Moxxie rushed through the grounds from Hagrid's cabin, eager to get to the top of the stairs where Moody was sure to already be waiting for him. He didn't want to make him mad, but he was already very late to their encounter, and therefore he would get off on the wrong foot.
This was ironic since Moody seemed to only have one good foot himself, and Moxxie reckoned it would get shoved up his ass.
He did his best to sprint up all the stairs, and though luckily none of them shifted as he made his ascent, it was his own body being out of shape that halted him halfway through the first set of stairs and had him panting like a dog, his tongue out, clutching his chest.
Sweat beaded on his brow - he was so annoyingly unfit and useless in his human form, lumbering around like some massive piece of wood that was inflexible and putrefying.
He took a quick look around, confirming that there was no one in the castle - it was fine for him to break some rules, but he didn't want to completely wipe his ass with what Dumbledore had asked of him.
But hadn't Millie and Blitzo been milling around in their Imp forms just a few hours ago, anyway? "Fuck it," he muttered, and as quickly as he could (which was quite quickly), he changed back to his Imp form, sighing in relief as he did so.
With this done, he felt agile and ready to sprint up the stairs, feeling how his bones moved more comfortably now that the change was done, his dainty frame darting up with much greater ease than his clumsy human body.
He was still panting when he arrived at the top floor, but at the very least, he had gotten there, and he felt a good burn to his limbs, unlike the uneasy ache that had begun settling in his other body.
It had been surprising to him how easy it had been shifting into his human form and staying that way, but he realized that he wasn't actually comfortable like that. He didn't want to be in it when he eventually took part in whatever crazy tournament was in store for him, especially if he had to have all his wits about him.
He didn't think that would go down well with Dumbledore, but after all, how did the man even plan to keep everything a secret when hundreds of people had seen them enter the Great Hall of the school in their Imp form?
It couldn't be that serious if someone were to see him like that, anyway. So what did the man do to ease the havoc, the curiosity?
Erase the whole school's memory? Was that even legal, and even if it wasn't, would it even matter to these unruly, wild people with seemingly unlimited access to power? Did he even have that kind of magic?
Once again, Moxxie was struck by how wild, and unruly magic could be, and he was scared of the fact that he couldn't see any limits to it. And yet here he was, going to meet the man with the crazy eye, who would more than likely teach him magic.
Surely enough, Moody was standing cross-armed and cross-eyed at the top of the stairs, a grave look on his face. Still, Moxxie wasn't sure if that was because that was just because his face was arranged in that permanent bitter and stern expression, or if he was grouchy because of Moxxie's tardiness.
Maybe it was a mixture of both. "Hello, professor, I-" Moody let out a sound like a dog's rough bark. Moxxie didn't think it was because of his appearance since Moody hadn't seen him in Imp form since the night he had arrived, but he didn't seem at all shocked because he didn't even bother looking at him twice.
And, without speaking any actual words, he immediately started down the stairs that Moxxie had just been lumbering up. "Seriously?" He huffed mostly to himself, at least grateful that now it was a matter of going down.
Still, couldn't Moody have asked him to meet on a lower floor? He followed after the lumbering man, who walked rather quickly despite his bad leg.
They descended only one flight before Moody, his snake-ish eye taking in all that around him, making sure they weren't spotted or followed, flung open the heavy oak door of what Moxxie presumed to be a classroom.
Until now, though they were at a school, Moxxie hadn't actually seen what they looked like: they were ancient but very well-kept, the wooden desks neatly arranged, the chalkboards wiped clean, the ceilings tall as the rest of the castle.
It was dark here, much darker than in the hallways without lights because at least the hallways ended in some window or other. In this classroom, there was nothing to let in light save the barest rectangle of a window right where a desk was, its griminess suffocating the dim light of the moon outside.
Moody set himself in front of the desk and took a deep swig from a flask.
So, Moxxie had been trying so hard not to get drunk, and this whole time Moody was just taking shots?
He felt kind of angry, and he was even about to ask Moody for some of his drink before the man wiped his lips and grunted. "You know the first thing about magic, Mr. Potter?" He asked gruffly. "Uh…" he started.
Did he? No, he knew that he didn't even begin to grasp the basics. "No, not really." "What are you good at, then?" he questioned, looking at Moxxie so intently that he was sure that the man had X-ray vision, what with that creepy, wild eye of his.
Surely fake wizarding eyes were better than the ones that they had in the human world.
Under that gaze, Moxxie felt more like he was under interrogation than having a conversation with a man that was supposed to be tutoring him, or whatever this was. "Well… I'm a weapons expert," started Moxxie, looking up at the ceiling in thought.
"Hmph, hmph," Moody said, looking around him as if he were even paranoid that something would leap out of the shadows. Moxxie looked at the stray spot where Moody's gaze had wondered, and, sure enough, there was nothing there.
"Do you have any idea what the first task is going to be?" Moody asked gruffly. "Task? What?" "Yes, Mr. Potter, the task!" He growled, his patience going down to the negative numbers. "The Triwizard tournament is composed of three tasks.
Survive one, go onto the other, the end of each determining your head-start." "If I survive? What are the odds that I won't?" Moxxie asked, horribly alarmed. Moody shrugged. "Has happened to a few victors… no matter, no matter. You will get a wand soon, correct?" Moxxie nodded. "Tomorrow." "Good, good - technically speaking, you can only bring your wand with you." "Technically?"
Why did the man always speak in such a way that Moxxie always felt the need to bombard him with questions? "Have you ever heard of Accio, Mr. Potter?"
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Moody spent what felt like hours instructing him on the basics of magic.
Moxxie learned a great deal, like the fact that most wizards couldn't perform powerful spells without the help of their wands or that magic was erratic in little children who had never learned to control it.
He felt particularly observed when Moody said that - he had never been trained with a wand, never been kept in check or learned to calm his power, and was a grown adult.
The man then moved on to talk about basic spells and charms that, as he claimed, 'even eleven-year-olds knew.'
The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than forty-five minutes, but it still seemed to stretch on for hours in that murky classroom, and Moxxie felt the little alcohol he had taken and the late hour coming to fills his mouths with yawns.
The only reason he didn't fall asleep was that Moody was so goddamn terrifying that he feared that if he shut his eyes through the lesson on 'alohamora,' the man would shove his wand up his nose or some other cavity or give him a quaint little tail like the one that McGonagall had bestowed upon Blitzo.
At some point, when Moody noticed that Moxxie's eyes were going and probably figured that no more recitations of spells fit in his head, he stood up abruptly and limped over a cupboard. Moxxie watched him warily. From the largest part of the cupboard, Moody produced something long and thin, wrapped in brown, crinkling paper.
He tossed it at Moxxie, who took it in both his hands, having it nearly topple him over, being far longer than Moxxie was tall. "That's for you," Moody grumbled. "A gift." "From who?" Harry frowned, looking at the nameless parcel. "It was sent anonymously and intercepted by the Ministry.
I intercepted it back for you, bunchagoodfornothings, thought it might help you," he said simply, but Moxxie suspected there was much more to the story than that. So not only was this man alright with breaking the rules and having Moxxie break the rule, but he also stole things from the government? Good for him.
"Do you know where it came from?" He asked cautiously. Moody licked his lips nervously.
"No idea, Mr. Potter, but you'd do well to exercise some patience," he warned in a low voice. Moxxie swallowed and nodded nervously. Better not to pry, but he really had to question how much he trusted Moody - funnily enough, he trusted him more than he did Snape, and he had the distinct impression that Moody really wanted to help him, make sure that he got through these mysterious tasks in one piece.
Harry was about to thank him, but it seemed inappropriate in just that situation. "Right," he said, starting to tear the paper apart.
It fell apart easily in his fingers, and as he unwrapped it, he found a sleek, brown broom in his hands. It was unlike any other broom he had seen, not so much for sweeping a dusty floor but maybe for something more dynamic.
Like it was meant to be airborne. He suddenly remembered the people flying by the window, the rules of Quidditch that Hagrid had explained. He swallowed. "You… want- want me t-to… fly?" He asked uneasily. "It might give you an advantage, Mr. Potter. I have the impression you may just be a natural."
Moxxie didn't even understand how one could be a natural at something like flying, but he was so frightened and tired that he didn't bother to disagree or question it further.
"I'd suggest keeping it away from other people's eyes. It might be some people don't want that in your possession, and I don't want to be involved if someone from the Ministry starts grilling you.
Now go, you look like you could use a good night's sleep.
And meet me at the same spot tomorrow at midnight. Bring your wand - this whole thing has been useless without it."
He complained. Moxxie nodded, standing up, more than eager to go and leave that cold, intimidatingly darkroom behind. Moody hadn't even bothered to light a single candle.
With the broom in his hand, he prepared to take his leave.
He hadn't noticed at first that it had an inscription on it. Firebolt, it read. "Actually, could you tell me the way back to" he started shyly, but Moody was already up and hobbling over to the door. The hallways were just as deserted now as they had been just a few hours ago, or however long Moxxie had been with Moody.
He suddenly heard some chaotic chatter coming up from below them and was fully prepared to go into a sprint and escape before he heard the whining ring of a familiar voice. "… and if I gotta suck the old man's dick to get some magic weed, I will," Blitzo said, his voice creeping up from the flight of steps below them.
Moxxie slowed his pace and waited until the other Imps caught up to them, but they were going at snail's place, clearly not recovered from the tiredness and alcohol they had had at Hagrid's cabin. Unfortunately, Moody didn't slow down, so Moxxie was caught halfway between them when the Imps finally caught up. "Well, look-ee here.
The big star of the show," Blitzo said irritably once they had seen him. "Moxx!" Millie squealed, rushing up the stairs and giving him a big kiss.
Moody had halted and looked at the lot of them with murder in his eye, though he still stood at the top of the stairs waiting for them. "Where have you been?" Millie demanded. "I…uh-" "Hey, is that lazy-eye guy a wizard person?" Blitzo slurred his words as he spoke, clearly still very intoxicated. "He's-" Moxxie began, but Blitzo had already trudged up the stairs. "Hey, wood-leg.
You can do magic, right?" He said, somehow disregarding Moody's tenebrous mood and homicidal expression. Moody only hmphed again. "That's great - by the way, you kind of look like Chucky - but anyway, can you get this goddamn thing off me?"
He asked, putting his ass in Moody's face. Moody pursed his lips, and before Moxxie could wink, his wand was out and pointing at Blitzo.
A flash erupted from Moody's wand, but instead of taking off the tail, Blitzo's clothes crumpled up in a heap where he should've been, and he disappeared.
They all gasped, rushing up to the top of the stairs where Moody stood, looking particularly displeased.
"Did you kill him?" Millie screamed at Moody, looking like she was about to punch him in the face. Moxxie was in hysterics, and only Loona seemed composed, looking at Blitzo's crumpled clothes. "I'm gonna poke out your other eye, you fat old-" "Wait a second," Loona called, stooping down to the fallen pile of clothing.
She dug her paws in the fabric and pulled out a small, squirming body. Loona held the new Blitzo's small little rat tail between her two fingers, watching him as he wriggled upside down.
He looked like he was complaining. "Lucifer, I wish my phone wasn't dead.
Hey, can you keep him like this until I can charge my phone?" She asked Moody, observing Blitzo with great amusement. "P-Put him back! That's my boss," Moxxie shrieked. Was it permanent? He would have a fit if it were. Maybe he would actually join Millie in dissecting the man's already roughed-up, scarred face.
He understood that Blitzo was inappropriate and a nuisance, but turning him into a rat?
He looked at Blitzo's crooked little teeth and still had to refrain from laughing, though. "If that's your boss, Mr. Potter, I think you have bigger problems at hand," he said, making sure not to break eye contact and keeping him in his sights so fixedly Moxxie was about to fold, but he wouldn't chicken out.
He didn't want Blitzo to be a rat - well, maybe a small part of him did because Blitzo was so annoying and the whole situation was objectively funny, but he didn't want to think of the kind of mayhem Blitzo would be able to conjure up in that form. "Change. Him. Back," he said through gritted teeth. "Don't be late tomorrow, Mr. Potter," he said simply, lumbering past them and heading back downstairs.
Millie was preparing herself to chase him down, but Moxxie put a warning hand on her. "Don't - if he can just casually turn Blitzo into a rat, what do you think he can do to the rest of us?" "I don't care, Moxx! I don't want Blitzo to be a got-damned rat!" She bellowed. "First thing tomorrow, I'll tell McGonagall.
Or Dumbledore, but I don't think we should chase after him." "And what, he just gonna stay like a rat till we find some wizard that ain't bat-shit?" She demanded, setting her crazed eyes on him. He had to admit. She made a fair point. "And you think he's going to change him back?
And maybe this'll be good for Blitzo, might stop provoking them. Next time he did it, they might do something worse," Moxxie warned, eager to calm Millie down, and, thankfully, he could feel her slackening in resignation in his hands as Moody rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. "Just wait until I put a hit out on you, you crapped-up old shitrag!"
She screamed after him, bundling Blitzo's clothes in her arms. Loona was still looking at the small, rat-size Blitzo, who was doing an awful lot of high-pitched squealing in protest.
Loona just seemed to be enjoying herself enormously. Millie trampled up the stairs, fuming, rushing back up to their rooms. Moxxie had to correct her path several times, and she was almost ignoring him, probably thinking of all the ways that she could dismember Moody.
Moxxie didn't want to say anything to her - he didn't know if his actions had been smart or cowardly, but he had the distinct impression that no one other than him had the amount of fear and respect that they should towards magic.
And it was because of that that he felt such a strong urge to protect them from this world that none of them understood, but that only Moxxie seemed to have the good sense to be scared of. Still, he felt the need to stand up to these people, to let them know that they were fucking insane, even by his standards - and he lived in Hell, for Lucifer's sake.
Regardless of all the messed up people that he had met and the corrupt establishment of power and 'justice' that he had been witnessing since he was eight years old, he still felt that this place was wrong, that the wizards were not to be trusted.
What kind of healthy person could develop when they had the power to casually turn people into rats, give them pig-tails, and not face any consequences over it?
He had the feeling that this place was a breeding ground for bullies and power-abusers.
With one hand on the small of Millie's back, he opened the door back to their rooms, only to find a group of people in the couches, silently waiting for them.