#amoody

ALASTOR MOODY

↳ 50 / cis man (he/him) / head auror / fc: benicio del toro / taken

     they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace–

sometimes it feels like you’ve lost so much of yourself that it’s impossible to be whole anymore. how can you be anything but a shadow when you’ve fought tooth and nail, losing parts of yourself time and time again, until there’s barely anything left? they still call you mad, but you think that bitter might be a little more appropriate. what else could you possibly be considering how things ended up? you can’t say that this is what you were expecting when you started fighting the good fight so long ago. when you agreed, years and years ago, to mentor, to lead, you had expected a fight, but not this fight.

what is the purpose of a general when the war has already been won? how do they expect you to do anything else other than find something else to fight for?  you shouldn’t have anything else to fight against. but all of those children you led––because they were children then––they’ve grown up, and so many of them have grown into monsters worse than what you were fighting in the first place. it’s hard to know your place now. so you watch. you do what you’ve always done, preach vigilance, continue on as if any of this is what you wanted, but you know it can’t stay like this. as you see it, there are two choices. let this course destroy everything you all were fighting for, everything you held dear, or stop it. and you’ve never been one to go down without a fight.

      connections

↳ Alice Longbottom – your protégé, the best you’ve ever trained. the attack she suffered cut you to your core; perhaps if you had worked her harder, pushed her more, it would’ve ended differently. as it is, though, she’s still at your side, and you know you need her now more than ever if you want to fight this.

↳ Minerva McGonagall – now is not the time for weakness. it sounds harsh, yes, but you can’t allow her to slip now, or else you fear you’ll stand less of a chance than you would otherwise. if that means playing rough, pushing her back to the toughness, you don’t mind. she’s the one who’s meant to mold young minds now, after all, not you. 

With a few too many sips of firewhiskey warming her blood, Ros decided to crash the Malfoy wedding. The security at the backgate was rumored to be lax, thanks to an overzealous guard who’d indulged in the celebration. Slipping through the unguarded post with a thrill of excitement, Rosmerta made her way into the lush gardens of the Malfoy Manor. The night air, filled with the scent of orange blossoms and the distant sound of punk rock covers from the Weird Sisters, felt electric.

She adjusted her flowy, pastel dress and smoothed her hair, her steps slightly unsteady but determined. Finding Alastor amid the elegance of the reception would be challenging, but Rosmerta was never one to back down from a challenge. She imagined his surprised face, the quick flash of annoyance followed by the grudging admittance of her audacity. That thought alone spurred her on, her heart racing with a mix of nerves and excitement. Tonight was a night for unlikely adventures, and Rosmerta was ready to make it memorable. @amoody

When: Present Day (Game Time) Where: Ministry of Magic (Floor Two: Alastor Moody's Office) With: Alastor Moody @amoody

He’d been psyching himself up for the past fifteen minutes and still not left his office… One of his newer responsibilities as a full clerk to the Auror case files was needing to deliver weekly reports to the head of the department about the state of progress on the clerical side of trials, investigations and (sometimes) even accompany them to trials or house calls; luckily, Peter had managed to avoid the rota for that particular duty. But, he did need to visit one Alastor Moody and updated him on the week’s progress. Trouble was, he’d been putting it off the last quarter of an hour, terrified of seeing the man again. 

It wasn’t Moody himself, more what he’d represented, the Constant Vigilance he’d so utterly failed in, getting himself kidnapped and nearly, nearly spilling all his guts to save himself. He’d never told anyone, but Peter knew in his heart of heart’s they’d have broken him- and that just made him feel guiltier about seeing the man. Closing his eyes, and knowing he couldn’t be late, Peter wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, picked up the expertly organised files and left his new office.   

It was a short walk to Moody’s office and he shuffled slightly outside before raising a trembling hand and knocking the door quietly- too quietly, but the man inside must’ve heard as he was called to enter. Swallowing, Peter opened the door and stepped inside, keeping his gaze on Moody’s desk rather than the man himself, clutching the files to his chest. “P-P-Peter P-Pettigrew to s-s-s-see you, S-Sir, for the weekly R-r-r-r-“ Peter’s stutter was always worse when he was nervous. His grip was white knuckled on the files and his scrunched his face up, unable to get the damn word out, “Update.” He eventually managed, still not lifting his gaze up.   

★ : What their favorite thing is about your muse.

Dedication, definitely. Moody doesn’t do anything half way and Amelia appreciates that. 

♚ : What my muse thinks your muse is good at.

There was a sort of unspoken agreement between Daisy and the majority of bar and pub owners in the area -- they would ignore her underage drinking as long as she continued to put money in their pockets. She might not buy the drinks herself, but she certainly got enough other folks to buy them for her.  However, if she got herself into trouble, it was her responsibility to get herself out of it or find herself out on her arse. Her system worked the majority of the time. Flirt with enough folks, dance just close enough to get attention but not so close as to promise something she wasn’t willing to follow through on and slap the first bloke who got too fresh so the rest would keep their hands to themselves. She’d practically perfected it. 

On rare occasions, however, she overestimated the tolerance certain men would have for flirting with no true result. Tonight was apparently one of those nights. The first one to buy her a drink was a tall blonde bloke named Curtis, only four or five years older than her and already well into his cups by the time she’d arrived. That should have been her first clue to avoid him, but Daisy was fresh of a shouting match with her father over her continued desire to return to Hogwarts and hadn’t paid close enough attention. She had let herself grow too comfortable in the seedy pubs that would allow her entry forgot that much of the clientele were more than a sixteen year old witch could reasonably handle. 

She had tried to shake him off after the first drink and second dance and move on to another partner, but he stuck close and glared away anyone else who tried to speak to her. Soon she’d had enough and excused herself, claiming the need to use the restroom. The little redhead had crossed to the other side of the pub and moved on to a different gentleman when the first found her. 

“There ya are,” Curtis grunted, hauling Daisy up against his side and shoving the smaller man she’d been talking to with his other hand. “Piss off, the girl’s with me.” 

Honestly no matter what I say here, he’s gonna be annoyed with, but who cares. After my father, Alastor is one of the greatest men I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. He’s a royal pain in my ass -- and everyone’s ass -- but without him and the work he’s done we’d be fucked six ways from Sunday. The man is a brilliant Auror and should have been made head of our department a long ass time ago. 

So much for Sunday being the day of rest, Frank thought to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. They’d gotten lucky with the first bomb, or as lucky as you could get, considering a bomb went off, there were minor injuries, but no deaths. The one that detonated the prior afternoon had not left them so fortunate. When he left the scene the night before to grab a few hours of sleep the death count had been hovering around fourteen, but not all the injured had survived the night. The death count had risen to nineteen. 

The usually busy shopping district was now a massive crime scene. Frank walked up to relieve one of the Aurors who’d worked the overnight, moving to stand beside his boss. While he hoped the Senior Auror had gone home and gotten some rest, somehow Frank doubted the man had left the scene since he’d arrived. He waited while those who’d stayed through the night briefed them on the work that had been done, remaining uncharacteristically quiet until it was just him and Moody left. 

“Morning,” he said softly, “I brought a thermos of coffee --black-- if you’re interested, but I know you’re a bit weird about that kind of thing.” 

Hands stuffed into his coat pockets, Frank surveyed the scene before him. They’d done a good job clearing the rubble to rescue the wounded and make the scene secure, but it was still a mess. Glass storefronts had been blown out, leaving shards in the street to sparkle like glitter in the early morning sun. The arch that had previously welcomed people to Carnaby Street now lay twisted in what was left of a Casio store. 

Explosions caused by magic weren’t that uncommon, though they tended to occur on a much smaller scale. His training had prepared him to study blast patterns in order to determine what spell, or series of spells, had caused the damage but adding muggle explosives into the mix put him well out of his depth.

“One bomb is troubling...two? That’s a pattern. What the hell is going on, Moody? Should we be expecting more bombs?” Frank wondered aloud. “I mean, what is this? A statement? A warning? An attack? But an attack on what? A flower shop and a retail street? And who would even think to combine magic with a muggle bomb? Shit, you don’t think that muggles were involved, do you?” 

It was too early to ask so many questions, but he couldn’t help it. The habit had formed when he was still in Hogwarts; it helped him process information to talk it out and wasn’t unusual to find him muttering to himself while he went over case notes.