InsaneJournal

Alastor stirred, regaining consciousness. The light of the room filtered through his shut eye and he tentatively opened it, filtering the light before slowly blinking it open. He was in St Mungo’s - he could tell from experience. As an Auror, he was not unfamiliar with finding himself in a hospital bed, and he could recognize the sterile smell and dimensions of the room. He was uncomfortable, but not in pain, thanks to the potions they were administering him, so he shifted upon his mattress, loosening up the sheets that somebody had tucked too tightly around his body. The first thing he was aware of as he groggily came to, were the bandages that the Healers had wrapped around the one side of his face, completely covering his left eye. His hand went up to touch them, and vague memories returned of his fight against the Death Eaters.

Death Eaters. What happened to the rest of the Order? Were they alright? Alastor restlessly tried to get out of bed, but it was frustrating because he didn’t have the strength.

In some ways, the past week had felt like history repeating itself all over ago -- Hestia had been a younger girl then, still very inexperienced, knowing she only wanted to heal others but unprepared for the brutalities men could inflict upon each other. Since the war ended, nights such as those had dwindled to only the very occasional exception. She often joked about finding seasonal bouts of flu and poisonings to be tedious, but if she had known what would come her way, she’d have been more grateful -- gruesome assaults wrought with dark magic. The cold, hard knowledge in her heart that Death Eaters were assembling and starting back up their campaign of death, torture and terror. How many more victims would come under her care before this new war’s end?

Such sentiments were kept firmly in check beneath her steely restraint, even as she had taken the Auror Alastor Moody under her expert care, as his case had been among the more serious: the damage had been catastrophic and irreparable, and as a result, Hestia had had to make the executive decision to remove from the man his leg and eye, effectively ending his second stint as an Auror.

When she entered his room to make her rounds of notations, it was only a close eye on the man’s vitals that let her know he he was awake, lines on his face still relaxed and groggy from the deep potion-induced slumber. She drew close to his side and made sure to stay within the bounds of his one remaining eye. “Mr Moody, my name is Hestia Jones and I’m a healer here at St Mungo’s. Are you aware of what happened to you?”

“I was attacked,” came Alastor’s quick reply. He stopped his squirming to scrutinize the Healer who had just entered his room. She wasn’t somebody he recognized from before. The potions made his mind groggy, but he had enough clarity of mind to know that he shouldn’t reveal too many details about the truth until he learned more facts. “How’d I get here? How long have I been out?”

“Two of your colleagues brought you in a week ago, claiming you had been…attacked in an alley. You’ve been in a healing comatose state ever since,” Hestia said. There had been quite a number of back alley attacks of late, though she didn’t voice the wry edge of skepticism she wanted to. Instead, her face remained as placid and serene as the aura she hoped to project to her ailing patients.

“A week,” mumbled Alastor. “Never been out that long before. Doing better now,” he added with growing confidence, though it would be clear to anybody that he still had a ways to go. “When can I get out of here?”

“Mr Moody, I don’t think you understand the severity of your situation,” Hestia began, feeling the dread welling up within her as she always did when she had to deliver the bad news. “You suffered extreme dark curse damage to your left eye and right leg. The damage was irreparable and we had no other choice but to remove them lest the magic spread to your vitals.”

Alastor stared angrily at Healer Jones with his remaining eye in disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding me.” With renewed strength, he struggled to pull the sheets off the lower portion of his body. “You better not be fucking kidding me.”

She moved forward quickly to help Moody confront the reality of his new situation -- it was a difficult blow, she knew. It permanently changed things. “...I’m not kidding you,” she said while helping him to adjust to sitting up, bracing him back against a reinforcement of pillows.

In no physical position to fight back her fussing with his pillows, he merely scowled. After Hesita was finished, he met her eye. “Show me,” he demanded, bracing himself for the worst, but stoically not showing any sign of weakness.

“Alright.” It was an admirable show of resolve, and Hestia, who made it a point to mine for and harness her restraint like steel, found herself relieved. Loss to this extent was devastating, but Moody struck her as a man who faced down hardships without flinching. He also struck her as a man who needed to see the evidence with his own -- well, eye -- and confirm it with his own senses. After settling Moody as comfortably as he would allow, she first brought before him a hand-held mirror he could hold while she gently removed the bandages covering his face. “You’ll be fitted with an eyepatch, of course. Or even a fake eye, if you would like.”

Alastor gripped the mirror like he would his wand in the middle of a battle. The area that was bandaged had been numbed with potions, so while he could tell the skin was tender, there wasn’t any pain. Only until the bandages were off and Hestia stepped back did he lift the mirror to his face to gaze intensely at his reflection. Where his left eye used to be, now was a dark cavity. The area around it was heavily scarred, and given the intense nature the curse, likely to remain long after it healed.

Without saying a word, he narrowed his other eye, becoming accustomed to the fact that this was him. “Makes me look more of a badass motherfucker than before,” he finally said. It was his way of trying to find something positive out of the situation. There was nothing he could do about it, otherwise, besides acceptance. “Fake eye, eh? Can’t decide right now which’ll make me look tougher, that or the patch.” He rested the mirror upon the mattress beside him and then ordered, “Now the leg.”

She smiled at the comment. “You do,” she agreed -- one could already see the years of battle hardened experience he wore like a set of robes, but now it was visibly and indelibly etched across his body. The next part, however, would be more difficult. She moved down the bed and pulled the sheet down to the end of it, revealing the missing gap of space where his leg now came to just above where his knee ought to have been. “It may still feel like it’s still there -- phantom sensations, we call them.”

To get a better look, Alastor had to lean forward. For several tense moments, he just stared at his leg, or rather, his lack thereof. At last, he solemnly muttered, “Aye. It does feel like it’s still there.”

Alastor was not a man who revealed his emotions easily. He was a tough individual who consistently kept an image of strength and stability with an attitude seasoned by years on the force. He’d been injured many times, seen partners injured and die in front of him, faced wand battles and curses against Dark Wizards that were fuel for nightmares. He knew of Aurors who were disfigured and disabled in the line of duty. “Reckon it was only a matter of time before it happened to me,” he said, dolefully. He sat back to rest upon the propped up stack of pillows.

“There’s been many advances in aiding those with disabilities. We’ve come a long way.” Satisfied that Moody had taken the full measure of his new reality, Hestia drew the sheets back over him. “Things will be different, certainly, but you can still lead a full life, Mr Moody. I’ll need to re-wrap that eye.”

“Do it,” Alastor gruffly gave her permission to bandage his face again. As she turned to get what she needed, he realized how he had to the way he turned his head so that she kept in his line of vision. This was only one compensation he would have to make with these new challenges. “Reckon this’ll make it hard as an Auror.”

When she turned back to him, fresh dressings in her hands, she gazed at him unflinchingly, battle-scarred, battle-hardened down to the very marrow of his bones. An easy, carefree life did not create the lines on that face nor the steely glint in that eye. “I reckon so,” she replied evenly before gently packing and re-wrapping the eye. “Do you have anyone who can help you?”

Alastor’s reply came swift and intense. “What do the hell do you mean, help me? I got one good eye left, don’t I? One good leg. That’s all I need. Don’t need no damn help from nobody!” He didn’t want to admit even the possibility he would need some assistance, even at first, and the last thing he wanted was the possibility of pity.

Tying off the last of the dressings, Hestia gave Moody her least impressed look. “In time, I’ve no doubt. You seem quite resilient. However, permanent injuries to this extent take time from which to recover. There will be a period of adjustment, and it will be difficult. It will affect every aspect of your life. From your reaction, I take it you don’t.”

Stubborn as ever, Alastor scowled back at Hestia and told her proudly, “I’ll adjust fine by myself. Once I’m well enough to get out of this place, I’ll be all hunky dory.”

“You won’t be leaving this hospital until someone can be assigned to assist with your out-patient care. If you don’t have a friend or family member, one will be assigned to you from our staff,” Hestia said, unmoved, as she reclaimed her chart and quill. She raised her gaze and stared at Moody squarely, ever ounce as steely and resolved as he when it came to her patients. “Last chance, Mr Moody -- a name now or I shall find one for you.”

Alastor returned the stare with his remaining, unblinking eye. Finally, he declared, “Out patient care, my arse. How hard could it fucking be? Fuck it, I don’t know.” He honestly couldn’t think of anybody who would be willing to help. Sure, there were people who he knew on the Auror force, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to show them any weakness by asking any of them. As far as people who he associated with, he didn’t really know them well enough to ask them to do him a favor like this. “Gimme a minute before you sign my fucking life away to some troll of a Healer. Hell, I just regained consciousness a little while ago.” Suddenly he blurted out the first name that came to mind, “Delacour.”

“Delacour,” she repeated, jotting down the name. She strove for neutrality, but her one concession was the surprised arch of a brow. Last she heard, the young girl had taken up campaigning for the French ambassador.To hear the name now from Moody’s lips was one of the more…surprising associations she’d heard of recently, to say the least (to say nothing of her own), and she wasn’t foolish enough not to put it past Moody to be taking the piss, as it were. “We’ll verify that,” she gave Moody a pointed look, “and once all is arranged, you’ll be released. We can explore options for mobility aids at a later date.”

“Aye. You do that.” Alastor faced Dark Wizards for a living, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be intimidated by no Healer. “Do I get my journal back? Or was it confiscated when I was admitted?” He remembered that he had the book on him when he went to join the rest of the Order to meet Lady Noir. “What about my wand?”

"Your personal belongings were collected and stored for safekeeping until you regained consciousness." She tapped her wand on the bedside table and the drawer popped open, revealing the small chest that contained everything on Moody's person at the time of his admittance save for his clothes: they had been cut off and sent off to the DMLE as evidence. "I needn't warn you of the limits of wand use in the hospital. I'll simply drug you first and not ask questions later." She smiled, the one that was both pleasant and just shy of threatening. "Any further questions?"

“Aye. When you’re going to leave so I can get some peace and quiet around here. I’m trying to heal here. Don’t need your yap.”

So they understood each other. Her smile receded back into politeness. “I’ll be back later tonight. In the mean time, get some rest, Mr Moody.” It was a long road ahead for him, and she did not envy him it, though something told her he was far too stubborn not to somehow succeed.

Alastor waited motionless for her to leave. The moment the Healer was out of the room, Alastor reached for his wand and his journal to write a quick note.