Born a Fighter

Hestia breathed out in relief at Alastor’s answer. She was not afraid for herself; she knew her contributions to the war were so minimal, that it wouldn’t matter. Shame surged through her, a sudden, acute feeling of discomfort making her shiver. She fidgeted in her seat. It was one of the things she’d never brought up with Alastor. They were trite feelings compared to his own. Her guilt was nothing compared to whatever it was that caused his paranoia.

Alastor abandoned his evaluation of the crowd and quickly turned to make sure Hestia was okay when he felt her tremble next to him. His worry that something terrible would happen to her again was close behind his own fear of being caught unawares. After deciding that the shiver was psychosomatic, Alastor turned his attention back to the people milling about in front of them. The constant stimulus of the ever-changing scenery was partially calming to his nerves because it gave him something to focus on, but he was still growing anxious.

It was only when he caught sight of a Wizard jumping and reaching for his wand as the flash of a camera lit up to his right that Remus huffed and turned his gaze away, unwilling to dwell on the fact that sudden movements and lights had the same effect on him sometimes too. “She’s an acrid woman who would be better suited to a life of politics than journalism, thank Merlin for small mercies.” A small sardonic and humorless laugh followed his comment and he pushed all thoughts of that vile creature away and instead focused on Alastor at his side. No need to be polite about someone who never returned the courtesy. 

Alastor grunted his approval of Remus’ sudden honesty as his view scanned the crowd for any threats. Counter-intuitive as it may be, Alastor Moody was most comfortable when he had something to be wary of. Of course he had the occasional anxiety attack in public, but for the most part, those were reserved for when everything was quiet and there was nothing to fear. He saw a wizard pull out his wand as an involuntary response to the flashing lights of one of the cameras, and knew from Remus’ shifting positions beside him that the younger man had seen it too.

Alastor’s appearance made Frank feel very guilty, though he couldn’t determine why. How many times had he fought alongside Alastor; taken his commands; dashed into life-or-death situations at one skip of Moody’s dark eyes? He had to fight the urge to straighten, or to bring out his wand, ready for the battle. Instead, Frank managed a thin smile, acutely aware of how on-edge he must appear.

Moody noticed Frank's nervous demeanor and instantly identified. The feeling had grown to be a familiar one now that all the fighting was over. People who hadn't fought would have no understanding of the situation, expected everything to be magically better, but that's not how it worked.  "Don't you know you're supposed to be happy? The war is apparently over." Alastor said with as much sarcasm as his gruff manner could manage. 

Alastor took the girl's hand and shook it vigorously. Something about the way the girl conducted herself had always impressed Alastor. Unlike many of the otherpeople present for the trial, he found Alice's company to be not the least bit annoying. As a result, he was glad to be talking to her instead of making useless small talk with one of the people he barely knew. "Some night indeed. I had no idea that this is what fell under the definition of justice. Troubling times."

a change of pace ☛ frank/alastor

As someone who generally saw the world in simple black and white, Alastor very rarely had complex conglomerates of multiple emotions. Stopping by his old office to drop off a file, however, was overwhelming. He longed for the action of his Auror days, but knew that now that the war was over he should focus on settling a it. The problem was that the harder Alastor tried to relax, the more would up he got. With a sigh, Alastor pushed open the doors of the Auror's office, eager to escape until he spotted one of his one of his old coworkers and fellow Order member, Frank Longbottom. "You've been scarce lately," he grumbled.  "How've you been?"

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"If that was j-just the tip of the iceberg," Hestia said, "how t-terrible he must have been!" Hestia had heard talk of how he was a little imbalanced. Not right in the head, someone had said about Mulciber. If that were true, she wondered how accountable he was for his crimes. She shook her head, trying to clear that thought from her mind. She trusted Alastor’s word, and if he said that someone was bad, it was probably true. 'I won't feel sorry for a murderer and torturer,' Hestia thought. 

Alastor gruffly nodded at his roommate’s conclusion about Milton Mulciber. He had seen some awful things during the war, more than a few of which took place at Mulciber’s hand. Terrible indeed. Alastor turned back to look over the crowd, looking once more for any threat on imminent danger. Constant vigilance!, he reminded himself with one last sweep of the gathered people.

     Humming in agreement at the comment on Skeeters status as a harpy (though he was far too polite to agree further) Remus cast a shrewd look over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as Skeeter and her waif-like creep of a photographer snapped a photo of him stood talking to Moody. How that was photo worthy at all was beyond him but then again he wouldn’t put it past the vapid bint to write about some torid love affair they were sharing. Nose wrinkling in self induced disgust he turns back towards his old comrade and shrugs a shoulder, “All is as well as it can be considering. Yourself?” It wasn’t that Moody was unattractive, far from it, he just wasn’t Remus’ type. Wasn’t him.

Remus’ politeness was baffling at best. Seconds ago he had literally run away from Skeeter, but still he wouldn’t say anything negative about her. Alastor shook his head in confusion before addressing Remus. “There’s no need to be coy. I know you agree.” Moody crossed his arms over his chest as though that settled the matter.

Hestia watched the crowd quietly, focusing especially on the Order members she had known. Their expressions varied, and if she hadn’t known who they were, they would have blended into the crowd. Civilians, former Death Eaters, ex-Order members: in the end, they were all people. Mulciber was just another person who’d committed crimes, and now he was to face them. Who else in this throng of people deserved to be put in Azkaban? Hestia wondered. She felt more justice needed to be sought after, but not now, perhaps. It would be a mission for another day. Would she be among those who fought for it? 

With so many Dark Wizards around, it was hard for him to feel completely at ease. Regardless of the fact that he had an excellent vantage point and regardless of the fact that they were in the Ministry of Magic, Alastor could not convince himself that things would remain peaceful. He was well aware that the wand in his pocket wasn’t placed in the most advantageous spot for quick spell casting. Moody reached up and scratched his side, jostling the wand into a more suitable position before trying to settle down. He intertwined his hands and placed them in his lap in order to stop clenching his fists, and found that the action provided him less relief than he had hoped.