Dear readers,

I'm really sorry for not updating in such a ridiculously long period of time. I must admit that I've felt very uninspired in writing this. However, I do hold firm to my promise to you that somehow, no matter how long it takes, this fic will get finished.

By means of apology, here is a short 'filler' sort of chapter which you might enjoy until I can write something more substantial.

Again, accept my apology. God bless!

- Lyn

Chapter Twelve

From that day on, Moody's past was not mentioned again. However, the revelation of the tragedy of Moody's past had dramatically changed the relationship between the Auror trainees and their mentor. The young witches and wizards had gained an unspoken respect and empathy for Moody, and as a result, had begun to show fierce commitment to their studies. They would often arrive early to practice their spells or to have private instruction from Moody, and much of their free time at the Ministry was spent with Moody, learning all they could about Dark wizards and the forces they used.

Although Moody would continue to appear gruff and unyielding, he could not pretend that he was not touched by his trainees' increased dedication to their work. It had been a long while since he had felt as fulfilled in his life as he did then. Mostly his work as an Auror had left him empty, cold and lifeless. However, it seemed as if training young people had allowed the passion he once felt for his job return. These witches and wizards gave him hope for the next generation which had been lacking in him for quite some time.

Coping with the memory of his dead sister has never been easy. It wasn't easy for anyone who had lost a loved one, he supposed. For years, he had somehow succeeded in suppressing any emotion he felt at the loss of Heather. He realised now, that this was a large part of the reason for the hollowness he felt. It was not long before he decided that this would not do.

On one particularly pleasantly sunny, cloudless Saturday, Moody did not go to his office at the Ministry of Magic as usual, but instead donned a cloak and a hat, and got on a train, travelling several hours until he arrived at his destination. As Moody entered the graveyard, he resolutely ignored several long stares he received from various people.

It took hardly a moment for Moody's eyes to fall upon the stone marking his sister's resting place. Gently, he reached out and touched its smooth surface with rough and gnarled fingers, in stark contrast, he recalled clearly, to Heather's soft, gentle ones. He allowed a small smile to form on his lips as her face appeared in his mind, as clearly as if she was standing before him then. Moody noticed for the first time in years that it did not cause him pain to remember her. It was liberating, somehow, to search through his memories of her, just like flicking through them like he would a photograph album. And so that was what he did, lowering himself gingerly onto the grass above where Heather lay, and setting his staff next to him. He sat there for several hours, letting his guard slip completely down. It was only as the sun began to set did he realise how long he had been there. Carefully, taking his time, he got up from where he sat, and stood still for a long moment, before turning away, silently promising Heather, wherever she was, that he would return and see her often. It was only then that Alastor Moody realised that his face was wet with tears.