A/N: I would like to give special thanks to justine34 from perfectimagination(dot)co(dot)uk for the wonderful beta work.

Prisoner of Hope

Chapter 1

Constant Vigilance

Alastor Moody was a patient man. After half a century of stalking and capturing dark wizards, it wasn't an attribute he was inclined to turn off, even in retirement. As such, when he received the owl from Albus Dumbledore to meet at The Hog's Head Inn, he set out from his home to stand outside the shady tavern – just watching. Albus, at least, understood him. He understood that, in a world full of predators, you can't just meet anywhere on a whim. He understood how it wouldn't be prudent for Moody to drop his house's defenses in order to verify the identity of a friend. No, it had to be at a neutral location, someplace where he could see danger coming; a place of dubious repute, somewhere he could blend in.

He arrived hours early, looking for any unusual patterns of activity. The rain beat loudly on the thick enchanted fabric of his invisibility cloak. He was forced to pace up and down the sidewalk across the street, not standing in the same spot more than a few seconds, so as not to leave a telling dry spot on the wet pavement. He couldn't hear very well in the din, but his magic eye saw everything, even the dog that suspiciously converged on his position. He followed it with his "Mad-Eye", all the while tracking it with his wand as his human eye kept a watch on the entrance to the inn.

At the appointed time, he noticed an elderly but spry wizard walking along the outside of the building. Albus Dumbledore had a very distinctive gait; not too fast, not too slow. After Moody watched him go inside, he waited a bit longer to make sure he wasn't followed before finally coming in out of the rain.

Once inside, he whipped off his cloak and draped it over his arm. He frowned when he saw Dumbledore seated at the table located at the far end. The old wizard's robes were not exceedingly gaudy, but they were definitely too clean to belong to a regular patron of the Hog's Head.

He maneuvered the maze of tables, deliberately accentuating each step of his wooden leg in concert with his walking stick. His special eye flitted to and fro, settling briefly on each of the seedy characters before moving on to the next. They spoke his name in hushed tones when he passed them. Some left their tables altogether in order to give him a wide berth.

He noisily pulled out the chair across from Dumbledore and sat down without ceremony.

He propped his cane between his legs and interlaced his fingers atop the handle before saying, "Albus. Why is it every time we meet, you look a little younger than the last?"

Dumbledore's thin lips curled into a smile. "Perhaps it is because each time you have grown a little older." He placed his pointy hat next to the mug of butterbeer, and lazily rested his elbows on the table with his hands clasped gently. "You have changed addresses again. You are a hard man to track down."

"That's the way I like it," Moody said with a smirk, although the gesture only served to contort the features of his heavily scarred face. He reached for the hip flask in his coat pocket and unscrewed the cap.

"So, how are you these days, Alastor?"

A frown revisited Moody's face. "Old and useless."

"I would argue both points to the contrary."

To that Moody grunted before placing the flask to his lips.

"How's retirement?"

"People in my line of work don't exactly retire," he said, wiping his upper lip on his sleeve.

"So you have kept in touch with the others?" Dumbledore asked with a tinge of hope in his voice.

"No. I'm not exactly the sort you hang out with."

"As ever the loner, my dear Moody," Dumbledore said, seemingly disappointed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Your owl said you wanted to see me on a matter of utmost urgency, Professor?"

"Very well." He blinked slowly. "I'm afraid I must once again ask too much of you."

"I figured you didn't call me here for tea and crumpets." Moody tapped his cane on the hard floor to accent his point, saying, "You're trying to get The Order back together, aren't you?"

"Sadly, I fear it will soon be needed again."

"I figured you'd be calling on me after the Death Eaters' raid on the Quidditch World Cup." Moody leaned in closer. His eye started to dart about frantically, as if looking out for eavesdroppers. "What's the mission?"

Dumbledore did not answer right away. He unclasped his hands and began to stroke his considerably long beard, giving the appearance of casual reverie. "Protection. I fear for Harry Potter's safety."

"Potter," he grunted, recalling the familiar surname. "James and Lily's son; the boy who lived. What's he like?"

"He's a lot like you were at that age, but without the cheek," Dumbledore replied, with an irreverent grin and a twinkle in his eye.

Moody paused to acknowledge the comment before continuing, "The Order's ranks have thinned out over the years. There are fewer of us left: Elphias, Dedalus, Mundungus… although I never fully trusted him—"

"Don't forget Minerva."

He grunted at the mention of McGonagall's first name. "Still, we need fresh blood...professionals."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

Nodding, he replied, "Shacklebolt, of course. And there is this young Auror who looks promising. Her skills as a metamorphmagus will come in handy."

"Ah, just like her grandmother," he said as an afterthought.

Moody's human eye narrowed. "How did you know about her grandmother?"

"You will grant an old man some mystery, my friend," Dumbledore said with that same gentle smile.

"I'll put the team together. But we're going to need someplace other than your brother's bar to meet."

"I will leave the details to your experienced judgment. In the meantime, there is one more matter that calls upon your expertise."

"What is it?" he asked as he continued to scan the area.

"This year I am in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He paused. Both eyes now focused on Dumbledore. "You're kidding."

"I am quite serious."

Moody mused as he shifted his weight, trying to relax in a chair ill-designed for comfort. "I suppose it makes sense. That way I can keep a closer watch on the boy."

"I'd prefer you'd think of it as a protracted homecoming. After all, it has been many years since you have last visited the grounds."

He snorted before taking another hit from his hip flask. "Sure, why not? I got nothin' better to do these days. So long as you don't mind the appearance of letting 'Mad-Eye' Moody loose on those impressionable young minds."

"I could think of no better role model," Dumbledore replied, although a serious look came across his face as he pointed to Moody's hip flask. "However, I am worried about the 'appearance' of your frequent libations."

"What, this?" he asked holding up the flask. "It's a broad-spectrum elixir. I use it as a proof against poisons – constant vigilance."

"I see." Dumbledore picked up his hat and put it on his head before getting up from the table. "Well, I'll look forward to working with you this year, Professor Moody. Now, if you'll forgive me, I must take my leave of you."

Moody grunted in farewell and took one last hit from his hip flask before putting it away. "...Flavored with a wee bit o' scotch."

—oOo—

Moody felt strange having a job after all these years. To be out among people again was a daunting prospect. Social graces and civility were concepts that had fallen out of practice with him. In his youth, he had demonstrated them exceeding well. However, in his old age, it was the one aspect of life for which he ironically lacked the patience.

The day before his departure to Hogwarts, he traveled to London to stockpile some last minute magical provisions for his extended stay. Upon his return, he sensed that the protective charms placed around his cottage were still in place, so he entered in his usual manner without incident. Once he was settled in, he fixed himself a cup of hot tea and sat in his study in quiet darkness. Going back to Hogwarts had weighed heavily on his mind ever since Dumbledore made the offer. Memories began to flood back from those days – the days of his youth. He remembered the faces of loves he'd had and lost, the faces of friends long gone, and so many regrets.

A crash from outside brought him out of his reverie. His magic eye immediately focused on the source, zooming in through the walls of his house to the dust bin outside; nothing. He finished his tea before slowly getting up and heading toward the kitchen, on the way glancing at his sneakoscope out of habit. It indicated all was clear, but decades of experience had honed his senses to know better. He stood in the middle of the living room, not moving a muscle. His eye focused on an errant shadow; his wand was already drawn as he zoomed in on a rat.

"Stupefy!"

A red light shot out of his wand and hit the rat with uncanny precision. Moody turned on the lights and levitated the animal closer into view. He scoffed when he noticed a finger missing from one of its forepaws.

"Homorphus!"

A blue aura enveloped the rodent, causing it to twitch uncontrollably. Slowly, the rat's features began to change. It grew in size and its snout began to round out, becoming more human-like. Grey fur was replaced by clothing. Eventually, the rat took the form of a ragged, middle-aged man that Moody knew as Peter Pettigrew, his one-time ally who had turned traitor to follow Lord Voldemort.

With a guffaw of satisfaction, Moody began to bounce Pettigrew repeatedly from the floor to the ceiling using the Levicorpus spell, oblivious to the noise that would undoubtedly begin to disturb the neighbors. When he had enough fun with his unwitting prisoner, he levitated Pettigrew back to the center of the room. A wicked sneer came across Moody's face as he dropped Pettigrew to the floor.

"Pettigrew!" He pointed his wand down at his prey, who lay prostrate before him. "You've got a lot of gall showing your rat face here!"

Pettigrew cringed into a corner, whimpering from the pain. "Please, Moody, spare me. I didn't come here to fight."

"How did you hoodwink my jinxes to get in here? Where's your wand—" He stopped when a dreadful realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Pettigrew is too cowardly to have come here on his own. In fact, he is good for nothing more than a...diversion. Moody scoffed as he whipped around and raised his wand, inadvertently knocking over a nearby lamp. Stupid, stupid old man!

Two flashes of red lit up the darkness. Then there was stillness.