Chapter 3
Kim's Dojo in downtown London was holding an exhibition day. A line of parents wound up the two flights of stairs in the old building to reach the small studio that rested above a law office, which was in turn above a wedding dress boutique. The walls were a tad cracked, the wooden floors worn, and the heaters rattled.
All of this was tolerated by the parents, however. Sensei Kim was one of the best martial arts instructors in the city, and counted four Olympic athletes among his students. He was also one of the few instructors who diversified his training, teaching children a combination of British boxing, Ju Jitsu, Tia Kwon Do, Karate, along with things like knife throwing. It was because of this that Kim's clients fell into two categories; children who were legitimately good athletes and needed superior instruction, and children who needed some serious self-defense training. Kim also offered private lessons during school hours, which were prefered by the homeschooled contingent.
Alastor Moody had been seen by the various patrons before. Both he and his… ward? Son? Grandson? Nobody had ever talked to the man to find out. Anyways, both the boy and gentleman were quiet and kept to themselves. Didn't cause trouble, but the kid was flying through katas and belts faster than almost any other student.
Most of what the other parents knew was based on observation and rumors. The various scars, combined with the prosthetic leg and eyepatch, led most parents to believe the man either a criminal of some kind or a veteran with some significant experience. The parents with military experience of their own noted how the man cased the room, and how he made the limp much more pronounced than would be expected with an amputation so low on the thigh. However, a mob boss or some other criminal would be unlikely to go unnoticed with such striking, identifiable features and no bodyguards. Therefore, the consensus was, the man was a veteran. And clearly, not the social sort.
Most days when parents and Mr. Moody came in to contact, they'd give him his space out of respect. However, this was the largest exhibition Kim held each year, and room was tight. So, a few of the veteran parents made a point of surrounding the twitchier members of the small community, including Mr. Moody, allowing their elder to take the front row, in deference to his height.
Mad-Eye, meanwhile, smirked internally. So much simpler, walking amongst muggles. Left each other alone, they did. Like now, with all the experienced, antisocial men (and one or two women) taking a corner to themselves while the women folk (and a good number of men) twittered on about gossip a few feet over.
Alastor watched as the exhibition began, and worked hard to keep the scowl off as Potter worked through his spar. The lad was learning fast, only out of his relative's care for six months and already much healthier. With proper food, the lad shot up like a weed, although he'd likely never be particularly tall. Alastor could sympathize. The lad was still shy, but that was alright. Shy people knew to keep their mouths shut and listen to the world around them. Schooling was a bit of an issue, but muggles had plenty of books on homeschooling, and the lad was learning at his level. Wich was good, as it left time for other things. Like combat training.
Moody had ever so slowly relaxed his vigilance over the past few months, for the lad's sake. It was one thing for Moody, an experienced auror, to live that way, moving every two moons and covered in wards so thick it felt like a weighted blanket was encased in a few constrictors all trying to strangle you alive, but it was the worst thing for a child, constantly looking over his shoulder. No, the thing the lad needed most was a sense of safety, and Mad-eye indevoured to provide that. Alastor made it look, to all the world, like he'd moved a few months ago, all the while putting up a new ward scheme on the cottage to keep wizards away. And just because vigilance needed to be constant, didn't mean there weren't levels of vigilance. Moody taught the boy to channel his wariness into casing a room. To convert his instinct to flinch into an instinct to dive for cover. Moody had games for the boy, like water balloon fights, that taught reflexes and strategy. Board games to teach planning ahead. The works. The lad was probably the most well trained seven year old in wizarding Britain when it came to wandless self-defense (modern magical society's wand dependency was one of the many reasons Moody despised the rabble). But the bar for seven year olds wasn't particularly high, and the lad had a long way to go before Moody would consider him safe.
Hence the training. Potter took to it like a duck to water, his quick reactions serving well. And it was a good way for the lad to make friends, which Moody knew he'd need. Alastor knew his own social skills left something to be desired, and the last thing he wanted to attract was Lily's undead wrath for letting her son be the same. Between the martial arts lessons and the ballet (great way to increase balance and control, that), and anyone he met for the few hours a week with the local woman who watched any neighborhood children for a small fee (widow, in her fourties, three teenagers to put through school) the boy was making enough acquaintances that Alastor wasn't worried. Of course, the fact that he ran background checks on every one of those aquaintences and their families might have had something to do with it.
As the lower belts finished up their demonstrations and tests, and the more experienced lads and lasses took to the mats, Alastor mentally reviewed the last few months. The first two weeks were the hardest, the lad constantly flinching and trying to please. But little kids were resilient when it came to their mind, and all the lad needed were consistent rules that gave him room to grow. For the first month, Potter hadn't gone anywhere without Moody by his side, except for a short one-hour stint with his minder, Mrs. Merkle. The lad blossomed under the woman's occasional tuition, finally putting that agile mind to work without his oaf of a cousin to destroy his confidence.
Of course, it was just as the lad got settled the problems started.
First it was the attempt to get Potter enrolled in a school. Milton Elementary, about two streets from Moody's cottage, had called home within a week because Potter had been in a fight. The lad came home bruised and bloody, refused to discuss what happened, and with a week suspension.
After that, Moody had called it all off and taken to home-schooling the lad, wich he probably should have done in the first place. In all honesty, Moody was such a wreck when he tried to go into the office that week Harry went to school he'd accidentally broken a time turner (although that was on the Unspeakables for carrying it around with so little defenses), cursed three people form the floo office (they should have listened to the trainees and set the notices about overusing the office floos on his desk, and not snuck up behind him, the fools), sent no less than five people in the office home crying (although whether the cheeting-on-my-wife-is-fine-as-long-as-I-get-her-pregnant-before-any-of-my-mistresses-who-arent-even-purebloods-and-so-don't-even-count-Bartholemue-Umbrage counts as a person could be debated, the git, wich reminded Alastor, the laxitave potion had probably worn off by now, maybe he should curse all the chairs in the office to make farting noises whenever the git sat down next?...)
Where was he? Ah, yes, the antics at the office. Suffice to say, Potter wasn't the only one taking some "mandated vacation time" by the end of that week. Luckily, the office antics made everyone more than pleased when Alastor passed on taking another apprentice from the new round of trainees, as a trainee would mean being around the office more, and gave Alastor a good excuse to be seen less. The only one who would probably notice would be Bones, and given the woman had been encouraging retirement since the war ended "for his own health… and also to lower the amount of paperwork the Department of Finance needs to deal with so everything you 'modify' gets replaced", she'd likely just be happy to go a few days without one of Alastor's random office-wide scrying device sweeps.
So Alastor went in for perhaps a quarter of his actually contractually-obligated work week, and Potter either spent those hours with Merkle or here, for combat practice. Alastor had eventually gotten an explanation of the fight (Potter had caught a fat blond boy pulling on the pigtails of a girl with glasses, which Alastor would have reacted to about the same when he was a wee'un). Unfortunately, the other boy (who was kept a close eye on, and caught steeling lunch money from another student a few days later when his shoe laces spontaneously tied themselves as he tried to run away before the teacher turned the corner) came out the less injured of the two. Hence Harry's immediate enrollment in defense classes.
As the exhibition wrapped up with the final boxing matches, Alastor gave a brief nod to his silent neighbors and braced his knee for the incoming missile.
"Grandpa! Did you see!? Did you see?" the human torpedo asked, just as scripted. Unfortunate downside of the boy gaining weight, his running tackles had even more force behind them.
"Aye lad." Alastor said as the twittering gossips went silent. "You did well. Except that one match."
Potter frowned a little and picked at his new belt. "I know. His kick came out of nowhere."
"It didn't come out of nowhere, it came from his leg. You gotta watch for that, next time." Moody lightly scolded. Potter hung his head. "Hey now, none o' that. That's why we practice, it is, learn what the mistakes are so we can do better next time, aye?" Potter nodded. "Good. Now, I think that went well enough for an ice-cream run, and then, I have a bit of a surprise for you."
Eyes sparkling at the mention of a treat and shame forgotten, Potter started bouncing. "Really? Can I have two scoops?"
Asking for food was something Potter hadn't done over the first five months, so Alastor made a point to say yes more than he didn't. The lad had to know his needs would be met, and questions never punished.
"Aye, I think that sounds fair. Come along."
By the end of the week, the entire network of dojo clients would know that the old veteran was raising his poor grandson. And that was well and good; everybody on the wizard side knew Potter's grandparents were wiped out in the war. Word the boy disappeared hadn't gotten out yet. Alastor didn't know if Albus noticed the boy was gone, let alone that he'd taken Potter. If Alastor had his way, the old man wouldn't know for another four years. Still, having a backup cover would help. With Moody's reputation, nobody would be surprised if he had a secret bastard out there, a half-blood squib who's wizard son Mad-eye now raised. The cover might never be needed, but just in case, having witnesses to attest the relationship couldn't hurt. Neither would the skin dying potions Alastor put in the boy's soap to make the skin tone closer to the scar color, and the bit of makeup to hide his identity. The eyes were still recognizable, but there was no safe way to disguise them on a child so young. Which was why Mad-eye kept the boy to the muggle world, just in case.
When the lad finished his sweet treat from the shop down the street, Alastor helped him into the car (yes, Moody knew how to drive one, great for shaking of wizard tails).
"Where are we going?"
"A surprise. Change out of those white things and into the clothes I left back there." Moody instructed. Harry knew the tone of an order well enough to do so first.
The drive to Godrick's Hollow wasn't long, but as they got closer, Moody felt himself slowing. He'd found the lad a few weeks after Halloween, too late for an anniversary visit. That was a bad idea anyways. To many people in the graveyard on a day like that. He had considered Potter's birthday (the dead one, not the kid), but the lad still hadn't been asking questions at the time, and Mad-eye wasn't sure he had enough trust for the kid to feel safe. The next opportunity that made sense was Harry's birthday, but that was a ways away, and Moody wanted to get this over with sooner rather than later.
He parked on a side street and the lad hopped out, stuffed dog in hand. The boy had found it in the store when they went out that first night after the retrieval (Moody never called it a rescue, made it to comparable to far to many bad war memories). The dog was small, not quite small enough to fit in a pocket, and black and shaggy. The lad rarely went anywhere without it.
Some of the books Alastor picked up said he was too old for that sort of thing, but others said it was normal for a child to have some comforting object. Alastor would know nothing about that of course. (He certainly didn't have a crochet blanket from his grandmother tucked away at home. Of course not. That sort of silly sentiment was for the young'uns.) But Moody figured the lad had plenty of time before Hogwarts to process the past, and if a palm-sized stuffed dog helped him do that, who was Moody to say no. Of course, the doll was also enchanted to grow and attack on command, but the boy didnt need to know that bit.
"C'mon lad, this way." Moody grunted. Harry grabbed at the side of the auror's coat and followed.
"I don't like this." The lad muttered quietly. He was looking around with a strange face, and shivering slightly against Moody's hip (the lad always walked on his bad side, and had caught his guardian after a stumble a time or two).
Alastor stopped on the sidewalk, and bent his remaining knee as far as he dared without actually kneeling. "Now lad, I understand. Lot's o' bad memories here. But we let those control us, and we'll never do what we came for."
"Do we have to see the surprise here though? Can't we go somewhere else?" the lad wined, green eyes going round. Alastor was pretty sure the lad didn't consciously know why they were there, but even a hundred feet away from the house, Alastor could feel it. Like the world wasn't quite right, or a breeze was going in the wrong direction. Things seemed to get greyer the closer they were, and both more colorful and darker farther away, and the entire area felt like the sea before one entered the wards around Azkaban. The world wasn't quite... sad… but you knew it could be at a moment's notice. It made the joy, and the singing birds, and the rustling trees all the grander, but that greatness was edged with the primal knowledge it could be torn apart in a moment.
Moody scowled down at Potter. "No, the surprise has to stay here. Come along now."
Harry, clearly not wanting to be left behind, followed, although he tugged even harder at Mad-eye's coat when they opened the creaky gate into the graveyard. The lad let out a small whimper, so Alastor made sure to put a hand on his shoulder, hopefully to calm him some. He didn't stop though, and eventually the pair made it to the relatively new pair of stones in the back of the graveyard. They stood there, staring, for several minutes, one half of the broken family looking at the other, before the lad started to sniffle.
"Now lad, what'd I say about tears."
"They block your eyesight and make vision blurry. If I'm gonna cry, best do it in private and with someone to watch my back just in case. I'm t-trying but it's h-hard."
With a heavy sigh, and mental recriminations for his own stupidity, Alastor summoned a blanket, and spread it on the ground across the headstones.
"Aye, and that's true. So we're in private, or we will be once I put up that silencing ward, and you have me to watch your back. Go ahead, get it done."
The little shoulders (although not as little as they were six months ago) shook a little as the left hand clenched and the right worried the stuffed dog's tail.
"I don't, um, I don't know what to do."
That. That Moody got. He'd never seen the point of gravesites himself, but Alastor knew he wasn't a startling example of mental health.
"Well, I hear you talk to 'em."
The little boy snorted. A good proper snort, filled with incredulous disbelief and distain and impertinence, just like Alastor had taught him. A good snort, or scowl, or leering smile could be more efficient than words in the right hands.
"Aye, never understood it myself. But I hear it helps. And you need to have come here at least once, before you head of to school. Won't have those fuddyduddys think they know best calling me a failure."
The next ten minutes or so were silent, except for chirping crickets and birds. Two crows landed on a nearby fencepost for a moment, cawing at each other indignantly, before flying off again.
"They aren't here." The lad finally spoke up.
"Aye lad? Ya think so?"
Potter nodded, and turned to show a face that was dry of tears.
"Yeah. I think… I think there isn't anything special about this place. Maybe they were here, before, but they aren't now. And… I don't think… I don't think they'd want me to be either."
Moody wondered what the lad thought he meant. His parents wouldn't want him to visit their grave? Alastor doubted that. Lily had been at a few auror funerals in the war, she always seemed the sentimental sort. But the boy might believe it. Lad never knew her, not really, after all. Or could he mean that they would want him alive? Far more sense from the adult's perspective, that, but Moody doubted the boy was anywhere near depressed enough for that to make sense.
Regardless, the lad seemed to want a response.
"Then far be it for me to go against your parent's wishes."
And they left the empty stones behind them.