Chapter Five
Memory
It was a warm and beautiful day in the spring of 1978 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was among the first Aurors sent in to protect the school from potential attack by Voldemort and his followers. The Dark Lord was becoming even bolder, and the previous term had included attacks on Hogsmeade and on the families of many of the muggle-born students. This year was proving to be just as terrible, but both Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic were determined to keep the students safe while they could. The headmaster, I was told, had requested me by name. I couldn't quite decide if it was because of my reputation or because he remembered me from the Grindelwald era conflict and as a student.
My first duty at the school, one that I took upon myself with relish, was to test the wards that surrounded the castle and its grounds. Most of my colleagues were setting up dark detectors while I made my way out to the perimeter. Testing wards was a relatively simple procedure that I had performed many times, but never at a place with wards so complex and intricate as Hogwarts. It would have helped if I had realized just how sophisticated and how strong they were before I drew my wand and started the testing.
As I had begun the procedure there was a sudden and unexpected crackling, followed by an intense burning sensation that swept through my wand arm and the rest of my body, enveloping me like an unquenchable fire. I had cried out without realizing it at the time. But then the burning had stopped and I found myself lying on the ground. The scent of smoke, singed flesh, and strong magic filled my nostrils. The pain was mind-numbing.
Then an unfamiliar face appeared above me.
"Are you all right, Mister Moody?" asked the stranger, whom I recognized as a professor whose name I could not remember from the introductions that morning. He was very young, perhaps twenty-five years old and spoke with a slight accent. There was a look of concern on his sun-browned face. His dark hair, which was shorter than that of most wizards, framed his face rather neatly.
"I was testing the wards," I told him, shuddering with a sudden spasm of pain. My voice sounded different, more throaty and growl-like than usual. I touched my throat gingerly with my uninjured hand. I found it suddenly quite painful to speak.
"Testing the wards? You should never do that! It is dangerous. Didn't anyone warn you?" he asked.
"Part of the job," I muttered with a soft, involuntary cough. There was the sudden taste of something warm, metallic, and very unpleasant in my mouth. Blood?
"Are you hurt?" he asked me.
"Who are you?" I questioned, suddenly becoming suspicious as the younger wizard knelt on the grass and began examining me with steady and cautiously probing hands. I wasn't aware until then that my robes were smoldering slightly.
"Anastasio Sinistra. I'm the astronomy professor," he replied with a friendly, but worried smile. "Mister Moody, you have been severely burned. I am going to conjure a stretcher and take you to the hospital wing," Anastasio told me in a firm voice. The expression on his angular face was an anxious one. The smile had faded, but I didn't know why.
I flexed the fingertips of my wand hand and felt a jolt of intense pain. But even then, I also noticed that my wand was gone. It wasn't in my hand anymore. I had lost it.
"My wand ..." I said, feeling a rising sensation of extreme panic. What was an Auror without his wand? What was a knight without his sword?
"I have it," Anastasio assured me before lifting me off the ground with a simple spell and onto the stretcher he had conjured.
I had been surprised. My own astronomy professor from my school days had been the next best thing to a squib, hardly better than a muggle at real magic, though an expert in his own only slightly magical field. This Professor Sinistra seemed to be at least competent.
I had stared up at Anastasio for the duration of our journey. His face was stony and difficult to read. My stomach had lurched when it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn't being taken to the hospital wing after all, but rather to a waiting band of Dark Wizards who had somehow orchestrated the incident. I struggled to leave the stretcher, to get away.
Anastasio had halted and gripped me firmly by the shoulders, pushing me down and hushing me almost automatically in an unfamiliar language. I didn't have the strength to fight back. The agonizing pain in my hand and arm was the worst I had ever known. It was worse than the Cruciatus curse. I couldn't fight the pain. A year or so later when I had lost my leg or even my eye, the pain had not been nearly so intense.
"I do not wish to stun you, but you must be still," he said in English. His tone was cold and clear. There could be no argument.
I had no choice but to give up and close my eyes. The stretcher started moving again, toward the castle and then through its cool and shadowy halls. But I wasn't sure what was happening.
Then there was something soft beneath me. I had left the stretcher and wasn't moving anymore. I opened my eyes to find myself in the rear ward of hospital wing, safe and sound, but still experiencing some confusion and very much in pain.
"Madam! Madam Pomfrey!" yelled the accented voice of the man who had brought me to the infirmary.
"Get those robes and his shirt off while I contact Professor Krohn. We are going to need strong stuff to save that hand," I heard Poppy Pomfrey say in her unmistakable, firm, no-nonsense tones.
I think I had blacked out for a moment. The sound of a privacy screen being drawn snapped me out of it.
"Sustollo vestitus!" said Sinistra in a commanding tone.
I cried out sharply in pain as my robes and other outer clothing were magically removed. I had not fully realized how severely my left hand and arm had been burned until the fabric of my shirt and robes had been torn away from them. The spell, one used in magical emergencies usually involving burns or serious potions' spills, was not an especially gentle one.
"Mister Moody, you are going to be all right," a stubborn voice assured me. It was the young professor. "Madam Pomfrey left something for your burns. It won't help your poor hand, I dare say, but the rest of you could do with some of it."
"My hand?" I mumbled, spots dancing before my eyes.
"Your hand needs a regeneration cream. We can only hope that the potions' master has some readily available," said Anastasio grimly.
I turned my head slightly to look at my hand. It was blackened, almost shriveled, from the tips of the fingers almost to the elbow. It was a gruesome sight, but I no longer wondered why it hurt. Seeing the injury did make my heart pound slightly. If I lost my wand arm, how could I do my job as an Auror effectively? That was my first thought, my first consideration, but it was followed by many others.
Then something cold and rather slimy touched my chest and shoulder, which were only mildly scorched by comparison. I flinched and turned my head again. Anastasio was applying the burn remedy. His hands, I noticed, were very steady and firm. The young wizard had a strong stomach. Looking into his light brown, almost hazel eyes, I also knew by the dispassionate, penetrating gaze that I was looking into the eyes of a fellow Slytherin.
"You were very lucky, Mister Moody. Another moment or so and there would have been naught but a pile of ashes left of you," said Anastasio, looking me steadily in the eye as he massaged the burn remedy into my skin. "Be still," Anastasio cautioned me as I involuntarily flinched away from him. "You've been half cooked by that foolish, ill-conceived stunt. You would be well advised to try and remain still and conscious until Madam Pomfrey returns."
The left side of my face was burned, I realized, as he turned my head and rubbed some of the cool, reddish colored potion into neck and jaw. I knew nothing about this young wizard before he brought me into the hospital wing, but his stern, but kind words and unflinching actions told me more about him by the minute. I wished much later that I had been in a better position to appreciate it.
When he had finished applying the potion, he summoned a towel for his hands and wiped them carefully. I watched his eyes dart anxiously from the privacy screen to my injured hand. The pain was beginning to fade as the nerves in my hand and lower arm began to die, to cease functioning, from the horrific injury. I started to close my eyes.
"No, no, no ..." Anastasio said, his voice betraying him for a moment. He was afraid ... on my behalf. I was both touched and shamed. "Open your eyes," he instructed me. I don't know where I found the will to do so, but I did. Anastasio lifted my uninjured hand and squeezed firmly. "Just a few more minutes. Then you may rest," he said in a determined tone of voice.
"Hurts," I growled nonsensically. Of course it hurt, and the young professor understood that. It didn't prevent me from saying it nevertheless.
"I can't give you anything right now. When Madam Pomfrey returns, she can give you something," he assured me.
I could feel myself being drawn in to the darkness again and grasped his hand as something to focus on. Anastasio realized what I was doing and ran his thumb across my knuckles.
"Yes, just try to hold out a bit longer," he whispered almost desperately.
Then I realized that I could hear footsteps in the outer portion of the hospital wing beyond the privacy screen. I turned my head just in time to see Poppy Pomfrey and Professor Krohn pull back the screen. It felt as though my stomach dropped several inches when I saw the face of my former head of house, who had aged a good fifty years since my school days. His blond hair was streaked with white and pulled out of his eyes neatly with a silver and green ribbon. He regarded me sourly as he looked down at me with a clay pot clutched carefully in his hands.
"Alastor Moody. Why does this not surprise me?" he asked rhetorically. His hawk-like eyes drifted to my hand. An expression of revulsion and mild horror coated his heavy, once handsome features for a moment. "That may be beyond saving," he told Poppy.
"Nevertheless, we owe it to him to try," said the mediwitch, taking the vessel from his hands.
"Of course," agreed Krohn, turning his attention to his young colleague and presumably former student. "Sinistra, keep him from moving about while we do this," he ordered sharply.
"Yes, sir," Anastasio answered, placing his free hand on my shoulder.
I turned toward him, not desiring to watch the potions' master and the mediwitch at work. Anastasio managed what I considered a very supportive smile. I wanted to ask him why he was doing this, investing so much time and in energy to help a complete stranger. But at the moment something very hot and disagreeable touched my wounded, half numb hand, and I blacked out.
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A/N: I was not my intention for the last chapters to be so comparitively short, but they have ended where they ended (or where it seemed logical for them to). I'm sure someone is going to ask: is this slash? Um, not especially. (Then why is Sinistra a man?) Because whenever I picture that scene from GoF, I picture Sinistra as a wizard. *shrugs* For the record, I tried to write Sinistra as a witch. The results weren't encouraging. And if anyone recognizes Professor Krohn from my other stories, simply know that I didn't want to invent another potions' master. This one amuses me. And the flashback/memories won't be terribly prevasive, but there might be more of them. I like telling multiple stories. Thank you.
Jordan: Er ... you might have to wait on that question. Thank you for reviewing!
Lady Cinnibar: As far as why Harry could toss Moody scross the room ... extenuating circumstances: 1) Moody was caught off-guard, 2) He was also not at his best (trunk, fatigue), and 3) Wandless magic does unpredictable things. Your owl story was really cool. I don't think I've ever seen a live one before (maybe at the zoo). Thanks for reviewing!
NightSpear: Does anyone expect less from Harry? Thank you for the review!
Minerva of Tortall: *blushes* You're hardly a lesser mortal. Thanks for reviewing!
Jasmine Black: Thank you for reviewing!
Silver Angel: And Moody's so interesting! *sighs* Thanks for the review!
Alexial: Thank you!
A Class Superior: I guess (Harry being so young and all) that I believe he can't always be the hero. Thank you for reviewing!
Von: Thanks for the review!
juggling stars: Well, I sort of had to leave the last chapter there (this one too). Thank you for reviewing!
Memory
It was a warm and beautiful day in the spring of 1978 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was among the first Aurors sent in to protect the school from potential attack by Voldemort and his followers. The Dark Lord was becoming even bolder, and the previous term had included attacks on Hogsmeade and on the families of many of the muggle-born students. This year was proving to be just as terrible, but both Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic were determined to keep the students safe while they could. The headmaster, I was told, had requested me by name. I couldn't quite decide if it was because of my reputation or because he remembered me from the Grindelwald era conflict and as a student.
My first duty at the school, one that I took upon myself with relish, was to test the wards that surrounded the castle and its grounds. Most of my colleagues were setting up dark detectors while I made my way out to the perimeter. Testing wards was a relatively simple procedure that I had performed many times, but never at a place with wards so complex and intricate as Hogwarts. It would have helped if I had realized just how sophisticated and how strong they were before I drew my wand and started the testing.
As I had begun the procedure there was a sudden and unexpected crackling, followed by an intense burning sensation that swept through my wand arm and the rest of my body, enveloping me like an unquenchable fire. I had cried out without realizing it at the time. But then the burning had stopped and I found myself lying on the ground. The scent of smoke, singed flesh, and strong magic filled my nostrils. The pain was mind-numbing.
Then an unfamiliar face appeared above me.
"Are you all right, Mister Moody?" asked the stranger, whom I recognized as a professor whose name I could not remember from the introductions that morning. He was very young, perhaps twenty-five years old and spoke with a slight accent. There was a look of concern on his sun-browned face. His dark hair, which was shorter than that of most wizards, framed his face rather neatly.
"I was testing the wards," I told him, shuddering with a sudden spasm of pain. My voice sounded different, more throaty and growl-like than usual. I touched my throat gingerly with my uninjured hand. I found it suddenly quite painful to speak.
"Testing the wards? You should never do that! It is dangerous. Didn't anyone warn you?" he asked.
"Part of the job," I muttered with a soft, involuntary cough. There was the sudden taste of something warm, metallic, and very unpleasant in my mouth. Blood?
"Are you hurt?" he asked me.
"Who are you?" I questioned, suddenly becoming suspicious as the younger wizard knelt on the grass and began examining me with steady and cautiously probing hands. I wasn't aware until then that my robes were smoldering slightly.
"Anastasio Sinistra. I'm the astronomy professor," he replied with a friendly, but worried smile. "Mister Moody, you have been severely burned. I am going to conjure a stretcher and take you to the hospital wing," Anastasio told me in a firm voice. The expression on his angular face was an anxious one. The smile had faded, but I didn't know why.
I flexed the fingertips of my wand hand and felt a jolt of intense pain. But even then, I also noticed that my wand was gone. It wasn't in my hand anymore. I had lost it.
"My wand ..." I said, feeling a rising sensation of extreme panic. What was an Auror without his wand? What was a knight without his sword?
"I have it," Anastasio assured me before lifting me off the ground with a simple spell and onto the stretcher he had conjured.
I had been surprised. My own astronomy professor from my school days had been the next best thing to a squib, hardly better than a muggle at real magic, though an expert in his own only slightly magical field. This Professor Sinistra seemed to be at least competent.
I had stared up at Anastasio for the duration of our journey. His face was stony and difficult to read. My stomach had lurched when it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn't being taken to the hospital wing after all, but rather to a waiting band of Dark Wizards who had somehow orchestrated the incident. I struggled to leave the stretcher, to get away.
Anastasio had halted and gripped me firmly by the shoulders, pushing me down and hushing me almost automatically in an unfamiliar language. I didn't have the strength to fight back. The agonizing pain in my hand and arm was the worst I had ever known. It was worse than the Cruciatus curse. I couldn't fight the pain. A year or so later when I had lost my leg or even my eye, the pain had not been nearly so intense.
"I do not wish to stun you, but you must be still," he said in English. His tone was cold and clear. There could be no argument.
I had no choice but to give up and close my eyes. The stretcher started moving again, toward the castle and then through its cool and shadowy halls. But I wasn't sure what was happening.
Then there was something soft beneath me. I had left the stretcher and wasn't moving anymore. I opened my eyes to find myself in the rear ward of hospital wing, safe and sound, but still experiencing some confusion and very much in pain.
"Madam! Madam Pomfrey!" yelled the accented voice of the man who had brought me to the infirmary.
"Get those robes and his shirt off while I contact Professor Krohn. We are going to need strong stuff to save that hand," I heard Poppy Pomfrey say in her unmistakable, firm, no-nonsense tones.
I think I had blacked out for a moment. The sound of a privacy screen being drawn snapped me out of it.
"Sustollo vestitus!" said Sinistra in a commanding tone.
I cried out sharply in pain as my robes and other outer clothing were magically removed. I had not fully realized how severely my left hand and arm had been burned until the fabric of my shirt and robes had been torn away from them. The spell, one used in magical emergencies usually involving burns or serious potions' spills, was not an especially gentle one.
"Mister Moody, you are going to be all right," a stubborn voice assured me. It was the young professor. "Madam Pomfrey left something for your burns. It won't help your poor hand, I dare say, but the rest of you could do with some of it."
"My hand?" I mumbled, spots dancing before my eyes.
"Your hand needs a regeneration cream. We can only hope that the potions' master has some readily available," said Anastasio grimly.
I turned my head slightly to look at my hand. It was blackened, almost shriveled, from the tips of the fingers almost to the elbow. It was a gruesome sight, but I no longer wondered why it hurt. Seeing the injury did make my heart pound slightly. If I lost my wand arm, how could I do my job as an Auror effectively? That was my first thought, my first consideration, but it was followed by many others.
Then something cold and rather slimy touched my chest and shoulder, which were only mildly scorched by comparison. I flinched and turned my head again. Anastasio was applying the burn remedy. His hands, I noticed, were very steady and firm. The young wizard had a strong stomach. Looking into his light brown, almost hazel eyes, I also knew by the dispassionate, penetrating gaze that I was looking into the eyes of a fellow Slytherin.
"You were very lucky, Mister Moody. Another moment or so and there would have been naught but a pile of ashes left of you," said Anastasio, looking me steadily in the eye as he massaged the burn remedy into my skin. "Be still," Anastasio cautioned me as I involuntarily flinched away from him. "You've been half cooked by that foolish, ill-conceived stunt. You would be well advised to try and remain still and conscious until Madam Pomfrey returns."
The left side of my face was burned, I realized, as he turned my head and rubbed some of the cool, reddish colored potion into neck and jaw. I knew nothing about this young wizard before he brought me into the hospital wing, but his stern, but kind words and unflinching actions told me more about him by the minute. I wished much later that I had been in a better position to appreciate it.
When he had finished applying the potion, he summoned a towel for his hands and wiped them carefully. I watched his eyes dart anxiously from the privacy screen to my injured hand. The pain was beginning to fade as the nerves in my hand and lower arm began to die, to cease functioning, from the horrific injury. I started to close my eyes.
"No, no, no ..." Anastasio said, his voice betraying him for a moment. He was afraid ... on my behalf. I was both touched and shamed. "Open your eyes," he instructed me. I don't know where I found the will to do so, but I did. Anastasio lifted my uninjured hand and squeezed firmly. "Just a few more minutes. Then you may rest," he said in a determined tone of voice.
"Hurts," I growled nonsensically. Of course it hurt, and the young professor understood that. It didn't prevent me from saying it nevertheless.
"I can't give you anything right now. When Madam Pomfrey returns, she can give you something," he assured me.
I could feel myself being drawn in to the darkness again and grasped his hand as something to focus on. Anastasio realized what I was doing and ran his thumb across my knuckles.
"Yes, just try to hold out a bit longer," he whispered almost desperately.
Then I realized that I could hear footsteps in the outer portion of the hospital wing beyond the privacy screen. I turned my head just in time to see Poppy Pomfrey and Professor Krohn pull back the screen. It felt as though my stomach dropped several inches when I saw the face of my former head of house, who had aged a good fifty years since my school days. His blond hair was streaked with white and pulled out of his eyes neatly with a silver and green ribbon. He regarded me sourly as he looked down at me with a clay pot clutched carefully in his hands.
"Alastor Moody. Why does this not surprise me?" he asked rhetorically. His hawk-like eyes drifted to my hand. An expression of revulsion and mild horror coated his heavy, once handsome features for a moment. "That may be beyond saving," he told Poppy.
"Nevertheless, we owe it to him to try," said the mediwitch, taking the vessel from his hands.
"Of course," agreed Krohn, turning his attention to his young colleague and presumably former student. "Sinistra, keep him from moving about while we do this," he ordered sharply.
"Yes, sir," Anastasio answered, placing his free hand on my shoulder.
I turned toward him, not desiring to watch the potions' master and the mediwitch at work. Anastasio managed what I considered a very supportive smile. I wanted to ask him why he was doing this, investing so much time and in energy to help a complete stranger. But at the moment something very hot and disagreeable touched my wounded, half numb hand, and I blacked out.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: I was not my intention for the last chapters to be so comparitively short, but they have ended where they ended (or where it seemed logical for them to). I'm sure someone is going to ask: is this slash? Um, not especially. (Then why is Sinistra a man?) Because whenever I picture that scene from GoF, I picture Sinistra as a wizard. *shrugs* For the record, I tried to write Sinistra as a witch. The results weren't encouraging. And if anyone recognizes Professor Krohn from my other stories, simply know that I didn't want to invent another potions' master. This one amuses me. And the flashback/memories won't be terribly prevasive, but there might be more of them. I like telling multiple stories. Thank you.
Jordan: Er ... you might have to wait on that question. Thank you for reviewing!
Lady Cinnibar: As far as why Harry could toss Moody scross the room ... extenuating circumstances: 1) Moody was caught off-guard, 2) He was also not at his best (trunk, fatigue), and 3) Wandless magic does unpredictable things. Your owl story was really cool. I don't think I've ever seen a live one before (maybe at the zoo). Thanks for reviewing!
NightSpear: Does anyone expect less from Harry? Thank you for the review!
Minerva of Tortall: *blushes* You're hardly a lesser mortal. Thanks for reviewing!
Jasmine Black: Thank you for reviewing!
Silver Angel: And Moody's so interesting! *sighs* Thanks for the review!
Alexial: Thank you!
A Class Superior: I guess (Harry being so young and all) that I believe he can't always be the hero. Thank you for reviewing!
Von: Thanks for the review!
juggling stars: Well, I sort of had to leave the last chapter there (this one too). Thank you for reviewing!