Chapter 2

Moody stood on the sidewalk, invisibility cloak drawn around his shoulders, and looked into house number four. He watched as the two cousins got home from school, one greated with biscuits and tea, the other with a rough tug on the arm and a list of chores. He watched as one cousin sat before the television snacking away while the other was shoved into a cupboard to complete both boy's homework sets. He watched as dinner was prepared and served by the younger boy, who only got the leftovers.

He also, occasionally, turned to look into the home of his old play-mate Ms. Figg. Who, from Moody's observation, saw the boy regularly, including watching out the window as he was chased around the block.

For an entire week, Mad-eye had tried to convince himself Albus would do something. And yet, nothing happened. His inquiry about the boy (couched as a question about security and a request for his location based on a tip that someone was going to make a move, couldn't let Albus know Moody already knew the address) was answered with written platitudes about how "it is necessary the boy remain with his loving and caring family, and I have a watcher appointed to ensure he is safe. I can assure you, old friend, the child is in good hands and well protected, even from the evil you report."

Loving and caring Moody's scared ass. That boy was being abused. They never quite hit him, at least when Moody was there… but they encouraged the fat cousin to do so. The fed him… the scraps. They gave him a bed… sized for a crib under the stairs. They gave him clothes… ten sizes too big.

No, this couldn't stand. And if Albus hadn't done anything yet, he wasn't going to. Going to Bones would just mean an investigation. Which would mean a team of aurors. At least one of whom would talk, and then there would be rumors, and then reporters. No, that wouldn't do. The boy didn't need this to be public knowledge. Not to mention the Death Eaters that were still out there. Hell, Lucius Malfoy would probably start bribing his way into being foster father the second word got out. Nobody could be trusted, not even Lupin, until Alastor knew who actually had Potter's best interest at heart. And for that he'd need time, time that the boy could not spend being abused.

Luckily, as the senior most and highly respected auror, Moody had some leeway. A lot of leeway. In order to facilitate safe-houses during the war, a handful of senior aurors, including Alastor, had the ability to take anyone in danger into protective custody without paperwork. Most aurors with that capability either died or retired after the war, and nobody bothered to have the bill repealed in the Wizengamot just because one cooky old timer stayed on when everybody else settled down in peace.

Half of Alastor, the part he'd put on a shelf after Hogwarts and only occasionally let out around his apprentices, was happy with the idea. After decades of defending nameless, faceless citizens who never thought to say thank you, he could put his skills towards a single person. Someone to protect and take care of, something he hadn't really had since his siblings all got wiped out with dragonpox. A way to make up to James for failing to see Black's betrayal. And, a way to do something good that didn't involve hexes and curses for once. Moody had become a legal foster parent in both worlds several decades before, but every time a case came up where a kid needed to foster, whether permanently or temporarily, everyone made sure the kid ended up with someone else. Moody got it of course, he had no children of his own and no wife while most fosters did, he was an old auror in a dangerous job. But really, it was like they thought he'd bite the kid's heads off. Hell, if it wasn't for the curse on the position, Moody would have become the DADA professor! Why be a badass auror when you can do more good training the next generation to protect themselves? Now, he could get redemption, protect a child, and maybe have someone to take care of again. The part of him that wanted all of that was positively cheery, and no part of Moody had been cheery in at least a decade.

The rest of him screamed about how he was a creepy old man and this could only end badly and he had no idea how to take care of the kid full time blah blah blah.

But he was a protector damn it. And if Albus and the entire world were going after the kid, Moody'd be damned before he'd leave the kid unprotected.

So, he watched until all the lights along the street flickered out, before he walked up to the house. A silent alohamora was enough to open the door (honestly Albus, safe my ass), and from there it was only seven steps to the cupboard. Without the walls in the way, many more details became apparent. The house was bland and boring, and if Moody didn't know better he'd think it was a fake setup, the sort of thing to throw off investigators from the drug lab in the basement. Actually, that made a lot of sense. Most abusers tried to cover up the abuse with some veneer of normalcy, be it faked or presumed. Boring beige walls were covered with pictures of the fat whale sleeping up the stares, but none of the little waif Moody was after.

That, he supposed, would be useful to. If the bastards called the cops, any investigator worth his salt would note the lack of pictures, and pay attention for other signs of abuse. And, eventually, the muggles would assume the boy had either run away from an awful home, or been killed off by one of the Dursleys. And if they didn't call for a bobby when the boy went missing, then there would be no evidence that he was ever here, and therefore no reason to investigate.

Moody took a moment, before the little cupboard door, to consider how to handle the boy. He couldn't have the kid wake up the adults, so a quick silence bubble was put up. Knowing that barging in was likely to spook the child, Alastor took off the cloak before knocking in three short raps with his walking stick.

"Aunt Petunia?" a quiet, groggy voice asked. Damn it, even the lad's voice sounded week and harried.

"Not exactly. I'm an old friend of your parent's. I came to help." Moody grunted

The door, which had been opening slowly, immediately halted, and a face appeared, taped glasses shoved on the nose and green eyes still teary from being woken. Those same eyes widened when they caught sight of the large (well, short, but not to this emerald-eyed sack of bones), imposing man on the other side, before the entire head ducked inside and the door was slammed shut. Not that it kept Moody from seeing where the boy was, of course.

"Now now laddie. None o' that. Pretty scary, I know, but the first rule of facin' a wizard you don't know is never let on you're afraid. Now, you want me gone, I'm gone, but until you say that, I have a few words of my own."

Potter uncurled from the corner where he'd taken shelter a tad. Good. Giving a kid like that, all cornered and scared, a way out was normally a good first step (damn abuse cases).

"The first thing you need to know is that I knew your parents. Trained your father in fact. A police officer, he was, and a right good one. Saved a lot o' people, James Potter did. Man like that is a hero. But, a man like that has enemies. When your parents died, another old friend of ours put you here. Thought it was best to put you with family. But I'm not so sure if they're the right sort, and your mother would crawl out of her grave and beat me black and blue if I didn't make sure you were alright."

At the mention of James, the boy perked up, kneeling on the worn mattress and bouncing such that the old springs creaked a little. When he talked about Lily, the lad reached for the door, only to pull back when he mentioned beating black and blue. Suggesting the lad saw beatings as a distinct possibility, and one he disliked. Damn it. While not conclusive, the slight ticks the boy gave off suggested Moody was right.

"I'll tell you now, I don't like that aunt of yours. Like that uncle even less. But, maybe I saw things wrong. So I wanna hear from you. They treat you right? Feed you enough? Keep the bullies at bay?"

With each question, Potter curled more again, until he had his chin on his knees and arms around his shins. Three "no"s then. Alastor gave it a few minutes.

"Well boy? You have an answer for me?"

The door creaked open slightly, although the lad had his knees under him, ready to spring away. If he was an auror trainee, Moody would say good instincts. But a six year old kid…

The boy grated out the words with no inflection, like he'd been forced to memorize them. "Yes, sir. My aunt and uncle were very kind to take me in. They take good care of me, even when I'm a troublemaking brat who doesn't deserve it."

Moody started to reply, but then stopped himself. Troublemaking? He wanted to say that was to be expected, given James, but for all Moody knew, the lad thought talking was troublemaking. Best not to make any assumption about what those two crapsacks told the lad until he had him out.

"Alright lad, you gave the script word perfect. Now the truth."

Potter flinched and scrunched his eyes half way closed.

"That is the truth, sir."

That same monotone. Alastor was going to rip those two arseholes into so many pieces when he was through…

"No, it isn't. Don't lie to me boy. I'm a wizard, and a police officer. I know when someone tells the truth. They tell you to say that?"

"Magic isn't real! Freaks are abnormal and should stay in their cupboards!" the kid screeched. Damn it. They weren't just abusive, they were on their way to making a bloody obscurial.

"Oh yeah, lad. Then what do you call this?"

With a wave of his wand, the door was open. Another wave, and the vase on the nearby table was now a turtle. The walls changed colors through the rainbow, and a series of glowing, colorful bubbles filled the hall.

"Wow." The little tyke murmured, staring in wonder. Damn straight. Mad-eye prided himself on the largest knowledge of light-giving charms in the country. Couldn't bloody well raid a Death Eater stronghold if ya couldn't see. And lumos was so… basic. Plus, firsties, particularly Hufflepuffs, sometimes needed some extra help gett'n' ta bed on time when the dorms were new and dark. And sometimes when a raid went wrong, you needed something to lead little'uns to safety while the adults covered the retreat.

"It better be impressive. And you can do that to, some day. So could your mum and pa. Not till you're older though. But it's a fickle thing, magic. You wanna do that some day?"

The lad nodded, slack jawed, the trap nice and baited.

"That's what I thought. Magic's a part of you after all, jus' like its a part of me. It wants to be used. But if you live with people who don't treat ya right, who don't treat you like a person, you'll never grow like you need to ta learn. So, do they treat you right? Feed you as much as you want?"

Green eyes searched Moody's face in the moonlight filtered through glass door panes. Moody stayed still, gave the lad time. He might not have enough proof to stand in court, but Mad-eye Moody generally followed a recue first investigate later approach to abuse cases, damn the consequences. It helped that the entire department agreed with him.

"You really knew my parents?"

"Of all I said here, that's what you get? Fine, yes, I knew them. I right pain in my as… tush, your pa. But a good man. Liked to make jokes, lift people's spirits. O'corse, spirit was something your mum had in spades. Strong woman, that."

"What was her name?"

Damn it. Those bastards. Little pieces. Dozens of them. Scattered across the entire island, so nobody could ever put them back together.

Big eyes in a to-skinny head stared up at Moody.

"Lily. Lily Evans, then Lily Potter when she married your da."

Thin black eyebrows drew together. "Aunt Petunia said they were drunks."

Moody growled. Apparently it was frightening, given how the lad inched back to the wall.

"James and Lily Potter were some of the best people on the… police force. Your ma and pa saved dozens of people from terrorists. They were brave, and strong, and kind. And they were not drunks. While I admit, your father could get a bit… carried away." A little nose scrunched at that. "And by carried away, I mean have to much fun and make to many bad jokes so your ma had to drag him out by the ear, they were never drunks. And always kind to; never laid a hand on anyone in anger, including each other or you."

Technically true. Lily would curse James something fierce, but best not bring that up to a kid in a cupboard just yet.

"So… Aunt Petunia… she lies?"

The question wasn't asked like the boy didn't know the answer. It was like when a healer had to be called for a disturbed witness, checking to see if the person agreed with the asker's reality.

"Boy, I've never met the woman and I can tell she's a filthy liar. If only because when she took you in, she put you in a cupboard. Plenty of parents would happily adopt a boy like you, all she had to do was drop you with Services. But if she has you, that tells all the world she's goona take care of you. Putting you in a damn cupboard isn't takin' care of ya."

A mop of black hair cocked to the side like a bird.

"Nobody listens. Nobody ever listens."

"Well, I cant promise I'll always hear. I'm old, my ears ain't so good anymore. But I'll listen."

"Oh." The boy, who had inched back to the door of the cupboard, now scooted towards his prior position a tad.

"And, if you want away from here, I'll take ya. Can't guarantee it'll be all fun and games. I'm an old man, I ain't got the tolerance young'uns do. But I can get food in yer belly and a proper room set up. I can get ya clothes that fit and an education. I ain't got much, but ya won't have to come back here."

Without warning, a little brunette missile sent the old auror tumbling for the second time that week as Potter dove around Alastor's waist.

"Yes, I want to leave. I hate it here. Dudley's mean and I'm always hungry and they hate me and make other people hate me and say I lie even though Dudley's the liar and a bully…"

Eventually the words turned to incoherent sobbing. Well. Step one over.

"Come along then. No more of that. Doesn't do anyone any good. Now, you want to bring anything along?"

Poor kid nodded and dove back into the cupboard for a moment, then came back out with a plastic bag filled with those rags his family called clothes and a few broken toys. It seemed they would have to make a shopping trip soon.

Actually, there was a lot they'd have to do. Shopping for literally everything the kid could need (Moody was a certified foster parent, not that he'd ever used it, but he had a few books on the subject of permanent placements). Plus figuring out where he was going to sleep…

In a moment all of Moody's concerns, which he'd pushed off over the last week of observing and investigating, came rushing back. How the kid would do with moving every few months. How he was going to get the kid to school. He'd probably need to take a sabbatical… then again, a muggle babysitter with enough warning charms could probably take the kid for an hour or two. Enough that Moody could show up at the office. He snorted internally as he took the lad's hand and led him from the house. Yes, that would work. Technically if he was taking someone into protective custody, he wasn't even supposed to report it, based on the old rules. And the brats at the office would probably be happy to see less of Mad-Eye's ugly mug.

They reached the street, the lad already shivering in his ripped trainers, and Moody turned to face him. Potter looked, up, the scar inky black against pale skin in the moonlight, and met Alastor's eyes.

"Now, this is called a side-along." Alastor instructed. The boy listened intently. "It's not very fun, but it can get us where we need to go very fast. It might make your stomach a tad upset, and you need to hold on to me tightly. The good news is, we'll do this once and then be done. Ah! Almost forgot."

With a few waves of his wand, Mad-eye located and gathered all the documentation he'd need for the lad, plus a few more spells to make it look like the lad had run away. Based on how the family hated the lad, it would probably be some time before Dumbledore would realize his asset was gone. And by then, the magical residue would disappear. He also pulled out his camera, dipped back through the still open door, and took a few photos of the cupboard, for evidence's sake.

"Alright Potter, now we're good to go."

"Where are we going?" the little boy scowled. Moody realized the lad didn't trust him yet. Good. Those sorts of instincts would keep him alive.

Then Moody considered where the lad had learned that kind of mistrust, and his own scowl was back. Along with the knowledge that a six year old boy would rather run away because a man who looked like a real-life Frankenstein's monster told him his mother's name. Damn it, all those wishes from his twenties about wanting a kid some day were not supposed to wait until now to bite him in the ass! He was too old for this!

But, Alastor knew, better him than those freaks inside number four.

"My place-well, where I live right now. I'll probably stay there another few months, depending. You're welcome to stay with me long as you like."

The one remaining front tooth worried the lower lip. "Do you have more stories about my mum and dad?"

Alastor smiled just a little, and then stopped himself. With all the scars, his smiles looked more like sneers, and he didn't want the lad to have the wrong idea.

"Aye, more your dad than your mum. And I know people who will have more. Can't go to them to soon, you understand, but eventually I'll see what I can do about some more stories. Have a few pictures to, if you like."

"Really?" Potter bounced up and down in the cold night air (no jacket, Moody suddenly realized, what the hell?) tugging on Alastor's arm painfully.

"Aye. Not many, but I know where to get more. Now, let's be off. Hold on tight now."

Little hands wrapped themselves in Moody's long (but not noticeably out of fashion, because Moody knew how to blend, unlike those damn pureblood idiots that caused so much trouble for obliviators) coat, and before the lad could get nervous, Moody spun on his heal.

A moment later, the lad was vomiting into the bushes along Moody's lawn.

Many who knew Alastor, and his reputation, would be surprised at the abodes he generally chose. A very powerful and complex ward array, that wouldn't let anyone in without contact with Moody, who had to be un-impiriused, conscious and uncoerced, was the only obvious defense. And, while not a common choice for wards, they were used often enough, normally by more reclusive wizards, that they wouldn't light up any warnings. Moody had other defenses, of course, such as charmed garden hoses, trash bins, watering cans, garden gnomes, plastic flamingoes, etc., but he'd cleared them out over the last few days, as his subconscious slowly informed his conscious that there was no better solution for the Potter boy.

The house itself was a small cottage, one story and a large attic. From the outside, it had a fresh coat of whitewash, green shutters, a red door and window frames. Exactly the kind of home an aging bachelor police officer would choose to retire. Small and quiet.

Of course, the paints were each actually potion lacquers, and every single opening was cursed in some way shape or form, but the point was none of that was visible from the street.

The lawn was well manicured, and flowerbeds held the last of dying marigolds and rose bushes going into hibernation. The magical plants that used the mundane ones for cover were mostly hibernating as well, waiting for prey to step on the beds so they could activate their carnivorous seed pods. Moody would have to have a talk with the boy about staying out of the flower beds. Maybe an age line of some kind, yes, that made the most sense. Anyone who broke in could still get eaten, but nothing could force Potter over one of Moody's age lines.

Once the boy's stomach settled, Alastor led him up the short cobblestone trail to the door.

"Now, because I'm a wizard, my house has all kinds of traps. Most of them won't work on me, because they know this is my house. Tomorrow, I'll use magic to tell some of the traps you live here to. However, some of the traps have to stay up all the time. So, until I can warn you tomorrow, here's what you need to know. One, don't come into the kitchen without me."

At about that moment, they reached the front door, which Alastor unlocked with a complicated series of wand twitches. He'd have to find a secure way around that later, so the boy could get in and out. That door led into the small parlor, just a chair, couch, low table, and television on a stand. The obligatory fireplace was closed in by an iron grate.

"There are a few things in the kitchen that I don't want you to touch until after we talk. Speaking of which, lets get a snack, yeah? I have some soup tucked away, wont take but a moment to heat up."

Moody led the child, who was clutching that plastic grocery bag like it was all he had (which, of course, it was) into the small kitchen, with slightly outdated but operational appliances and light blue cabinets. Potter nodded the second Mad-eye mentioned food.

Moody took the few short moments of doling out the soup and magically heating it to consider what to say next.

"Now, I took the next week off work to get you settled in. After that, I can make arrangements for a babysitter the few times I'll have to go in." At the boy's startled look, Moody started gruffly reassuring. "Just for occasional meetings, probably. I'm old, I have seniority, which means if I can only be there for a few hours, nobody'll question it. So, any questions, any at all, you come to me. My room's in the back, through the other door off the parlor. You'll be up those steps" Moody pointed to the staircase tucked in a corner of the kitchen, "In the attic. It's finished, and I have a few cots up there, so it should be fine. Tomorrow, we'll go shopping for a few things to make it yours."

Moody generally didn't need much in the way of objects. Most things he didn't have he'd conjure on a temporary basis. Permanence was never a part of his life. But Mad-eye remembered those little firsties from school that clutched their dolls or blankets in sleep enough to know kids needed it. Potter would have to move with Mad-eye, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some things to make whatever room he had his own. Also, the boy needed some damn clothes that fit.

The boy seemed to be processing, so Moody let it be as they each finished their soup, although the lad ate far less than Alastor would have liked. He'd have to refresh himself on how to work a malnutrition case up to eating properly.

Dishes quickly scourgified and put away, Moody grabbed the sleepy child's hand and led him up the steps. The attic was designed as an emergency haven for any allies or civilians, should Moody ever need to use it. As such, it held a few cots and little else.

"Like I said, we'll make it yours tomorrow."

Potter (Moody couldn't tell if he was just naturally quiet or overtired) climbed into a cot half way down the room, with a view of the two windows and the stairs. Moody approved.

"Alright then. You have your bag, yeah? Good. Keep it with you for now. You need a night light spell?"

The little head cocked again, before a "Yes please sir" so quiet Moody barely heard it came out.

"Alright then, what kind? An animal-shaped one? Stars on the ceiling? Colored light balls like before?"

Green eyes widened every time Moody mentioned a spell.

"Um… the one from before please."

Moody nodded like it was some serious decision. "Good choice."

Spell cast, glass of water Moody had brought tucked on a crate beside the cot, Moody left the boy to his rest.