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Don't Give Up On Me | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Romance Warnings: Death, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 173 Summary: Harry Potter has a destiny to defeat Voldemort and save the Wizarding World, but it’s hard to do when he’s the only one who knows that the Dark Lord has returned. Hitcount: Story Total: 50419; Chapter Total: 1572 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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Alastor Moody’s house was set back from the street and enclosed by a chest-high fence, overgrown with what looked like a Venomous Tentacula, only the leaves were smaller, and it gave a warning hiss when Harry came too close. Harry was surprised that it was in a more populated area than he’d expected. Then again, Harry lived in the middle of London, so who was he to judge? “Had to get Alastor out of trouble a few years ago,” Arthur said as he led the way up the walk after entering the gate. He’d warned Harry and Ron not to touch the plant or the fence as it was likely enchanted. “What happened?” Arthur’s face pinched for a moment and then he smiled. “Alastor is a bit…” “Paranoid?” Harry supplied. “We’ve heard the stories.” “Right. Well, this was back when he’d just retired. He swore someone was mucking around in the back alley behind his house, started throwing curses and hexes out the back door toward them.” Ron and Harry exchanged a look and Harry could tell Ron was biting back a laugh at the image. “Turns out it was only some cats,” Arthur continued, “but he’d enchanted the rubbish bins with his stray curses, and they were running up and down the alley causing all sorts of mayhem. A friend of mine contacted me and I took care of it before the MLE could get Alastor in trouble.” “He sounds like a complete nutter,” said Ron. He gave an uneasy look at the front door of the house. It was large and looming, painted black but faded from the sun. Harry saw a strange sort of mirror hung at an angle above it and realized that it showed the person inside the house who was standing outside without them having to open the door. A series of locks and deadbolts ran up the side of the door above the handle. Harry was uneasy meeting this man. He felt odd knowing something about him--having seen him in Dumbledore’s memories--and yet never having met the man in real life. Or, at least, he didn’t remember meeting him. “I don’t know if he’ll let us in,” Arthur said as he knocked. “He didn’t answer any of my owls.” “We have to try,” Harry said. They’d been trying for several weeks to arrange a meeting with Moody but had finally decided to just show up since he wasn’t responding through official channels. Harry needed answers and since Dumbledore was gone… “What’do you want?” A loud, gravelly voice boomed through a speaker situated next to the small window alongside the door. Harry hadn’t even seen it there, but he stared at it now. It appeared to be some sort of Muggle stereo and was implanted right into the wall. Harry could see bits and pieces of wiring that still hung out the sides. He glanced at Arthur, who was looking up at the mirror. “It’s Arthur Weasley, Alastor. I’ve brought my son, Ron, and Harry Potter to meet you today. Wanted to check in and see how you are doing.” There was hesitation on the end and a bit of shuffling. “I’m fine. Go away.” Arthur sighed and cleared his throat. “Alastor, please let us in, we have some things we need to speak with you about.” “I’m fine. Go away.” The speaker made a clicking sound and then went dead. “Might be able to fine him for that, Dad,” Ron said with a nod toward the speaker. “Magical use of Muggle artifacts. Isn’t that illegal?” “Hard to do that, Ron, when I helped him put it there.” Harry snorted out a laugh and raised his hand to knock. The sound was hollow, as if there were a great, long hall in front of the door. “I said--” “I’m sorry, Mr. Moody. My name is Harry Potter. I was a...a friend of Albus Dumbledore. I know that you and he were friends, as well. If we could please have a few minutes of your--” The locks on the door began to click and clank. Harry stepped back, watching with wide eyes as the door cracked open. His hand closed around the wand in his pocket, in case the batty old man started throwing curses. Instead of Alastor Moody, they were met by a tiny creature with bulging, watery eyes and flapping ears; a House Elf, Harry realized. “Master Moody will see you in the drawing room,” it squeaked out. “Thank you, Bitsy,” Arthur said as he walked in. Harry nodded to the House Elf and motioned for Ron to follow his father as they walked down the hallway and then into a set of glass double doors. Bitsy closed the door behind them and Harry heard the grinding, clicking locks move back into place. On the outside, the house looked like a standard, boxy suburban house, but the inside was definitely charmed. The ceiling was high and ornately decorated, although old. “Reminds me of your place, Harry,” Ron murmured. Harry smiled. “Only a little less creepy.” Ron pointed to a series of portraits of witches and wizards staring down at them, their eyes measuring the visitors’ progress down the hallway. “No, equally creepy.” Harry had to agree and wondered if all old Wizarding houses were decorated in such a gothic, imposing style. All along the hallway were odd little tables full of silver instruments and dark detectors. It reminded Harry of Dumbledore’s office and he wondered where all Dumbledore’s things had gone after his death. Could some of these have belonged to-- “Ah, there you are, Alastor!” The drawing room was dark, with heavy velvet curtains pulled over the windows. The only light peeked through cracks, letting strips of winter sunshine paint the ornate furniture. Moody hunched in a chair near the fireplace, a thick tartan rug wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was pure white and stuck out at odd angles from his head. It reminded Harry of a cartoon he once saw where a man stuck his finger in an electrical socket and got shocked. His grizzled face was deeply pockmarked with scars and Harry wondered how much weight the old man had lost, as it appeared to be sagging from his frame. “Arthur Weasley,” he bit out and then coughed. “Haven’t seen you in years.” “It has been too long.” Mr. Weasley sat on a chair near the hearth, not far from Moody. He rubbed his hands together. “It’s chilly, Alastor. Do you mind if I add to the fire?” Harry could see there were only embers under the logs and not giving much heat to the room. Without waiting for permission, Arthur pointed his wand at the fireplace and the flames burst to life. “Damned House Elf never keeps it warm enough,” Moody bit out. He seemed to pause for a moment before lifting his head, letting his magical eye take them all in. It moved much slower than in Dumbledore’s memory and Harry felt as if this man had aged dozens of years in the past two or three. “Who’re you?!” “Remember, Alastor,” Arthur said patiently, “I said that I brought my son, Ronald--” “Not him! I’m not an idiot! I know a Weasley when I see one! I meant the other one.” His eye singled in on Harry, fixating on him, the pupil dilating in and out. It reminded Harry of a camera lens focusing. “I’m Harry Potter,” he said. “I was a friend of Albus--” “Yeah. Yeah. I remember now.” But Harry didn’t think he did. There was a detached way about him that bothered Harry. It was more than only the Ministry’s memory curse affecting this man. Harry summoned a chair and sat next to Mr. Weasley. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he appraised Moody. “I need to speak with you about the Ministry.” Moody bristled and pulled his rug tighter around his shoulders. “Ministry,” he spat out. “Yes. We believe that it has been corrupted.” “You’re with them!” Moody’s eye fixed on Harry again and the old man began to shake. “You’re here to spy on me, are you, boy?” “No,” Harry said. “I don’t work with the Ministry.” “Not anymore,” Ron added, unhelpfully. “I mean, you used to but--” Harry wanted to send a stinging hex to his best mate, but he settled for a glare instead. Ron paled and pretended to lock his lips closed. Moody’s hands shook and Harry could see that he was clutching his wand inside the folds of the rug. “I don’t want Ministry spies here. If you’re here for that, you can get out.” “I promise I’m not here for the Ministry. I hate the Ministry.” Moody’s magical eye rolled around, taking all three of them in before he seemed to settle. Arthur gave Harry an encouraging look and urged him to continue. “Er, we believe that the Ministry has been compromised by a Dark Wizard.” Moody grunted. “Dark Wizard?” “Voldemort.” The eye spun crazily as Moody jumped out of his chair, much more agile than Harry’d expected for someone who looked so old. “NO!” The first spell shot over Harry’s head, making his hair stand up. Mr. Weasley pushed him to the ground and Harry’s cheek dug into the carpet. “Alastor, please!?” Arthur rolled to the side to avoid a blast of blue that scorched the rug. “He’s off his nut!” Ron wailed. He’d dived behind one of the sofas and the stuffing exploded out where another of Moody’s spells blasted it. “Take cover, Ron!” Harry shouted. He struggled to get his wand out of his pocket, but Mr. Weasley was pressing him down still. Flashes of light shot all over the room as glass shattered and furniture exploded. “He’s lost his mind,” Mr. Weasley murmured. Another barrage of spell fire came their way and Arthur hissed as the sleeve of his arms caught on fire. He began patting it down, but Harry sprayed water on it instead, extinguishing the flames. They scrambled to their knees and began to crawl to safety. “I don’t think he has,” Harry said as he tugged Mr. Weasley behind a sofa that Ron had overturned. Ron was now shooting spells back, small things meant to distract Moody. “He’s been hexed,” Harry said. He peeked up over the arm of the sofa and watched as one of Moody’s stray spells struck some ornaments on the mantel, shattering them and sending glass flying everywhere. “Be careful, Ron,” Mr. Weasley admonished. He’d begun sending spells, also, but more to keep Moody from being hurt than anything. One of their spells collided with Moody and he flew backwards, arching toward the floor. “Petrificus Totalus!” Harry immobilized the old Auror and floated him toward a clear place on the sofa covered with bits of leaking stuffing. “Damned old nut,” Ron grumbled. He had an eyebrow missing and his left foot was tapping out a strange rhythm on the faded rug. They all surrounded Moody, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully; even his magical eye was still for the moment. Harry’s heart was still racing, and he was glad that Ginny hadn’t felt well enough to come today. Granted, she was fast on her feet and would have reacted quicker than any of them had, but he didn’t want her in danger any more than she had to be. He took Moody’s wand and held it tight. Mr. Weasley began cleaning up the debris and clucked his tongue when he bent to pick up a piece of twisted metal that had been sitting on the mantelpiece. “They gave this plaque to him when he retired from the Aurors. What a shame.” “Not very sturdy, was it?” Ron asked. He and Harry both looked at the award for Distinguished Service to the Wizarding World. It was mangled, most of the words charred off the surface. They tried several spells to restore it, but nothing seemed to work. Mr. Weasley tucked it in the back of the repaired glass ornaments once he fixed the fireplace mantel. “He’s awake again,” Ron grumbled. Harry came to stand next to the man and watched the magical eye twitch in place. “I’ll release you, but if you attack us again, I’ll stun you myself.” Once the spell released, Moody struggled to sit up. His wooden leg thumped on the floor when he righted himself. “What...what happened here?” he asked, looking around. “Arthur? Arthur Weasley, is that you?” “Great Merlin,” Mr. Weasley said. “Don’t you remember what happened, Alastor?” The old Auror shook his head, pressing his hands to it as if he were dizzy. “What did you hit him with, Ron?” Harry whispered. Ron gaped as much Harry was. “Nothing!” he said. “I was trying to disarm him, but I don’t think that’s what hit him. Pretty sure I missed, actually.” He nodded toward a dark mark on the wall, the remnant of spell fire. “Are we under attack?!” Moody moved much quicker now, searching for his wand in the faded pyjamas he wore. He seemed much more lucid; his movements crisp. Both Harry and Ron lifted their wands to cover him. Mr. Weasley moved forward, his hands out in front of him. “Nothing like that, Alastor. You don’t remember--” But Moody’s eye had fixed on Harry again, pinning him in place with his stare. “Harry Potter.” “Er...yeah.” “It’s about time you came to see me, boy! I expected you ages ago!” Harry and Ron exchanged a look and Harry stood up straighter. “Er...sorry?” Moody’s expression turned stern. “Well, better late than never, I suppose. Don’t just stand there, we have work to do! Or maybe you’ve forgotten that a great bloody Dark Lord has overtaken the Ministry?! And where the hell is my wand?! “Cor.” Ron shook his head and dropped his arm, stuffing his wand into the back pocket of his trousers. “Better Wizards than you have lost a buttock by putting your wand there, Weasley,” Moody growled. “Great Merlin! Has the entire world gone insane?! Constant vigilance, boy!” Ron immediately removed his wand and glanced back over his shoulder, making Harry smirk. “Just wondering what it might look like to lose a buttock,” murmured Ron. Harry handed him back his wand and Moody stumped over past Arthur and toward a small table that had escaped most of the carnage. A glass decanter filled with golden liquid sat there along with several crystal goblets. Moody splashed a drink in one and tipped it back into his mouth, draining it in one swallow. He turned to the House Elf who was hovering in the corner of the room, eyes wide and entire body shaking. “Bitsy,” he bit out, “don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen here, or who came to visit me.” She nodded so vigorously that her ears flapped down to slap against her face, and then she scurried from the room. “Let’s get him to the Burrow,” Mr. Weasley said. “I don’t understand what is going on here, but it seems that he’s come around. This is the Alastor Moody that I remember.” Xxxxx Christmas dinner at the Burrow was a strange affair. Harry hadn’t seen all the Weasleys together since the summer and he wasn’t sure how they would treat him. Ginny seemed to have reached some sort of understanding with her mother and Harry was accepted again with open arms and loving smiles. But now everyone knew that he and Ginny were not only living together but heading the movement to subvert the Ministry. Would things be different? Would they look at him differently? He didn’t know. The house was hot when Harry and Ginny arrived, and almost overflowing with people. Harry regretted wearing the jumper that Molly had made him and pushed the sleeves up on his arms. “The oven’s been on for the last four days,” Ginny murmured when they walked through the kitchen. The windows were covered with steam and the table was overflowing with food already. “She’s not feeding an army,” Harry grumbled to himself. He’d had another nightmare last night and woken up early, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling until Ginny knocked on the door and offered to open presents together. “Don’t be so gloomy,” she warned him, “take today to relax, Harry.” Her fingers twisted into his own and Harry forced himself to take a breath. For today, he’d try to forget what lay ahead of them and enjoy the minute. That thought went right out of his head the moment they entered the sitting room and saw all the different faces looking back at him. “Er…” “I guess Mum did invite an army,” said Ginny. The entire Weasley family was there, along with a few people that Harry’d known from the Ministry, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, and a handful of people that Harry’d never seen in his life. “Come in, Harry and Ginny,” Mr. Weasley greeted. “No need to be shy. Everyone here is aware of what’s going on.” He waved a piece of parchment at them and Harry let out a shaky breath. At least he didn’t have to tell the whole story again; Hermione’d taken it upon herself to write up a short paragraph explaining the situation. The Weasleys kept them circulating to remind themselves when the memory charm worked particularly well. To anyone not in the know, it was a copy of an old family recipe. Brilliant spellwork by Hermione, Harry thought. Ginny excused herself to see Charlie, who was playing chess with Bill on the far side of the expanded room, and Harry worked his way through the crowd toward Hagrid and Neville Longbottom, who were on the far side. Despite charms to make the room larger, Hagrid still had to duck his head at a strange angle. “Happy Christmas, Harry!” Hagrid greeted him with a firm thump on the back that sent Harry a few steps forward and almost into Fleur and Nymphadora Tonks, who were deep in conversation about...something. “Hello Hagrid. Neville.” “You look like you could use a drink, Harry,” Neville said with a smirk. “Didn’t expect...all this,” he said as he surveyed the busy living room. “Righ’ nice of the Weasleys to welcome us all in,” Hagrid said. Neville summoned a cup of eggnog from the table across the way and it floated into Harry’s hands. He nodded his thanks and sipped at it, appreciating the slight burn of alcohol, hoping it would settle his nerves. “Cheers, Neville,” Harry said. “Ginny said she wrote to you, but--” “This is my fight, too, Harry,” said Neville. There was a hardness to his voice that Harry’d never heard before. “I think...he might’ve been the one to hurt my parents.” Harry’s eyebrows rose as he considered that. He’d never thought much about Neville’s parents past what he knew: that they were alive, but so damaged from spells that they lived as patients in the permanent ward at St. Mungo’s. “This is your fight, too,” Harry agreed. They talked about a few other things--Neville’s work in a potions facility greenhouse, Hagrid’s classes at Hogwarts, and a few friends they had in common--before Harry was called away by Ron and Hermione who were talking to Bill. The chess game had long been abandoned and Charlie was telling more stories of his barmy life at the dragon preserve, surrounded by people. Ginny was seated next to her brother, his large, protective arm around her. She winked at Harry and then turned back to listen to Charlie once more. “Hello, Harry.” “Bill.” Hermione turned to him. “We were discussing the situation with Moody, Harry. I was saying that it doesn’t make sense how quick he seemed to recover from his illness. The way Ron described him makes it seem like he was completely disconnected with reality before he...woke up.” Harry glanced over to find Moody and Arthur in a corner of the room, speaking in low voices. The transformation over the past few weeks was almost miraculous. His hair was still white, but it was groomed and clean, and he appeared to have put on more weight. His face was no longer haunted. As if he’d heard them speaking about him, Moody’s eye fixed on their group across the room and narrowed in on Harry. “If I didn’t know better,” Harry said, “I’d say he was cursed.” “Why not?” Bill asked. “A curse makes sense, although I’m not sure what it was without being able to see his behavior for myself. We know that a curse can be tied to a person, or even people in general.” He gave them all a knowing look. “Yeah, but why curse him beside what they’ve already done?” asked Ron. “Wouldn’t the one that’s on us be enough?” “From the little bits that Dad remembers, and what Tonks has said, I understand that Moody was quite the Auror in his day,” said Bill. “Perhaps the Ministry had more to fear from him than we think.” “Why not just kill him, though?” Harry asked. Hermione gasped at his casual question, but Harry’d been thinking about it loads. If they’d gone after Moody for his role in fighting Voldemort last time, why had Harry been left alive? So far, only Harry, Ginny, and Moody knew of the prophecy and Harry wasn’t sure he wanted the knowledge to spread further than that. “I don’t know,” said Bill. “Maybe he has information that they were trying to get from him?” “You mean he’s been being tortured all this time?” whispered Ron. Hermione hissed out a breath. “How horrible.” “It’s possible,” Bill said. He leaned back against the table, bumping the chess set. The little pieces began to threaten him, shaking fists in his direction and calling out nasty phrases. The old game had gotten more personality over the years; Harry refused to play with this set as the knights, in particular, had come up with naughty names to call him when his playing was sub-par, which it always was. “You should see the stuff that some wizards do to each other. This one witch in Egypt was so worried about her husband cheating on her that she hexed his pocket watch to wrap around his...erm…every time he thought about another woman.” Bill trailed off and chuckled at Hermione’s scowl. “Got him into a fair bit of trouble when he’d have even the most innocent thoughts.” “That’s barbaric!” “Oh, I agree, Hermione,” said Bill. “The things people think up to torture each other would make your curls straighten.” “This looks like an intense discussion,” Ginny said as she joined them and wrapped her arm around Harry, curling into him. “Mad Eye’s going to interrupt at any minute and one of you is going to end up the unfortunate victim of a body cavity search if you don’t stop looking over at him like that.” Ron snorted, but schooled his features. “We can talk about this another time. Mum’s almost ready with dinner, anyway.” “Any word from Sirius or Remus, Harry?” Hermione asked. “They’re somewhere in Eastern Europe,” he said. “We had a letter from them the other day.” “They’re working on a way to come back into the country,” said Ginny, “they just have to get in under the watch of the Ministry.” “Poor Remus,” said Hermione. |
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