InsaneJournal

Who: Alastor Moody; Gideon Prewett
When: Backdated to Sunday, January 18
Where: Gideon's Cottage
What: Alastor's cheerful self pays Gideon a visit
Rating: PG- 13 for foul language
Status: Complete

Alastor apparated right outside the perimeter of wards surrounding the farm. Arriving unannounced was part of his plan - he knew if he’d asked Gideon if he could stop by, he’d be told no, or be given some horrible excuse, or Gideon would conveniently not be around when he arrived. Naw, this was better. He’d have to announce he was here, though. A wave of his wand, produced a silver jet of light, which transformed into the shape of a large, brown bear, which Alastor knew Gideon would recognize as his Patronus. He sent it off to Gideon with this message, “Let me in. I have booze.”

The steady, endless task of removing the weight of unexpected overnight frost from his garden beds had filled up the entirety of the afternoon, a satisfying and, more importantly, mindless way to fill the hours beneath a only slightly warming winter sun.

His work was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Moody’s Patronus, Moody’s voice emerging from it as cantankerously as the creature’s scowling features would suggest. It was, judging by the position of the sun in the sky, only half three at best, but Gideon could imagine the old codger would stand outside in the freezing cold all night until Gideon bid him to enter. With a flick of his wand, he dropped the wards and sent his own sleek, elegant silver mare galloping back in return: “Wards are down. Get in, you bastard before your growling upsets my chickens.”

“Hrmph.” Gideon’s less than welcome welcome didn’t settle with Alastor. After being told he could pass the wards, he trod through the farm, keeping his eyes peeled for a sign of Gideon, since he hadn’t said where to find him. Finally, he was spotted, in one of the gardens, and Alastor spoke out while he was still some distance away. “Some goddamn host you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me. Could’ve at least met me at the wards. You ain’t that busy.”

“Excuse me, where are my manners for my esteemed guest,” Gideon replied dryly as he stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. The knees of his trousers were well sodden and numb all to hell, but he forced his legs to move anyway, stepping out of the bed and onto the path to meet Moody properly, jamming his cold hands into his pockets. Despite the bite to his words, a glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “Why do I’ve a feeling this isn’t merely a social call?”

“You bet your ass I’m you esteemed guest,” Alastor said, with the same sort of edgy humor. “What? I can’t come to visit an old friend without you getting all suspicious? You don’t want a drink with an old man?” he asked, hoisting the bottle he brought, covered in a brown paper sack. “Let’s get out of this fucking cold and into the house, eh? Time you had a break.”

“Says you and everyone who’s come before.” Nevertheless, Gideon assented to the proposal with a nod and let the way into the cottage, immediately seeking to wash up up from his outdoor endeavours. The cats, which seemed to have been growing to an alarming number over the past few months from the first two he had all studied the intruder with vague annoyance and perpetual disdain from their various surfaces. “It’s winter, and it’s not even dark out,” Gideon pointed out but brought back two glasses to the table anyway. The last time he had imbibed, he’d ended up inadvertently spilling his deepest secret. He’d take far more care this time. “So what goes on in the wild and adventurous world of Alastor Moody?”

“Hrm. Days are getting longer,” Alastor commented, offhandedly. He was more focused on all the fucking cats around the place. They were regarding him with annoyance, and Alastor glared right back - he wasn’t having any of their cat shit. From the paper sack, he pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey. He opened and poured. “January’s slow. Not many people clamoring for a private investigator. Got this case, pulling up evidence for a court case, some stupid ass civil infraction. Boring as hell.” He lifted his glass. “But it pays the rent.” He toasted Gideon and took a long sip, then found the closest chair to sit upon. “Interesting bit’s happening behind the scenes.

“How ‘bout you? Come across any attacking hordes of Garden Gnomes, recently?”

“Even the gnomes have better sense than to come up here in winter,” Gideon answered gamely even in the face of Moody’s sarcasm -- it was the truth anyhow. Yorkshire was not very forgiving in the colder months. “Behind the scenes…?” he asked in spite of himself, even though he had a feeling the line more like bait for a trap.

“Nyaaaah,” Alastor made a dismissive sound and waved his hand. “Wouldn’t interest you. Attack on Dorcas Meadowes’ place. You remember Meadows? Fuckers burned her greenhouse to the ground.” He finished his sentence with another drink.

You bet your britches it was bait for a trap, and Alastor hoped he could reel Gideon in.

Gideon only glowered at Moody as he took a small taste of his own glass. “A valiant effort, I’ll give you that. Fabian told me about it already, and Dorcas got in touch soon after. I’ve agreed to help her with rebuilding her greenhouse once she’s feeling up to it.”

“Oh! So you’re not the hermit you make yourself out to be, eh? Reckoned you wouldn’t want anything to do with it, seeing as you’re so busy here, hiding from the rest of the world.”

“Not wanting to involve myself in your foolish attempts at forming a second Order does not mean I’m hiding.” There was a sharper edge to his words, more than Gideon mean to input, but the argument and bitterly issued, barely civil words exchanged with his brother recently still sat fresh in his mind.

“Aye, so you’re become a crazy cat lady, instead,” he snapped back, gesturing around the room at all the animals. “It ain’t foolish. It’s reality. War’s not as finished as we hoped it would be. Looks like we’re getting ready for round two, whether we want it to, or not. And it’s gonna come to your own goddamn doorstep, eventually. Then what are you going to do? Offer your attackers some apple pie?”

The animals, for their part, merely glared back, coolly unmoved from Moody’s rants. “If that is meant to be some sort of slight on my masculinity, I’ll tell you right now you’re better off saving your breath.” There was, undoubtedly, more ammo to be stored on that front anyhow. “I don’t care, Moody. War or not, I’m done. My obligations to the Order and to the bloody world ended the moment I was sent down.”

Alastor was just taking the piss out of Gideon, he wasn’t making any specific statement about anybody’s masculinity, so Alastor thought Gideon’s reaction was a little sensitive, but nothing to really raise his eyebrows at. There were more important things at stake. “So, you’re going to prune your trees while these mother fucking blood purists pick your friends and family off, one by one? ‘Cause you know that’s what’s going to start happening. First it’s Meadowes, who knows? Next’ll be Molly. Arthur’s got this love for Muggle Artifacts. That’s grounds enough for an attack in their twisted little minds.”

Alastor leaned forward in his seat to make his next point, “We’re going to need every single wand to help. And you’ve always had a steady hand. I’d trust to you keep my back every single fucking time, because you’re good.”

“Don’t you dare try to exploit my family like that.” Gideon held up a finger in warning, expression darkened in rising anger, though his voice remained quiet, lined with steel. “The Order ruined my life once, and I won’t let it happen again. I’ll tell you what I told Fabian: this isn’t heroic or noble or our civic duty. It’s foolhardy, dangerous, and illegal.”

Unphased by the display of anger, Alastor sat back. “Calm down and drink your fucking whiskey. Won’t be pressing any more of your buttons tonight. But if something happens, and you could’ve helped to avoid it, don’t say I didn’t try. Might’ve been illegal, what we did, but we sure as hell got things done that the Ministry couldn’t, what with all their red tape. Your sacrifice was huge, being sent to Azkaban for all them years. You ain’t ever going to get those years back, you’re gonna be scarred forever. We get that. But people’s lives were saved ‘cause of us, because of you, and don’t tell me they weren’t.”

“Then why can’t that be enough? What I’ve done, what I’ve given up? How much more can you possibly want?” The pathetic life he had managed to salvage? His soul? He’d nearly been consumed once, a bitter husk of a man who had been good at what he had done because he had been hollowed out of everything except vengeance. Gideon shook his head and burned away the dregs of disagreement with a wash of firewhiskey. “Let this be the last we ever speak of it, you and I, and I will continue to welcome you into my home, Moody.”

For what seemed to be a long, tense moment, Alastor simply sat in his chair and looked at Gideon, with just a shadow of a smile creeping upon his face. This was the Gideon he knew, with the fire in his belly, no matter how much Azkaban changed him. Gideon was better than a cat hoarding, apple picking farmer - if only Gideon could come to realize that, himself. Idly rotating the glass of fire whiskey in his hand, he finally said, “Interesting weather we’ve been having, this time of year, eh?”