Moonchild
Moonchild
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style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>A/N: …
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>PROLOGUE: The Lost
The sun
shone through the office windows like the glare of a searchlight.
fixing on ornaments, silver instruments, a battered book, whilst his human one
squinted at a silhouette standing at the opposite end of the room. Nothing was
visible, except the silver hair, electrified and glowing from the sun. His
gnarled hands locked together.
switched reluctantly to the cruel accuracy of his magical vision, so that the
glowing hair became thin, and the shadow lifted to reveal tensed shoulders. The
presence ceased to be a disturbing, abstract idea and became
hair tumbling down, bony hands gripping the
windowsill.
trying to breathe the horror out of him. He opened his mouth, shut it again,
was besieged by memories; the auburn-haired professor who rescued him from the
mud of
face looking down into the chest where an impostor had left him.
between those blue eyes, and saying ‘Crucio.’
Moody’s magical eye would not close, so that he saw it for his brain to repeat
on a loop. Was he an old friend? He
felt a child, had met Dumbledore as a child; this was what made it worse… He
had to continue.
so that his hidden face aimed at the sun. The silence grew heavier.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>His voice was harsh and creaking, like a rusty
gate. Moody seized the word; tossed it back at him.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Silence again, except for the tinkling of
would change, as though the word ‘self-loathing’ had not been spoken. That was
no explanation; it made no sense. The man before him had been less a person
than an essence of light, humane but not human, seeming without that streak of
darkness all others carried with them. ‘Self-loathing’ was a twisted thing, a
warping thing… He could not believe it.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Albus—“
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Alastor, I… what you
are asking me to tell you…”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Dumbledore shuddered. At last, he turned, and
the impact was like black lightning; Moody bent his gaze to the floor, away
from the gaping hollows of the face, the wild blue eyes. Too late not to catch
a glimpse of the perpetually trembling hands, the sign of prolonged
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>The whispering voice seemed to respond. “I
have… I have done something—something unforgivable…”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Moody spoke to a chair leg. “You once told me
that nothing was unforgivable.”
then. I doubt anybody finds Voldemort
forgivable.”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Albus, you are
Merlin, that is absurd.”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>His voice had risen sharply. Moody bit his lip.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Oh… in some ways I am, my friend… In some
ways—“
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Silence again. Moody felt it crawling down his
throat, stifling him. He took a step towards the desk, and forced himself to
look up at the wasted, weary face.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Albus… please…”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Dumbledore turned sharply back to the window.
“I will tell you, and then you will summon the Aurors.”
He glanced back. “To arrest me.”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Moody tried to say something, but the
Headmaster spoke over him, in the direction of the
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“I will go quite willingly, Alastor.
I like to believe that I have spent the main of my life attempting to protect
others, and if such protection involves my own imprisonment, than so be it.”
His voice faltered. “Ones such as I… should not be allowed to go where others
go. Most certainly I—I should not be in any position inside a school. You
would ensure that no great persuasion would be needed.”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Moody gaped at him. The silver head was aimed
upwards again, and the trembling hands were locked together.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“I… I will miss Hogwarts.”
emotive, broken.
His head turned down and sideways, and something shining and jewel-like
dripping down—
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Moody rocked backwards on his wooden leg, at a
loss, a frightened boy. No words would come. Dumbledore was like a phoenix; any
tears he had ever, in his wildest dreams, imagined him crying were those of
healing, not those of despair… The Headmaster was speaking again, urgently.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“You must understand this, Alastor.
I beg you to understand this: I would have turned myself in before, were it not
for the Order and the war, and Harry—poor, deceived
Harry. I have deceived everyone, but Merlin forbid
that you should believe that I had the desire to do so. Do you think that I had
not the courage to go further with my hatred of what I’ve become? Pointing a
wand and saying ‘Crucio’ is merely one step away—“
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“No—“
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“—I was ready to do it, Alastor,
Merlin witness that I was. Yet I could not leave the Order… I felt that to
abandon those who needed me would take me beyond unforgivable to something else
far worse. But I have gone too far, I am too sickened… I cannot—exist—like
this—“
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>The hands, one burnt and charred, came up to
his face.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“—I was happy, Alastor.
In the midst of the war, even with the deaths I failed to prevent. I was happy.
You think of me as happy, don’t you, dear boy? Dear man—”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Moody reached out with one hand, helplessly—
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Dumbledore sidled away from him, head bent,
silver beads dripping down his nose. “Forgive me. I cannot—”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>He shook his head, overcome, and turned back to
the window. The ex-Auror stood paralysed. The silence
thickened until it was intolerable; he had to know…
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Albus… you have not
told me what…”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>His gruff voice faltered. Dumbledore’s bowed
head dipped even lower, but no answer was made.
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>“Albus…”
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>The Headmaster trembled, and his knuckles
tightened once again around the ledge. The silver head lifted up, stared
rigidly at the sky. A sigh, an exhalation of pure exhaustion.
Then suddenly he turned with unexpected violence, face white and slack,
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>When he said it, the ex-Auror
did not immediately respond. Winded, he sank down in the nearest chair.
merlin.
The word was inadequate, but he could say nothing aloud. Perhaps, he
thought numbly, that was why it was said again.
I have bedded a student!”