tickletrout asked: Mad eye moody. The nice teacup. Words: 313 Characters: Alastor Moody Rating: T, for language
Where the ruddy hell was it?
He may have been locked in his own bloody trunk for damn near a year, but he would be goddamned if he'd forgotten the layout of his own home. Crouch had been smart, copying his eccentricities and mannerisms with absolute expertise. And as a result, he'd kept Alastor's home exactly as Alastor himself had left it; obsessively organized, with not a bottle or bauble out of place. Because if anything had been moved, if anything had been changed… the smudge of a finger print on marble countertops, the handle of a kettle leaning to the wrong side, the salt and pepper shakers switching positions… they all would have tripped Alastor's internal alarms, because tampering meant treachery.
So why, why, was the nice tea cup missing? Alastor's normal eye remained fixed on the small circle of empty space in the layer of dust that had accumulated on his kitchen shelves, as if willing his favorite cup to reappear in its borders. His other eye, however, swiveled angrily around in all directions, searching every single nook and cranny of his own home, of the dustbins outside, of the other homes nearby. And still it was nowhere to be seen. Alastor let out an enraged growl as his eye suddenly stuck in place, fixed downwards, down into his basement, where he'd hurled his magical trunk upon his arrival home, never wanting to see the damn thing ever again.
The trunk… where he'd packed all of his things well in advance in anticipation of his new job at Hogwarts.
Where he'd packed all of his personal, unique possessions because he would be damned if he'd drink out of a cup that didn't personally belong to him.
He was quite glad no one was around to see the ugly flush creep up his gnarled cheeks as he stomped down to the basement.