Disclaimer: It's all JK's.
A/N: Wow, my first note that bears actual relevance to the story! Yet another of my one-shots…this time Alastor Moody is thinking back over his years in the Order and the people he's known who've died in the fight. Just two little notes I want to make:
1) The reference to Voldemort changes from "Voldemort" to "You-Know-Who" at various points. This is because, seeing as this is being told from indirect third person Moody, he will refer to him as he normally would - that is, "You-Know-Who". However, when he's feeling particularly bold or incited, I've got him using "Voldemort". Hope that makes sense.
2) Brief Brave heart deja-vu below. Sorry, but it really fit! You'll see what I mean when we get to it. Oh, and about Dorcas Meadowes. I have no idea what happened with her, so I hope you like my version.
Please review!
Ani
A Final Farewell
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
What an empty, dead place this house was without Sirius. In a way, it had died with him.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Dumbledore wouldn't be popping in again, either. And nor would Snape. But if Snape did ever choose to pop in, there would be a whole queue of people ready and waiting to make sure he never popped out again.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Where was that damn photograph?
Clunk. Clunk. Cl-
There!
Moody pulled the now-framed photograph down from its shelf. It wasn't dusty, which meant someone had looked at it quite recently. Lupin, Moony deduced. Lupin was here a lot, and Lupin would be feeling the losses greater than most at the moment.
He glanced over the faces in the picture of the original Order of the Phoenix. Most of these people were dead now. Dead, dead, dead, and he, Moody, had outlived them. Perhaps his paranoia had amounted to something, after all. Who could argue differently? James Potter? Sirius Black? Dumbledore?
Moony stared at the figures, remembering the time he had named them for Harry Potter. He was something else, that boy, he had all the Gryffindor bravery, recklessness and determination. He would defeat You-Know-Who, Moody could feel it. And he intended to be there when that victory occurred.
He looked down at his own face in the photograph. It had been a few weeks after that he had lost part of his nose, and another few months after that Harry had been born.
There were Lily and James, as happy as ever, unknowing of their fate, that they would be dead within two years. Between them stood Pettigrew. He was the one responsible for their deaths, the one who had sold them to Voldemort to save his own miserable life. Moody clenched his teeth. One day, it would be so satisfying to learn that that rat was dead. And Moody dearly hoped he would be the one responsible for that particular death..
And there, leaning casually on James's shoulder and waving up at Moody, was the smiling figure of Sirius Black. He had been handsome, once, before the years in Azkaban had left him hollow, gaunt and haunted. But not even the Dementors had been able to rob him of the spark of life that had kept this place alive.
There were Dorcas Meadowes, and Marlene McKinnon, both dead before Christmas, but with a tale worth telling left behind. Marlene had gone first, and her best friend had been struck by a reckless desire to avenge her by any means possible. Moody had never found out exactly why You-Know-Who had found her worthy of killing personally, of taking up her challenge…But he had seen it happen.
The Order had lured what they suspected to be the main clutch of Death Eaters out into an ambush- and to their mingled shock and horror had found You-Know-Who himself among them. Of course, everyone had expected Meadowes to lose it, because of Marlene, but no one had expected her to do what she did.
She had cast aside all thoughts of self-preservation and had strode, head held high, through the fighting and they dying. She had stood before Lord Voldemort and challenged him, in a voice that neither trembled nor showed doubt, to a one-on-one duel.
And he had accepted.
The Death Eaters and Order members had all stepped aside, the fighting ceasing as they formed a ring around the two, the most feared dark wizard in the world and a girl no older than twenty, who was sacrificing everything for the memory of her friend. They had drawn their wands, and the duel had begun.
Dorcas Meadowes had held up for just over three minutes when she had faltered and Voldemort had caught her with the Cruciatus Curse. From then on in, the duel had been sealed. Not that anyone, herself included, had expected her to win. But even in the face of the inevitable, she had not wavered for an instant.
Moody stared down at her grinning face. As he watched her sling her arm round Marlene's shoulders and wave up at him, he remembered her under the Cruciatus Curse. She had screamed, as they all did. as the agony twisted her from the inside, tearing tendons, attacking bones. But her scream had not been that of a defeated girl, but of a triumphant warrior, a roar that even now echoed in Moody's mind as he recalled her valiant last stand.
She had staggered up when she had been released from the curse, defiantly facing Voldemort one last time. No one could have intervened to save her, and if her wand hadn't have been broken in two by now it was doubtful that she would have had the strength for even a levitation charm.
Moody saw, again, in his mind, Voldemort raising his wand to put an end to her. He saw her, standing, battered and bruised, but proud, and strong. Standing tall, he heard her again as she said, smirking wryly, in a voice so low it was barely audible, "Bring it on, Lord Deluded. This one's for the Order." Then, even as Voldemort has whispered the words of the killing curse, she had thrown her arms wide, welcoming death, welcoming back Marlene, and she had cried it out, "FOR THE ORDER!"
Moody remembered the familiar green light. He remembered her laughter as it soared towards her, insane and yet, as he had always remembered it, whole and happy. He watched once more as her body was thrown backwards, as it hit the floor with the force that indented the soil. As she lay, not moving, never to laugh or smile again.
Like so many others, in the end Dorcas Meadowes hadn't wanted revenge. She had wanted oblivion, to go down in the blaze of glory she had achieved, igniting the flame that lingered in the minds of all who saw her that day - the flame that acted as an inspiration to them all, the flame that represented what was possible and what could be achieved if you just had guts. She had saved lives, that day, too. Enraged by the girl's impudence, Voldemort had Disapparated as soon as the green light had faded from the scene, and his Death Eaters had followed suit. And the Order, stunned, had let them go.
His eyes flicked across the photo. Molly's brothers, Gideon and Fabian had survived that day to give their lives on another. They had gone down fighting valiantly, as heroes. Moody remembered Fabian in particular - he had taken the killing curse that had been directed at the man who now surveyed his happy face in a photograph he still lived in.
Emmeline Vance…she had gone less than a year ago, survived the first war yet sadly not the second. And Aberforth, whom Moody had not seen in years, who had been Dumbledore's brother. Did he even know what had transpired in the past moth? That his brother was…dead?
Moody cast one, last glance over the photo…and found him. At the back corner, just edging back into the frame he rarely cared to occupy, was the man he had come up here to find. The same blue eyes Moody had seen twinkle when he had warned of 'Constant vigilance' at the last Order meeting, the same often-present half-smile. The same Albus Dumbledore who had been his ally, his mentor…his friend.
With an uncharacteristic sigh, Moody replaced the photograph on the shelf. Turning, he left the room and leant against the door he closed behind him, locking away the faces of the dead, who had fought the good fight and who would never smile again.
Alone, in the noble and most ancient house of Black, Alastor Moody began to laugh. It began as hollow, edgy, hinting of hysteria, but as memories came flooding back to him of the people who had died in these wars, of the good times he had shared with them, the laugh became deep and full. And soon, it did not seem to him as if he were the only one laughing. A girl had joined him, rejoicing in Moody's realisations. A baby giggled from its cradle, happy with its still-living parents, who were likewise smiling and laughing. And there was the bark-like laugh of the house's previous owner, suddenly alive, furiously alive, and proving that not Azkaban and not death could take him away from people's memories as the young, happy teenager he had been.
And amidst it all, deep beyond the layers of merriment, was an old man's low chuckle as he watched his old friend laughing like maniac in an empty house - the same chuckle that lingered on, in hallways and corners, that rung through the walls of Hogwarts and erupted into the Great Hall, that would never die, and that would be heard again, whole and magnificent, on the day that Voldemort died.
And Voldemort would die. If reliving his memories that day had shown Moody one thing, it was that nothing was worse than a world ruled by darkness. And he would fight, along with others who had something to live for, and if necessary he would give his life.
But they weren't really gone, Moody realised, the ones who had died in these wars. The cause they had fought for lived on, and their spirits were kept alive in memories, and no one would ever forget them. Smiling, he left Grimmauld Place, no longer alone and no longer mourning those who were gone.
And he knew, then, as he blinked up at the bright sun, that he would never return. This was the last time he would step from this door, the last time he would stand on this street. And he was happier in knowing this than he had ever been in anything ever before.
"Goodbye, old friends," murmured Moody. "I have a feeling I shall be seeing you sooner rather than later."