Here it is guys, hope you enjoy.

Harry Potter and the Hospitality of Hostility chapter 2

Alastor Moody was what some would call a worldly man. He had been to sixty three countries in total, and had served in two major wars. The first, was what the muggles called WW II. (Wizards tended to call that the, 'Great War.' Wizards… so imaginative.) The second, was the rising of Voldemort. (Voldemort came up with that one, he sure had a flair for the glamorous.)

However, in all of his seventy eight years, Moody had never come across such a figure as confusing as the 'boy-who-lived.' Harry had always gotten to Moody emotionally, though it was hidden well by the old man, and the grizzled veteran never understood why he was so affected.

The man with the wooden leg, a replacement for the one that was lost in the rising of Voldemort, stared down at the boy who was curled up in the boat as it moved quickly toward the nearing shore.

"Harry…" he breathed, and felt something in his eye. He reached up with a hand and encountered liquid. Surprised, Moody wiped his eyes and muttered quietly, "Control yourself man!"

By the time the old man was composed once more, they boat had reached the small wooden dock on the coast of Scotland. The boards of the dock were dark, soaked and worn, obviously ancient. A muggle might of said, "It's magical that that thing hasn't fallen apart yet."

He gently brought the ex-prisoner to this feet, and with some trouble, got him walking. Mindlessly, with a blank stare, the dark haired man kept moving forward. After reaching solid ground, Moody called out, "Okay boy, you can stop now, take my arm."

Obligingly, the thin man reached out, puppet like and grasped Moody's arm tightly. Very tightly. Moody cursed and grunted, "looser, boy." The man relaxed his grip. Satisfied, Moody spun on the spot and appeared in front of two imposing, dark, Victorian houses.

"Right, there we are, well, I'll just take you in and then I've got some business to take care of with Dumbledore. Come on." He said to the blank-stared man. He started toward the space between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place. A house jumped into existence as he got closer. This house was even more Gothic, if possible, than it's neighbors, whom were pushed out of the way as number 12 Grimmauld Place sprang into existence.

They entered the house quietly, and Moody closed the door with a gentle thud. He began to move toward the kitchen, wooden leg making a solid clunking noise. After a second or so, he noticed that Harry hadn't moved from his spot by the door. Exasperated, he said, "Coming boy?"

After a second, Harry started to move forward. Sighing, Moody continued on toward the kitchen. Behind him, he heard the sound of a muffled impact. Then a loud crash. A very loud crash.

Whirling, he was just in time to catch the blinds in front of a certain portrait open. Bloody Hell thought Moody before the expected screeching and screaming commenced.

"YOU! FILTHY HALF-BLOOD, GET OUT! OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU MAGGOT! FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS DESPOILING MY HOUSE, MY WONDERFUL HOUSE! YOU, YOU FILTHY, FILTHY MUDBLOOD LOVERS! FILTHY, FILTHY, FILTHY, FILTHY! KREACHER, KREEEAACHER!"

Kreacher arrived promptly, and with a snap of displaced air. Ignoring Mad-eye, he turned to Mrs. Black's portrait and bowed, asking, "How can Kreacher serve Mistress Black?"

"REMOVE THESE FILTHY EXCUSES FOR WIZARDS! AT ONCE KREACHER!" bellowed the irate painted lady.

The old, leathery house elf bowed again and shuddered, saying, "Kreacher is sorry Mistress Black, but he still can't do that." Almost immediately, he ran to the wall and began to hit his head against it, wailing loudly, "Worthless defilers of my Mistress' house! Kreacher knows what should be done with all of you!"

Moody, ignoring Kreacher's insults, had marched across the hall-way and was now attempting to close the curtains in front of the offensive painting. After a few strenuous minutes, he succeeded. Wiping beads of sweat off his forehead, he headed towards the kitchen once more, righting the umbrella stand carefully. "not as bloody young as I used to be," he muttered as he passed the house elf who was still punishing himself.

He entered the kitchen, receiving a nod from Mr. Weasley, who was sitting at the table, watching the hustle and bustle of his family.

"Fred, could you grab some more pans from the cellar?" Molley Weasley asked, as several pans floated around her, magically cooking enough food to feed… a Weasley sized family.

A tall, red-haired man sighed as he stood up, saying, "I stay at the house for one day and you still make me do some work? Alright Mum. Oh, and by the way, I'm George, remember?"

"So sorry dear, Ron?, would you go get your sister? She's going to be late to work again."

"Aw, do I have to? I mean, she's 20 for Merlin's sake. Shouldn't she get up by herself?" complained a tall, lanky man with the characteristic red hair who had The Daily Prophet lying in front of him. Without waiting for an answer, he folded the paper, and laid it next to his father.

As Ron was leaving the room, he noticed Moody and said, "Wotcher, Mad-Eye."

Grinning, Mad-eye growled, "Oh, talking like her now? When's the marriage?"

Blushing, Ron gaped, then said, "Moody! She's my- my teacher!" He made some good-natured retching noises before continuing on.

Still grinning, Moody said, "Eh, she's a bit short for you anyway."

Ron stopped, glanced back, revealing his blushed face, then turned back, nose high and stalked out with a humph.

Then Moody realized he didn't have his 'gift' for the Weasleys.

Bloody Hell, again!? He rushed back out, past Ron, who was shouting up the stairs, "-INNNNNNYYY!, Brekkie's ready, Wake up!"

Mentally Moody berated himself, Constance vigilance you old dolt! He felt like hitting his head on the wall, like Kreacher was still doing. He checked the hallway once, then twice before finally cursing, "Where in bloody hell is he!?"

Ron, who was walking back toward the kitchen, looked at Moody oddly, before calling out, "Oy, Mad-eye, you looking for me?"

Without thinking, Moody spat out, "Not you, I'm looking for Harry." After he said it, he mentally cursed again, Bad idea Alastor, why do you always fall apart whenever Harry's around?

There was a pause, then Ron yelled, "HARRY!?"

The house stilled. And Moody considered finding a hiding place. Then all hell- er Weasleys broke loose.

Several shouts of "Harry!" were heard from the kitchen, along with the clang of numerous kitchen implements hitting the floor. A red fury who was still apparently in nightclothes flew down the staircase, screeching something about Harry as well.

Moody dove for the curtains in front of Mrs. Black's portrait, only to find them starting to open. He grabbed both with one hand and with his wand, in the other hand, cast a permanent sticking charm on the curtains, binding them together. Ignoring the collective histrionics around him, he thoughtfully murmured, "Shoulda' thoughta' that earlier."

After everyone calmed down, a search party was organized, and they all scoured the house, even Sirius' room, which they regarded as a sanctuary and never entered. Sadly, they turned up nothing. When everyone but Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had given up searching, they met in the entrance hall again.

"Well, Alastor, where did you last see him?" asked Mr. Weasley.

Moody paused, then said, "Right in this hallway, then he hit the umbrella stand, which you really should get rid of you know?, and then that stupid portrait woke up and started screaming, so I had to shut her up. I don't remember seeing him after that…"

Since no one had any ideas, Moody harrumphed and stood up, feeling his joints creak. " I'm going to go speak to Dumbledore, he'll know what to do." He said as he headed for the door.

He looked back as he opened the door, and waved to the gathered family and walked forward- or tried to, as there was a person in the way. Surprised once again, Moody whipped his head around, to stare into a pair of dead green eyes framed by a sallow white face.

"Harry!?"

Behind him, there was another panicky rush, and the boy, who must have been standing outside in the cold for over an hour, was rushed into the parlor, and a warm fire was magicked up in the hearth. The teary reunion lasted for about fifteen minutes, until Moody's machismo took over and he grunted a goodbye, thinking, Enough tears for me today, I shed those for others with worse fates. And flooed away, remembered old allies and deceased foes.

"Albus, what did they do to him at Azkaban? He has to use magic just to move! I swear, every step he took, I could see his magical aura flare and strain just to move the leg!"

The old, white haired man's typical twinkle was noticeably absent from his eyes as he contemplated the conundrum that was the young man they all had to rely on. Ignoring Moody's statement about the boy's magic, Albus asked, "How is he… mentally?"

Moody let the matter with the magic drop and sighed, "Not good, Albus, not good at all. He doesn't react to anything but a direct command. And he reacts to anyone's command, Black's portrait made him leave the house when we first arrived. His stare is… dead, that the only way to describe it."

Albus leaned back in his chair, and was quiet for a minute. Then he said, in a sad voice, " I think I shall need to see Harry sometime soon."

Well, there you go, this is officially a chaptered fic so now I have to finish it. Anyway, I'd really like some reviews, and before anyone tells me, Yes, I know this is a really short chapter, and yes, I know I'm a horrible writer, just think of this as a learning experience, for me and you. Mainly me. The reason this chapter took so long is simply that I am a frequent sufferer of Writers block, and also have a chronic disease I like to call lazy couch potatoitis. I spent most of my time reading instead of writing fanfiction. Good thing is, I'm fairly certain my idea is unique.

Anyone wanna Beta for me, so far I've been checking my own chapters, since they're short, but I'm hoping to start writing longer chapters.