quiet, unyielding pity, which was something we got none of from our own head of house.
Albus was saying that I now had a young orphan in my charge. Someone with whom I could easily empathize. And truth be told, he was saying a lot more than that in light of recent events.
"Don't you dare bring my past into this. I closed those books years ago, Albus. This is now. And that boy is not ..."
"Yes?" questioned Dumbledore.
"I lost my parents. But I was lucky. I was old enough to take care of myself. Harry is nothing like I was."
"That was hardly what I meant."
I looked away for a moment and said, "Then you were referring to my ... enforced sabbatical in the trunk." My tone sounded more bitter than I had intended it to, but considering the circumstances, I could hardly be blamed for that. Could I?
"Alastor, through all the years that we have known each other, have I ever given you cause to believe that I am not your friend?"
"Of course not," I said, feeling rush of embarrassment
"Then simply know that I am concerned ... about you and now about Harry. And for this moment, let us leave it at that," said Dumbledore softly.
The old professor had been trying for weeks to get me to talk about what had happened during my captivity. I explained to him quite truthfully that it was all irrelevant. But Albus persisted, very gently and very determinedly, but nevertheless he had been quite persistent. I had come very close to telling my longtime friend and former professor that I was much too old to need someone to hold my hand. Only my profound respect for Dumbledore as a wizard had made me hold my notoriously sharp tongue.
"I will owl the Weasleys that Harry is with you," said Dumbledore after an uncomfortable pause. We were both strong-willed old men, and nothing could be done about that.
"You won't tell them where I am, will you? Arthur and Molly are good people, have helped me out on more than one occasion, but loose lips sink ships and there are a lot of lips in that family," I said anxiously.
"I won't tell them, but they will want to see Harry," warned Dumbledore.
"I'll see what I can do."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: With any luck I'll have another chapter up before I go on vacation.
jasmine Black: I've never read a story with Moody as the main character either. Thank you for reviewing!
Lady FoxFire: Thank you!
spacecatdet: Just trying something different. Thanks for the review!
Blue Butterfly: Thanks for reviewing!
Mad Ant: Thank you for reviewing!
Bette: It is difficult to explain things that aren't obvious (like why Harry has had such a rough summer) from the first-person perspective I've chosen. Moody, like the readers, has to find things out. Unlike Dumbledore, he isn't quite all-knowing, though I imagine him as being quite intelligent. And I do try to be canon-consistent. I didn't mind the slightly critical review at all (how does anyone improve their writing without some criticism?). Thank you very much for both of your reviews!
kateydidnt: Thanks for reviewing!
Chanzo654: I've read a lot of fics with Snape, Sirius, and/or Remus as the rescuer too. Thank you for the review!
barbarataku: I never said that I needed ideas. (Perhaps more confidence, never ideas.) Almost everyone asks for reviews. Many people request not to be flamed (in a humorous manner or otherwise). I almost never write anything as a WIP (like this is). I usually have the ending either on paper or at least worked out in my head. I hoped by posting this, it would help me to work through a few difficult points and minor writer's block. So far, it's working all right. Thank you for reviewing!
Catspook: Thanks for the review!
Minerva of Tortall: *blushes* Thank you!
Redone: The muggle authorities? *blinks* No, I don't think anyone has done that. Thank you for reviewing!
Potions and conversations
When we arrived at the cottage, which was chilly and had been vacant for some time, I realized that Harry had passed out during transit. With a few waves of my wand, I had a fire lit in the hearth and fresh linens on the bed, which was tucked away in a very defensible corner of the large open room that also included a small parlor-like space near the hearth and an adequately sized kitchen. The bath was near at hand as well.
I lifted Harry again, extracting a rattling sigh from him, and gently deposited him on the bed before pulling up a chair. I reached under the bed and pulled out a medical kit that I kept stashed there. One could never be too prepared. I had needed it myself more than a few times over the years. I rummaged through the box, looking for something that I could give him for his fever and something to take care of those bruises. Of course, I realized, he would need something for the pain and any possible internal injuries as well. I wasn't in the mood for taking chances, though I suspected that his wounds were only skin deep.
I frowned immediately when I began to skim the warning label on the Fever-reducing potion.
"Do not use with the following other medicinal substances," it said, before listing everything from dreamless sleep potions to bruise remedies to stomach tonics to simple healing potions. Swearing quietly, I returned the potion to the kit and rubbed my face with both hands. I could still take away all of the nasty bruises, but using the fever remedy was out of the question. That bit would have to be done the old-fashioned muggle way.
With a sigh I removed a jar filled with a lime green substance and labeled 'Bruise Remedy' from the box of supplies. A pungent, although not entirely unpleasant aroma wafted from the container as it was opened. It reminded me of a combination of spices, one of which I felt certain was rosemary, and white gardenia after a summer shower, but much stronger. Many of the things in the kit smelled far worse; I knew that from experience.
After tossing the ragged blanket aside and making a mental note to dispose of it later, I carefully unbuttoned Potter's over large nightshirt, which hid many of the colorful marks that his relatives had given him. I wasn't certain who was to blame for them, although I very strongly suspected that it was the head of the Dursley household. I had not liked the look of that man, and he seemed most capable of brutality, though his wife seemed as though she was not above hitting the young man with a rolling pin or something if she were in a foul mood.
"Merlin's beard! Where to even begin!" I thought to myself, sitting down on the edge of the bed to begin my work and dipping my fingers into the cool and gooey medicinal substance.
His skin radiated a disconcerting amount of heat as I rubbed the greenish balm into his skin where it was bruised. The ugly marks shrank and disappeared within minutes. It was almost as though they had never been. The varying shades of older and newer bruises gave way to the pale color of his skin. It was in some small way quite satisfying to see them vanish. If only there weren't so many of them.
But I also fought to keep my anger in check as I massaged the bruises away, but it wasn't easy. Potter, if I remembered correctly, was nearly fifteen years old. Had he endured this sort of treatment since the death of his parents? Had anyone known? Had anyone cared?
The jar was almost as empty as I began applying the potion to the last of the visible marks, a bit of purple near Potter's navel. He moaned weakly in protest and spasmed sharply away from my touch.
I wiped my slightly sticky and gooey hands on my trousers and tried to hush him, sounding awkward and fumbling even in my own ears.
"There, there, lad. I'm only making the bruises go away. Nothing to worry about," I said in a softer growl than usual.
If only my vocal cords hadn't been so damaged, I might have been better able to console the boy. But it was the best that I could manage. And besides, learning how to comfort people had not been included in Auror training, and I had failed to pick up the skill on my own along the way.
"Are you really you?" he asked me feverishly. His eyelids seemed heavy.
"Yes, I am," I said with a bit of a smile. "Professor Dumbledore sent me to check on you. I didn't like what I found, so I brought you here," I explained slowly and carefully.
"Can I have something to drink? Please?" questioned Harry, growing at least marginally more lucid. He sucked his dry lower lip. I was willing to bet that he had had precious little to drink in days. Very dangerous, especially with that fever.
"Of course, lad," I nodded, reaching for my hip flask, which was the nearest thing at hand.
Then I paused, looked at the flask, which I counted among my most personal possessions as it was very nearly poison proof and a gift from my late father, and then I looked at Harry.
"He doesn't have anything he could slip in here, does he?" I thought to myself. "Of course not. He doesn't have any pockets or anywhere else to hide anything," I decided, and what were the chances of it being something that the silver flask couldn't magically counter? Rather slim, but still ...
"Check his mouth," I thought quickly, anxiously. After my recent lapse in vigilance, it was hard not to give into the paranoiac impulses and reflexes that I developed over the years. They had served me well as an Auror, but no so much since I had given the occupation up.
"Don't badger the boy," I thought as I argued silently with myself.
I finally, after that moment of hesitation, handed the flask to Potter and slipped an arm behind him to sit him up. Fear flashed through Potter's very expressive eyes and his hands were shaking as he raised the flask hesitantly to his lips.
"That's a good lad," I said as he slowly sipped from the silver container. He was smart enough not to gulp. Or else cautious.
"It's water," said Harry in mild surprise.
I chuckled softly and asked, "You didn't think I walked around at all hours of the day, on duty and off, dulling my wits and slowing my reaction time with spirits, now did you, Potter?"
"I never gave it very much thought," he answered, returning the flask.
I could not resist taking a cautious sniff of it before replacing the cap and tucking it away again. Old habits, unfortunately, die very hard.
"Potter," I said to him, reclining him back against the rather firm pillow, "you have a very high fever right now, and I can't give you a potion for it, but we must get that fever down."
"All right," he said, sounding rather lethargic. I could hardly blame him.
"We have to do this the muggle way," I explain, leaving my spot on the edge of the bed. Potter looked at me blankly. I don't think he understood. "A lukewarm bath," I told him. Maybe I imagined the nervous look in his eyes. "It's got to be done or you'll cook from the inside out," I said to him.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"I'm going to run you a bath," I growled. "Stay put while I'm gone," I instructed him, sounding perhaps a bit too severe. He only nodded mutely and closed his eyes.
The stone floor of the bath was magically heated, making the room a few degrees warmer than the main room of the cottage. I could feel the warmth through the soles of the thin muggle shoes I was wearing as I started filling the old tub. The sound of the water rattling through the aging pipes before spilling into the basin was rather soothing. And my nerves needed it.
Albus had given me instructions to make sure that Potter was doing all right. The end result of carrying out those instructions was that I had an ill young wizard lying in the other room. I had few doubts that I could do the simple things here: get his fever down, provide the medical attention that he needed, and keep him safely hidden away from Voldemort at least for the moment. But from what I had been told about the end of his school year, including the death of his classmate Cedric Diggory, and what I had seen myself of his summer, Potter was going to need more than just a soak in a tub and some potions to set him right again. Was I really qualified to handle such matters?
When I returned to the other room, Potter appeared to be sleeping. I sat down on the edge of the bed and shook him gently awake. His eyes looked bleary behind his glasses as he opened them.
"Don't be afraid," I told him as he shied away from me.
"It isn't because you're ... It's because I'm ... You wouldn't understand," said Harry quietly.
"Wouldn't I?" I laughed softly. I thought I knew what he meant by that: not because I'm me, but because he was not feeling like himself. "Never mind that. Move at your own pace, but we don't have all evening," I advised, holding out my arm to him. I knew he wouldn't be able to walk to the bath without a little assistance. He didn't look strong enough.
"Thank you, sir," he mumbled before accepting my help.
When we entered the bathroom, I noticed Potter glancing from the clawed feet of the antiquated tub to the claw at the end of my wooden leg. I wondered what he, feverish and very unsteady on his feet, was thinking.
"Can you undress and get into the tub without any help?" I questioned.
"I think so," said Potter. A flush of scarlet crept into his pale cheeks as he took his eyes of the tub and look up at me.
"Well, you won't need to worry about passing out and drowning," I informed him, tapping my wooden leg against the basin, "as I have charmed the tub to prevent anyone from drowning in it. If my enemies want to drown me, then they'll just have to bring their own damn tub." It was one of the many safety features of the cottage, most of which I had put into place myself over the course of the years. Though the fixture was quite old, I was rather proud of the impressive array of charms that had been placed on it.
"Thank you," said Harry awkwardly as I let go of him to be sure that he could stand unassisted for a few moments. I think he might have given me an odd look most likely concerning the tub.
"Do you want me to stay or would you rather have some time to yourself?" I asked him as he swayed slightly.
Harry hung his head for a moment and answered, "Some time, sir, if you don't mind."
"Of course not," I said with a firm nod. I had expected that answer, but being an admittedly poor judge of how other people felt, I thought that I should ask him. "Call out if you need anything or if the water gets too cold for you," I said before clumping out of the bath and closing the door. I left it ever-so-slightly ajar so that I could hear him if he yelled for me.
I walked over to the hearth and the conjured fire that I had lit earlier. It was time to get in touch with Dumbledore. I knew what I wanted to do about the situation, other than slowly and mercilessly torture the people who were responsible for Potter's condition. I wanted either to send him to Albus, who could protect him in any eventuality, or keep him there with me at the cottage, which was rather formidably defended, not to mention secluded. I tossed a handful of powder in the fire and took a deep breath.
"Albus Dumbledore," I said in a very low voice, the one that my colleagues had often referred to as a growl.
Some minutes later the headmaster's head appeared in the flames.
"Alastor, what can I do for you?" he asked cheerfully enough, and maybe that cheerfulness was what set my temper off again.
"If anyone but you had sent that boy to live with those people, I swear on everything holy I would blast them into tomorrow," I hissed.
"Calm down, Alastor, and explain what has happened. Is Harry all right?" questioned Dumbledore with concern in his eyes. Belated concern, in my opinion.
"No thanks to those idiot muggles. I'm ... I'm in the process of patching him up," I said, rubbing my thumb across the dent in my nose and struggling to put a lid on my flaring temper.
"Good. Should I have Poppy come ..."
"No, I don't think so. I've managed to take care of the bruises. I just have to get his fever down and give him a healing potion for good measure."
"Thank you, Alastor. It means a lot to me that you're taking care of the situation. How long are you willing to look after him?"
"Until school starts, I suppose, though if he could stay with you he might be safer ..." I hinted. There were few places in the wizarding world so safe as that school, especially with Albus Dumbledore there.
"Impossible, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore.
I nodded that I understood, which, of course, I didn't, before asking him, "How could you send him to a place like that, Albus? I have to ask or the question will drive me mad."
"I thought he would be safe there, Alastor, safe from Voldemort and his followers."
"There are other dangers in the world," I reminded him.
"Yes," he conceded.
"I don't know if he would have lived through this summer. He was ill ... and I can tell that no one was looking after the lad," I winced as soon as I had spoken. The hitch in my voice had given me away. I knew what had caused it. The boy in question was the son of my former protégé, my favorite young Auror-in-training and his wife who worked for the Department of Mysteries. Old memories from another time.
"He has someone to look after him now, it seems," said Dumbledore with a muted chuckle in his voice and a twinkle is those blasted blue eyes of his.
I knew what he was saying, what was hidden in those softly spoken words. I had lost my parents, who were both Aurors, to Grindelwald when I was in my final year of school at Hogwarts. Just two months away from entering the training program at the Ministry. Just two months away from joining them in the fight. And my old transfigurations' professor had thought that I had no one to look out for me after that. Luckily, I had not been in his house. The old man would probably have tried to give me lemon drops or some nonsense. Instead he just looked at me, and the other Slytherin orphans in his classes, with quiet, unyielding pity, which was something we got none of from our own head of house.
Albus was saying that I now had a young orphan in my charge. Someone with whom I could easily empathize. And truth be told, he was saying a lot more than that in light of recent events.
"Don't you dare bring my past into this. I closed those books years ago, Albus. This is now. And that boy is not ..."
"Yes?" questioned Dumbledore.
"I lost my parents. But I was lucky. I was old enough to take care of myself. Harry is nothing like I was."
"That was hardly what I meant."
I looked away for a moment and said, "Then you were referring to my ... enforced sabbatical in the trunk." My tone sounded more bitter than I had intended it to, but considering the circumstances, I could hardly be blamed for that. Could I?
"Alastor, through all the years that we have known each other, have I ever given you cause to believe that I am not your friend?"
"Of course not," I said, feeling rush of embarrassment
"Then simply know that I am concerned ... about you and now about Harry. And for this moment, let us leave it at that," said Dumbledore softly.
The old professor had been trying for weeks to get me to talk about what had happened during my captivity. I explained to him quite truthfully that it was all irrelevant. But Albus persisted, very gently and very determinedly, but nevertheless he had been quite persistent. I had come very close to telling my longtime friend and former professor that I was much too old to need someone to hold my hand. Only my profound respect for Dumbledore as a wizard had made me hold my notoriously sharp tongue.
"I will owl the Weasleys that Harry is with you," said Dumbledore after an uncomfortable pause. We were both strong-willed old men, and nothing could be done about that.
"You won't tell them where I am, will you? Arthur and Molly are good people, have helped me out on more than one occasion, but loose lips sink ships and there are a lot of lips in that family," I said anxiously.
"I won't tell them, but they will want to see Harry," warned Dumbledore.
"I'll see what I can do."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: With any luck I'll have another chapter up before I go on vacation.
jasmine Black: I've never read a story with Moody as the main character either. Thank you for reviewing!
Lady FoxFire: Thank you!
spacecatdet: Just trying something different. Thanks for the review!
Blue Butterfly: Thanks for reviewing!
Mad Ant: Thank you for reviewing!
Bette: It is difficult to explain things that aren't obvious (like why Harry has had such a rough summer) from the first-person perspective I've chosen. Moody, like the readers, has to find things out. Unlike Dumbledore, he isn't quite all-knowing, though I imagine him as being quite intelligent. And I do try to be canon-consistent. I didn't mind the slightly critical review at all (how does anyone improve their writing without some criticism?). Thank you very much for both of your reviews!
kateydidnt: Thanks for reviewing!
Chanzo654: I've read a lot of fics with Snape, Sirius, and/or Remus as the rescuer too. Thank you for the review!
barbarataku: I never said that I needed ideas. (Perhaps more confidence, never ideas.) Almost everyone asks for reviews. Many people request not to be flamed (in a humorous manner or otherwise). I almost never write anything as a WIP (like this is). I usually have the ending either on paper or at least worked out in my head. I hoped by posting this, it would help me to work through a few difficult points and minor writer's block. So far, it's working all right. Thank you for reviewing!
Catspook: Thanks for the review!
Minerva of Tortall: *blushes* Thank you!
Redone: The muggle authorities? *blinks* No, I don't think anyone has done that. Thank you for reviewing!