Hi folks! Sorry it's taken so long to update. The next ch will probably take even longer. Combo of study and a bout of writers block. Damn it all to hell! Anyway. This ch is just a filler, really. Just a bit more background on Moody and Snape. Still, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue.
Chapter 8
Memories II
Ignoring the dirty looks Molly and Remus sent him over the next couple of days, Moody settled in to wait for Snape's wakening. A week's leave had been arranged with the Ministry. He wasn't going anywhere until he and Snape had their little talk. Albus and Remus seemed similarly inclined, though obviously not for him. Poppy spent all her time with her comatose husband, and that was understandable. Alastor had walked by the room a couple of times, theoretically in search of a bathroom, though he doubted anyone here would be fooled by that. He'd been surprised, though, by what he'd seen. The bed had been removed, and the patient was sound asleep in an armchair, watched over by a similarly ensconced Healer. He was apparently fed using a Muggle contraption called an IV. Alastor decided that he really didn't want to know the toilet arrangements. Around them, life in the Order went on, barely disrupted despite the shocks of the last few days. Alastor couldn't help but feel proud, at that.
Four days later, the source of the controversy walked into Moody's room, still pale, still skeletal, still sneering. Once the room had been secured and soundproofed, though, he dropped the sneer and sat cautiously opposite Alastor. They sat in silence, two predators warily assessing the opposition. Slowly, carefully, Alastor set his wand and the vial on the table between them. Snape nodded, and removed his outer robes, laying his large delicate hands flat on the table. 'So,' he began. 'What next?' They both looked to the liquid memories softly shimmering in the centre. 'I haven't viewed them yet,' Alastor stated quietly. Snape looked up in surprise. 'Thank you,' he offered. Moody nodded. 'Before we look, I have a question ...' Snape forestalled him. 'Maria,' the spy stated. Alastor nodded, struggling to swallow his anger at the casual use of her name.
Snape turned his head, looking off into the distance. 'I am a spy,' he began. 'The best. I collect information. It's how I have survived, in part. Over the years, I have become adept at accessing hidden, forbidden, or unconventional information, without alerting anyone. I am also, though only two other people know this, the foremost British magical praticioner in the fields of Potions and mind-magics.' All this, he stated calmly, not boasting, merely stating facts. Then he turned back to Alastor. 'Twice, I have entered your mind.' Alastor stared. The bile rose in his throat, and he considered throttling Snape. The traitor had looked at ... looked at them through Alastor's eyes, had laid his Death Eater eyes on Liza and Maria. His hands clenched convulsively.
'No,' the other man said quietly. 'Not that. I know too well what it is to have only your memories. I would never violate another like that. Those two times, I was in search of your plans for me, once seventeen years ago, again when the Dark Lord re-emerged. But I found something the first time that made me wonder.' He looked at Moody appraisingly. 'Although you were more than willing to punish me for my crimes, to 'interogate' me, there was something else in the back of your mind. Not reluctance, but ... regret. Old sorrow. Hate, not for me specifically, but for my kind, Death Eaters and their older manifestations.' Alastor sighed. Snape continued remorseless. 'You were an enemy, against me no matter which side of the line I walked, so I felt justified in plumbing the depth of this potential weakness. Once Dumbledore came to release me, I began to research you.' He flashed a quick smile of approval at Moody. 'You are quite talented at concealing your tracks. Unfortunately, not as good as I am at finding them. I found the Ministry record of your early assignments as an Auror, in Germany not long after the beginnings of the Grindlewald wars. The record of the date you dropped off the radar, only to emerge again seven years later, scarred and grim. Taking these dates, approximate locations, I referenced them against Dumbledore's notes on the prototype Order, missions, codenames. Orion. The German agent. I tracked your movements against those of Grindlewald's Darklings, to see who you would have met to poison you view. I found no-one specific, but I did note that after Grindlewald's defeat, and a year before you reappeared at the Ministry, you shook off the Order near a town that, not long after, was destroyed by a leftover band of Darklings.'
Alastor watched the spy as he he ran through the recounting. He sat still, only his head moving as he focused on the report. The hands stayed placed on the table, eyes blank, focused inward. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was citing information he should never have been able to get access to, all to an Auror and a member of the Order, both institutions he had betrayed. Despite himself, he couldn't help the twinge of admiration towards the spy. Snape had guts, and talent, undeniably. He wondered how Albus had felt, listening to these reports.
'Some six months later, I recieved holiday time while Lucius was busy abroad, freeing my to do some on-site investigation.' Lucius? Malfoy? What did he have to do with anything? 'I visited the remains of that town. It had been well and truly destroyed, and was long abandoned by the time I visited. But someone was still there. A hermit, a madman.' Alastor tensed. It couldn't be. The bastard had been to far gone to have survived that long. 'I tracked him to the remains of a house at the end of the main street.' There! He'd been living there! In their home! In Liza's home! 'A Darkling. Or what was left of one. He was quite mad. When you tore through his mind, you ripped it apart. All he had left were his years as a hermit, and the memory that you had searched for.' Snape looked him in the eye. There was no sympathy, no pity on his face, only careful understanding. For some absurd reason, this comforted Alastor. He wanted no-one's pity.
'The grave was grown over. Moss and wild garlic. That seemed appropriate. Maternal love, and strength with courage. Did you know that? It's an old, old meaning, from mediaeval earth magic. The stubborn endurance of moss as it holds to home and family, the sturdy strength and courage to bloom in adversity of garlic.' He looked away, to allow the old Auror the tears he couldn't hold back. 'The earth you chose to hold your loved ones grew to know them well. I planted a slip of rosemary, though, for remembrance. Everyone should have someone to remember them, even a stranger who only knows that they lived, and were loved.' He fell silent, letting Alastor compose himself. Alastor stared at his clasped hands as he struggled to do so. He wasn't alone. Someone else knew of them, knew of his lost family, and for some unknown reason seemed to care. Rosemary, for remembrance. Everyone should have someone to remember them. He hadn't realised how much it had hurt him that no-one had seemed to know or care that a vibrant young woman and her tough little girl, his wife and child, had been abused and killed so brutally. Now that someone did, he didn't know how to deal with it.
'Why should you care?' he asked harshly. 'They were none of yours, traitor. They were no-one's, save mine. Why should you care for my forgotten loved ones?' The other man looked at him, sadness and wisdom in eyes that should have been too young to hold them. 'It doesn't matter whose they were. No-one should be forgotten. No child should pass the veil to leave the world unknowing. There should be someone to mourn the passing, to remember that life existed. I set out to know you. Standing over that grave, I understood you, a little. You hold fierce loyalty to the Order. You strive to protect them as you couldn't protect the ones you lost. For hurting them, you would destroy me as surely as you destroyed that Darkling. You are someone I respect. And Liza and Maria, people to remember as I remember my lost Slytherins. Ever yours, but mine too, because I know of them. I looked on their faces, witnessed their passing. Maybe that's not something you can understand. Maybe it hurts you to have someone like me lay claim to their memory, and for that I'm sorry. But I cannot, will not change what is an integral part of me. I care, because they were lost.'
Alastor stared at him, stuggling to find again the hate that he had always harboured for the slippery spy, the hurt that should be there for his family's discovery, but couldn't. He didn't know what to think anymore, what was true. He didn't know this man, he realised, and he needed to. He needed to know the mind that held their memory. And he had been given a way to do that. Nodding, he stood. Snape rose with him. 'Shall we?'
Alastor led the way out of the room, heading downstairs. There was a pensieve in the kitchen, though only he and Molly Weasley actually knew that. When it came to household items, you just couldn't fool Molly. Everyone else seemed to think that the 2ft diameter stone bowl was some sort of heavy duty casserole dish. Hah! Talk about hiding in plain sight. Snape walked to his right, and slightly behind him, an excellent defensive position. He was beginning to get the measure of this new Snape, and the caution with which the spy was moving indicated that the effects of whatever had driven the man to collapse were still troubling him. Now that he took the time to study him, he really didn't look well. To tell the truth, he'd seen five year olds carry more weight than the man currently had on his bones. A slight clumsiness in the way he moved the left arm indicated that it had been damaged recently, and his whole stance was stiff. Alastor was surprised that Poppy had let him up.
As he reached the ground floor hallway, he got an answer to his musings in the form of a blasted Impedimenta that threw him across the hall. Beside him, Snape immediately swung to face the threat, hands raised defensively. 'ALASTOR MOODY!' an incensed Poppy shrieked as she bore down on them, an extremely flustered Remus Lupin in her wake. 'RELEASE MY HUSBAND AT ONCE!' Alastor backpedalled hurridly. Faced with that fury, dragons would have retreated.
Snape moved in front of him, hands raised placatingly. 'Poppy, wait. I can explain ...' Her furious shriek at this caused even the redoubtable Mrs Black to fall silent in recognition of a greater talent. 'You can what! You did it again, didn't you! You snuck out again! How am I supposed to heal you if you won't STAY PUT!' Snape moved forwards to try and calm her, and Alastor's estimation of his courage went up. 'You think I don't know what those BASTARDS did to you! Did you think Remus wouldn't tell me!' Moody felt a swell of pity for the cringing werewolf. 'You nearly DIED! If Albus and his bird hadn't shown up, you'd have never woken up in that forest. I cannot lose you again, do you hear me? I can't ...' She trailed off brokenly. Snape put his arms around her and rocked her gently. Head buried against his chest, she murmured 'I can't lose you again. I'll die to protect you. You know that, right?' Snape rested his cheek atop her head, tears falling silently. Alastor looked away, guilt and old grief rising within him. 'I know it, Poppy. I know. But you cannot blame me for trying to do the same for you. You can't blame me for trying to protect the only things in my life worth anything to me.'
She pulled back a touch, and studied him. She smiled, one hand reaching up to cup his face. 'Don't lie to me,' she whispered. 'And stop lying to yourself. If we're the only things you care for, why do you risk your life so readily for others? For the Order? The students? Even Draco, the son of that offspring of a Dementor who started all this? Stop lying. You don't have to be that cold, unfeeling bastard anymore. You can be yourself.' He stared at her, silent, hand clasped over hers. He trembled.
Poppy turned her attention to Alastor, who shifted nervously. 'I know what you're doing now. I know what you want from him. Understand this. When you are done, when you have found him innocent, which you will, he will be coming back to me. I am going to heal him, and neither you, nor anyone else, are going to stop me. Are we clear?' He nodded. There was little else he could have done. Gently, she disengaged from her husband and moved to the stairs. 'I'll be upstairs when you're done. Remus? You're coming?' It wasn't really a question. The werewolf got that too, and followed her up, out of sight. Gently, Alastor took hold of the shaken spy's arm. 'Come on. Lets get this over with.' Dazedly, Snape looked at him. 'How can she do that? How can she see it all, see all of me, and still understand?' Alastor sighed. This was not something he was comfortable explaining, especially to a man who was still a potential enemy. 'She loves you. That's all that can be said. Accept it. Enjoy it while you can. Remember every moment ...' 'Because in the end, memories may be all you have left?' Snape finished. Alastor nodded.
At Alastor's request, Molly left the kitchen to them, sliding her own warning in on Poppy's behalf. Alastor was beginning to feel put upon. If Snape's evidence didn't convince, he was going to have a hell of a time explaining that to everyone else. In four days, the spy had gone from hated outcast to pet project of half the Order. No wonder he'd been able to balance both sides for so long, with neither knowing for sure on which side of the line he stood. He hadn't stood on either. He walked the steadily narrowing line between them, and had to hope that when he fell, someone would be there to catch him. And it seemed someone was. Rather a lot of someones, actually.
'Would you rather we did this at the Ministry lockup?' came the mocking question. Instinctive, fury rose. But when he turned, the black eyes gazed at him steadily, deadly serious. The posture was stiff, rigid, daring him to attack. The mockery was as instinctive to the other man as fury to drown fear was for him, and seemed to serve much the same purpose. Snape feared the answer to that question, so he asked it as disparagingly as possible. Then, cautiously, he relaxed, and tried a tentative smile. 'How do you think I felt coming here?' Ah. There it was. Really, hating this bastard was a waste of time. It'd be like hating himself, and that was a hobby he'd given up on years ago. Images, segments of himself, enlarged and put forward to mask true intentions. Were the personas the spy put forward: snide potions master, impenetrable spy, unfeeling bastard; really so different from Alastor's own. Didn't he play the roles of paranoid old man, snarly senior auror, to the same effect? Dammit. So maybe the bastard wasn't evil. Maybe he was simply a man like himself, fighting to survive past the point where surviving really mattered. And it was time to get on with things.
He grunted. 'Do you really think they'd let us out the door? Poppy? Not a chance. Best just do it here, and be done. Then we can all get back to our lives, eh?' Snape smiled, and nodded.