Author's Note: Just a little something about how Mad-Eye got his famous injuries. There's a bit of foul language and mild gore here, so heads up on that. And… yeah, I think that will do it. Enjoy!

Constant Vigilance

Alastor sent a string of Stunners toward the pair of Death Eaters he was dueling and, after he saw them both fall, took a few seconds to check on his team. His Aurors were holding their own—for now. Even the most experienced team couldn't hold out forever while this outnumbered.

He needed to send another Patronus to the Ministry to drive home the severity of their situation. He turned just in time to miss the Cutting Curse aimed at his head. Well, mostly miss.

Blood dripped from what had been the end of his nose as Alastor whipped back around to see the unmasked, smirking face of Evan Rosier.

"Careful there, Alastor," the man taunted as he cast an Exploding Curse that bounced off Alastor's shield. "You need to be more mindful of your back."

With an audible growl, Alastor shot off a few spells that may or may not have been Ministry approved for this kind of situation. Rosier grimaced as he narrowly avoided the nasty looking lights. The two exchanged rapid spellfire for several long minutes, each too engrossed in trying to one up their opponent to consider any more trash talking.

Alastor's team was rapidly losing ground the longer the fight went on. He was truly beginning to worry when, mercifully, he heard the telltale popping of his backup arriving.

Recognizing his window for escape was closing, Rosier smirked at Alastor and tweaked his own nose. He shouted, "Remember Moody: constant vigilance!" before Disapparating into the night.

Alastor rolled his eyes and, ignoring his own wound, moved to check on his injured Aurors.

When he finally had a chance to assess the damage to his nose, Alastor decided he wouldn't heal it magically. It was a damn miracle he'd turned just in time to avoid the Cutting Curse. The ancient Auror who taught every class of recruits had terrified them with stories to reinforce that being distracted in the field got you killed. From now on, every time Alastor looked in the mirror, he would get a glaring reminder of just how close he'd come to being one of those stories.

Besides, it helped give his round, ruddy face a bit of a rakish air. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

"You know what to do! Get the bastards!" Moody bellowed, spurring his team on. He watched them take off after the Death Eaters but stayed behind to keep rear watch.

Moody followed his team around another corner in Knockturn Alley and, with reflexes that had been honed in the heat of battle, immediately ducked a pair of Killing Curses. Funny how poorly people reacted when they recognize they've been trapped. The Death Eaters must have realized they'd been herded toward another team of Aurors and were now out for blood. The wall above Moody exploded under the force of Dark Magic, knocking him to the ground and sending his wand flying. For one long, terrifying moment, he scanned the debris in search of it. Finally, he found his wand in the middle of the lane, unscathed.

With one eye on the action, Moody bent to scoop it up. Before he could reach it, a stray spell hit the cobblestones in front of him, sending shards of stone rocketing into his face.

"Fuck!" he screamed, clutching at the searing pain in his eye. Internally, he cursed himself for not being more vigilant of the battle raging around him. When he withdrew his hand from his eye and looked down at it, his stomach churned. He needed to get to St. Mungo's. If he got immediate medical attention, the Healers could probably save—

A silvery mole floated over to where he lay and opened its mouth. "Moody!" the voice of one of his Aurors cried. "The back side is falling! We need help now!"

Without another thought, Moody conjured an eye patch and rushed into the fray.

The newly minted "Mad-Eye" landed in the Meadowes' back garden under a Disillusionment Charm, his magical eye whirling uncontrollably. He smacked his temple sharply, and the eye turned to face forward with the rest of his body. No one else had yet responded to Dorcas' mayday Patronus, so for the moment, he had to sit back and assess the situation.

Through the walls, Mad-Eye could see a half dozen bodies scattered throughout the house. The only ones left standing seemed to be a pair of figures in robes with pointed hoods—clearly inner-circle Death Eaters—and one other cloaked figure he didn't quite recognize. Probably a new recruit they wanted to initiate to their brand of violence.

Mad-Eye shot off a quick Patronus to Albus. He hoped the old man would send others to back him up, but he was pretty positive there was nothing anyone could do for the Meadowes family anymore.

He watched the figures move swiftly down the stairs and then blow through the back door. The two Death Eaters Apparated away too quickly for Mad-Eye to do anything, but the last figure stood and admired the scene of their depravity for one final moment. With a flick of his wand, Mad-Eye sent the nastiest hex he could think of toward the figure.

Time seemed to stand still as the figure spun around and batted the spell away with ease. As they did, the hood of their cloak slipped down. Mad-Eye's blood ran cold.

"Insolent fool," Voldemort hissed, "how dare you raise your wand against the most powerful wizard in millennia!" He raised his own wand, ready to strike.

Mad-Eye considered himself brave, but he wasn't stupid. He dove away from Voldemort, fumbling for the emergency Portkey in his coat pocket. As he rolled, he heard the dark lord's sibilant voice shouting in a language he couldn't understand, but he wasn't interested in sticking around to find out more.

Coming to his feet with the Portkey in hand, Mad-Eye opened his mouth to say the activation phrase. Instead, he screamed in pain.

Through watering eyes, Mad-Eye saw a black snake with burning red eyes sinking its fangs into his calf. He could feel the venom sinking into his muscle and coursing through his veins. For an eternal second, there was no Voldemort, no Meadowes house, no Mad-Eye. There was only pain.

With the last of his energy, Mad-Eye hit the creature with a Cutting Curse and managed to whisper the Portkey's activation phrase. Then everything went black.

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, holder of the record for most Death Eaters captured and undisputedly the fiercest Auror in Britain, cursed under his breath. Another damn papercut.

He took a swig from the flask of pain potion he'd taken to keeping on his hip after losing his lower leg to that cursed snake bite. Healers said the pain was psychosomatic. All he knew was that it hurt like hell.

After his encounter with Voldemort, the DMLE had decided he would be more of a liability than an asset in the field and proceeded to chain him to a desk.

Sure, he was allowed to investigate, and he'd even helped arrest Sirius Black after his betrayal of the Potters. But he'd missed the real end of the war! When he was younger, he'd been so sure he would go out in a blaze of glory someday. Instead, here he was, pushing papers and dying a slow death by bureaucracy. If he was being honest with himself, the blow to his pride was far more painful than the phantom aches in his leg.

A knock at his door brought him out of his wallowing.

"Come in," he grunted, raking a hand across his desk and shoving piles of parchment to the floor.

Amelia Bones, the department's deputy head, entered. She raised a delicate eyebrow at the mess and gingerly sat in a chair reserved for the few brave souls who dared visit Alastor Moody these days.

"Sir," she murmured, nodding deferentially. "How have you been for the last few months? You know, since...?"

"Since a damn snake ended my career?" He snorted. "Counting the days to retirement."

Amelia sat up straight. "Actually, that's what I'm here to talk to you about, sir. I'm sure you heard Mordecai Figg was killed last week."

Of course he'd heard. The old man had trained every class of Auror recruits for the past two decades. It had hurt like hell to find out his old friend and mentor had been cut down by some of the last remaining Death Eaters while shopping in Diagon Alley with his family. Not that he'd ever say that aloud.

"Yep. Get on with it Amelia."

She glared at him before continuing. "Minister Bagnold would like you to take his place. That is, if you're up to it."

He sat back and stroked his chin. It would mean a promotion to Senior Auror. It would give him a chance to get back in the fight a bit. Most importantly, it would mean less paperwork.

Shoving down a grin, Senior Auror Moody grunted, "Fine. But I get to write the new curriculum."

Senior Auror Moody stared at the line of new recruits in front of him. His first class. The first group of minds he would get to mold. The first bunch of dumb kids he would be responsible for training to survive. He began to pace in front of his students, the rhythmic thud of his peg leg lulling them into a false sense of security.

"The first lesson you need to learn to stay alive," Moody said as he whipped out his wand and Stunned a recruit at random, "is constant vigilance."

Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition

Seeker, Wigtown Wanderers

Prompt: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes: Write about someone getting injured

Word Count: 1604

MC4A Challenge Block

Stacked with: ToS; Star; SF; SoW; ER; Remains of War

Individual Challenges: Short Jog; Interesting Times; Old Shoes Themes & Things A—Reflection; Themes & Things B—Survival

Representations:

Bonus Challenges: Second Verse (Middle Name; Spinning Plates; Unwanted Advice); Chorus (Odd Feathers; Pear Shaped; Wabi Sabi; Bee Haven; Tomorrow's Shade; A Long Dog; Larger Than Life)

Tertiary Bonus Challenges: O3 (Orator; Olivine); T3 (Thimble)

Warning: language and mild gore