Liars

Summer, 1977

Alastor was late.

However, Minerva McGonagall was more inclined to believe that “late” applied to any period of time past due between one minute and one half-hour. Beyond that, as far as she was concerned, one was considered “absent” or “missing.”

Alastor was missing.

He had left on official business, supposedly tracking down a possible Death Eater, three months earlier. He should have been back two weeks previous, and Minerva had started to worry in earnest. It was foolish of her, she was certain, to have come back to Moody’s house that summer. Knowing that he was away on a dangerous mission, it would have been far smarter to remain at the castle. Alastor would seek her out there when he was back. She would have companionship, and not have to endure the little house that failed so spectacularly to live up to her standards for a living environment.

But she did not go back to the castle. Instead, she had bought a bed. It was large, soft, and durable, the three things that his former bed (sadly deceased) most certainly was not. The one time the previous summer they had tried to use it for “aerobic” purposes, the dilapidated thing had collapsed, leaving the two of them bruised and laughing.

Minerva hadn’t thought that she would remember the incident with fondness, even remember it wistfully, but that was before Alastor had essentially disappeared. Albus, she knew, had had no contact with the Auror for a month, something that worried the older man greatly. Minerva had noticed the Headmaster’s beard and hair turning swiftly to silver the longer that this hidden war had dragged on with the same regularity that Alastor collected scars. She herself had found herself doing work for Albus that he called “Extracurricular” and most people called “Espionage” a time or two, with the result that she herself had acquired a few wrinkles over the years. Getting older, she thought wearily. Witches and wizards were long-lived compared to Muggles, but that didn’t stop her from beginning to look like someone’s grandmother.

Of course she never worried about her attractiveness when she was with Alastor. Not because their feelings for each other were particularly strong, just because he placed just about no store in looks, and was no prize himself in any case.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Minerva bolted out of the bed and ran to the door. There was a strange sound outside, as if something heavy were hitting the ground, and she triggered the wards on the house. Alastor had put up several traps against Dark wizards over the past several years, many of which had saved both of their lives a few times.

Someone was definitely outside. A quick glance at the Sneakoscope on the table showed it to be quiescent, but Minerva pulled out her wand just the same.

Whoever was outside was making their way heavily through the wards on the house. That could only mean that whoever it was knew the safeguards and traps, knew the passwords, and must be Alastor! With a cry of relief Minerva threw the door open wide....

Only to wake up several minutes later in bed with Alastor leaning over her.

“What...” she asked, mind foggy.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and shoved a cup of tea into one of her hands. “Stunned you. Didn’t mean to. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

There was something different about him, she observed with a sinking heart. Something a bit off. Something about the way he was moving....

And then she saw it. Where his right foot should be was empty air, as was the area above it. Minerva choked off a scream as she saw that Alastor’s right leg was missing below the knee. “What....what happened?” she demanded, feeling ill at the sight of the wound. “Can’t anyone fix it?”

Moody laughed harshly, and she winced. “Of course not, sorry,” she said quietly. No spell could fix a wound of that nature, especially if it had been caused by Dark magic. Now sitting up, she noticed the heavy crutch propped up against the wall by the door, and the wooden leg sitting on the table.

“Looks like we’re going to have to use the bed now,” he said with a hint of apology. There was a barely-healed gash across his cheek and forehead that would have looked horrific under other circumstances, but paled now in comparison to the loss of his leg. “Can’t balance worth a damn yet. Keep falling over.”

His tone was no darker than usual, but Minerva had gotten far better at reading the enigmatic Auror. Losing a leg would mean that he was less agile, less nimble, less able to dodge unfriendly spells. It would put him at the mercy of others, and he had certainly made enough enemies so far to need to fear such an occurrence. “Are you going to retire?” she asked carefully, and was rewarded with a glare.

“Retire?” he growled. “I’m fifty-five. My father was an Auror until he was ninety. You think just because I lost a leg that I’m giving up? Letting this Voldemort bastard win?”

Minerva flinched a little at the sound of the name. She wasn’t certain why, but the sound of it seemed to invite evil into a place. “I didn’t think you were giving up,” she said placatingly. “I only meant that maybe the department--”

“The department knows better than to fire me,” he said firmly. “I’m worth more to them, even in this condition, than half of the idiot recruits we’re dealing with lately. I know who a lot of the Death Eaters are, and I’ve fought most of them personally. If they fought fairly, or one-on-one,” he said darkly, “there’s be a lot less of them. And a lot more of me.”

Minerva didn’t know what to say. She wanted to offer comfort or support, but knew he hated that more than anything. He hated it when he was healthy, and she could only imagine how he’d feel now that he was crippled.

As if to answer her thoughts, he grabbed her face in both of his scarred hands and drew her close, kissing her so fiercely that it shook her right down to her bones.

They were both panting when he pulled away. She hoped that the flush in her cheeks and the way her body was reaching for his could tell him everything that he would want to know, but didn’t want to hear. She hoped he could tell that she didn’t care if he lost both of his legs, didn’t care how mangled his body became, as long as he remained one of the ten percent of Aurors who lived to an old age.

Whatever he saw in her face was enough to make him kiss her again, and again, and she wasn’t complaining. He was pressing her down into the bed now, and her hands clutched at his back.

He pulled away so quickly he might have been burned, and there was pain in his expression. “Careful,” he muttered. “The Malfoy kid got me there. You have him in your class? Little bastard’s as bad as Abraxas was.”

“I did have him, yes,” Minerva said with a sigh. “He was something of a menace, and an awful influence on the younger children.” A thought occurred to her and she asked, “Have you by any chance run into Severus Snape while tracking Death Eaters?”

“Snape?” Moody grunted, and he shook his head. “Never heard of him.” His attention to the subject of Dark wizards seemed to be waning the longer he looked at her, and he moved to divest her of the little she was wearing. “He anything special I should look out for?” he asked as his hands ran down Minerva’s stomach to her thighs, spreading them apart.

She tried to remember what she was talking about, but gave it up as a bad job as his fingers were stroking her just there, and two of them were sliding inside her. “Just a student who came of age this year,” she responded breathlessly. “Thought he might--oh, I’ll tell you later. Please take me, Alastor.”

He obliged her as always, and was just as rough. In fact it was a bit painful at first, for Alastor was definitely off in his rhythm. Of course Minerva knew why he was unbalanced, why his thrusts were constantly angled uncomfortably to the right instead of dead-on, but she kept silent. She was rewarded when he seemed to find his stride, balancing instead on his hands and good leg, and cried out as he pummeled her hips with his, slamming deep inside with a brutal roughness that belied the look she had learned to read in his small black eyes.

Minerva was nowhere near close, but noticed that Alastor was tiring rapidly, balancing on only one leg. She felt like crying, but shoved that emotion down. If she offered to help in any way, she was sure he’d be offended or insulted, so she submitted to the hard pounding without saying anything.

A minute or so later, Alastor’s leg gave out on him, and he fell heavily on top of her. She grunted, having the wind knocked out of her, and he didn’t meet her eyes. “Alastor,” she said softly, and really noticed for the first time how gray his hair had become. She touched it tenderly, and was emboldened when he didn’t push her away. “It’s fine,” she said quietly, with him still hard inside her and his weight pushing down on her chest.

“Useless,” he muttered after a moment, and her heart constricted painfully.

“No,” she assured him. “Albus won’t find you useless at all. Because what makes you a good Auror isn’t your fitness, you dolt. You’re the most carefully analytical man I’ve ever known. You know exactly what the Death Eaters are going to do before they do it, and usually how to stop them.”

He laughed, but there was none of his usual warmth in the sound. He levered himself up onto his arms, rolling off of her. Minerva’s chest expanded in a grateful breath. “Hardly. If any of that were true--”

“You’re better at it than anyone else in your department, you said so yourself,” she said with a touch of anger. “And if you think I’m going to put up with you feeling sorry for yourself, you are sadly mistaken.”

His eyes met hers again, and he was clearly chagrined.

“Not to mention,” she continued in her best Professor-voice, “that if this new pathetic persona of yours means that you are going to stop shagging me in the middle of the act, you can get out of your own house right this instant!”

She hoped that she hadn’t gone too far, but with Alastor it was always better to push. She knew how to deal with him now.

He stared at her for a minute then said, “Your nostrils are flaring. And...since when do you use the word “shagging”?” Before she could reply, he rolled onto his back. “All right, then,” he said simply. “Climb on. Your turn to do all the work.”