Forbidden Colors

Chapter 3

Forbidden Colors

After the fight with the giant, news of Moody's victory had spread all over the countryside, especially at Hogwarts. He was asked repeatedly by his house-mates in the Gryffindor common area to recount his story of the battle. He tried to be brief, sticking only to the facts. However, by breakfast time, his exploits were already legendary, having been exaggerated by word of mouth. He had looked forward to first meal, but due to the constant interruptions, be it from owls or other students, he barely had time to scarf down a scone and a glass of juice.

At the risk of allowing all of the extra attention to feed his ego, he had to admit that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience. In the Gryffindor common area, he caught many of the girls stealing glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking. In the hallways between classes, he was approached by one particularly attractive Ravenclaw girl that requested 'private' dueling lessons. Outside the Potions room, he thought he heard his name whispered among a group of Hufflepuff sixth years. When he turned to look, they blushed nervously and giggled to themselves as they scampered off. By the time Transfiguration with Dumbledore rolled around, he was feeling very self-conscious and could have sworn that one Slytherin girl had bumped into him in order to lift a strand of his hair that had shed on his robe.

He had trouble paying attention throughout the lecture, since he was constantly catching side-glances from one pretty set of eyes to the next. In fact, he was so distracted that he almost didn't notice when Dumbledore asked him to stay after class. Fortunately, Moody had the presence of mind to acknowledge him before getting his books together and heading for Dumbledore's open office behind the podium. Once at the door, he thought it prudent to knock before going inside.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Dumbledore was busy shelving a set of scrolls he had taken down for the day's lesson. He regarded Moody's presence aloofly before replying, "Yes, Alastor, come in."

Moody stepped slowly inside. He had never had the occasion to visit Dumbledore's private office before. It was of modest size, and as a result, every available inch of space was put to use. Shelves lined the walls, packed with scrolls and tomes covering virtually all ranges of magical discipline. Dumbledore's desk was placed in the back of the room facing the door. It was occupied with parchments and various other enchanted items, but was otherwise neatly organized. Behind the desk was a mock-up of the scoreboard kept in the main dining hall. It showed Gryffindor in the lead for the House Cup, just slightly ahead of Slytherin.

Moody stood at the edge of the desk. A baby phoenix was perched on a roost on the opposite side and appeared to be sleeping. Dumbledore was still busy tending to his bookshelf, so Moody took the liberty of taking a closer look at the contents thereon. He immediately noticed the town newspaper, turned to the page featuring an article about him. He leaned in closer to read the caption under the picture.

Mighty Moody Slays Giant

He tried to skim the rest of the article, but had a hard time reading the small letters upside down. By this time, Dumbledore had finished organizing the scrolls and was standing next to him, leaning against the corner of the desk.

"I heard you had a little adventure over the break."

Moody blushed but smiled with pride. "Yes, sir."

"Impressive, considering both your age and the fact that wizards with more experience have failed where you have succeeded."

He found Dumbledore's comment sobering. "I only wish I could've been there in time to save Auror Huxley, sir."

"Indeed." He nodded in agreement. "Now, if you would be so kind as to hand over your junior Ministry badge."

Moody's eyes narrowed. "Sir?"

"I have convinced the headmaster to suspend the Auror-mentoring program indefinitely."

"I... don't understand." He clenched his fists under his robe. "You can't do that."

"I respectfully disagree," Dumbledore replied firmly.

"But why?" he asked, his confusion starting to manifest itself in the rising volume of his voice. "If I hadn't stopped that... thing, he would've continued to ravage the English West Country!"

Dumbledore maintained a calm, even tone when he replied, "You disobeyed Huxley's orders, putting yourself in great danger. In addition, you did not notify the Ministry and took it upon yourself to fight that giant. If you had failed, he would have escaped and continued his rampage. Worse yet, you killed him, further straining wizard-giant relations."

Moody blinked. "You can't be serious. I don't believe this to be fair, sir."

Sighing, Dumbledore approached him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Don't you see how wrong things could have gone, Alastor? We cannot have students under our care engaging in battle with the Dark forces."

"But, sir, haven't you always taught us that evil only prevails when good wizards do nothing? It would have been shameful to turn tail and run," he said in defiance.

The old wizard smiled and nodded. He walked around to sit behind his desk, taking on an air of formality as he did so, and placed his chin on interlaced fingers before addressing the young wizard. "Why do you want to become an Auror, Alastor?"

Confusion washed over Moody's face. "Professor?"

Dumbledore grinned in amusement. "It is not a trick question."

He shrugged. "Well, I suppose in order to stop Dark wizards...to vanquish evil and all that."

"So, vanquishing evil is about dueling Dark wizards and slaying giants?"

Moody looked down at his feet, adopting a more humble countenance. "I don't rightly know, sir. All I do know is that I want to be the best at it."

"It is a noble profession, but is not without its disadvantages. I do not intend to dissuade you, but I would gently suggest that you supply yourself with a better reason before you apply at the Ministry. I assume you will be applying next year?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore unclasped his hands. A smile of encouragement graced his face, breaking the tension. "Perhaps you should consider taking a year off."

Moody felt his shoulders relax a bit. "It is my understanding that that tradition has fallen out of favor over the years."

"Yes. A shame really. Nevertheless, there is value to be gained in traveling outside of the familiar, to experience other points of view. I suggested the same thing to a student from Slytherin last year. Like you, he was very talented and singularly driven. However, I fear he may have drawn the wrong conclusions from my advice, which is why I have chosen to be forthright with you."

"I think I understand." Moody reached into his robe and took out his badge. He noticed that Dumbledore had also reached into his robe to pull out his wand. He arched an eyebrow in curiosity to ask, "What did you do during your year off, Professor?"

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the score board. "I, unfortunately, had to break from tradition. Life has a funny way of altering one's plans."

Moody watched Dumbledore wave his wand. As he did so, points immediately began to subtract from Gryffindor house's total, putting Slytherin in the lead.

Once the dial came to a halt, Dumbledore put his wand back into his robe. "It will cost Gryffindor the house cup, of course, but hopefully it will stifle any future heroics you may have inspired in your peers." He raised a white, bushy eyebrow, regarding Moody's expression as he asked, "Does that bother you?"

Moody stood up straight, unsure of how he should answer. Looking forward, with his hands clasped behind his back, he said in reply, "Frankly, sir, I've never regarded the point system as a particularly persuasive motivator. It's just a game designed to foster childish competition between the houses. It has no basis in reality. I believe that the only challenger of import is oneself."

"And that, I fear, is part of your problem, Mr. Moody." Dumbledore paused and looked down. "You might want to report to the infirmary and get that leg taken care of."

Moody likewise looked down at his leg; indeed, blood could be seen seeping through the fabric of his trousers...a reminder of his ordeal with the giant. Without another word, he placed his junior badge on Dumbledore's desk before turning to leave.

Moody didn't want to admit it, but his meeting with Dumbledore had angered him immensely. Over the years, he had come to respect the professor's opinion and even to admire him, although he always had a difficult time reading him. Nevertheless, this time he was sure that his teacher was wrong. Why should he be penalized for something he excelled at?

The more he thought about it, the more he noticed the pain in his leg. He considered trying to heal it himself again, but the amount of bleeding prompted him to report to the hospital wing as Dumbledore had suggested.

He hopped slowly down the stairs leading to the common area. On the staircase, he met a group of seventh-year Slytherins on their way up. They eyed him up and down as they passed. They continued on their way, except for one girl who lingered behind. Her brow furrowed when she saw his leg. She had deep black hair that starkly offset her flawless white skin. Her piercing dark eyes regarded him silently as she clutched her books tightly to her chest. She looked as if she were going to say something to him, but when her peers called after her, she turned away from him and joined the other Slytherins. He watched them disappear into one the paintings before he continued his descent to the ground floor.

Moody limped into the ward and stood at the entrance to the waiting room. On one side of the room sat a row of Gryffindor students seated opposite a row of Slytherins. They were dressed in Quidditch gear and sat hunched over, nursing various degrees of cuts and bruises. Quidditch season always seemed to amplify the animosity felt between the two houses. Noticing that the two sides looked like they were ready to have another go, he opted to remain standing by the door.

The nurse walked in. She wore a long, dark dress with a white apron. Her black hair was pinned back tightly into a bun, and she carried a clipboard close to her chest. She looked down at the clipboard, ready to read the name of the next patient, but when she looked up and saw the state of Moody's leg, she moved him to the head of the queue.

He followed her to an empty bed at the end of the wing. She instructed him to sit down after pulling the privacy curtain around them.

"Off with your kecks," she ordered.

He looked up at her, blushing at her instruction. Judging by her features and fair skin, he could tell that she was very young, possibly around his own age. However, the authority with which she spoke combined with her severe look made her appear much older.

"Come now, I don't have all day," she said impatiently.

He obeyed, taking off his robe and trousers while remaining seated. She knelt beside him and put on a pair of spectacles that were hidden in her apron pocket before examining the gash on his leg.

"What happened here?" she asked, peering closer into the wound. "Where you involved in the Quidditch riot this morning?"

"No. I got this fighting a giant." Noticing the nurse's skeptical expression at his reply, he reiterated, "Seriously, I'm the one you've read about in the paper: 'Mighty Moody Slays Giant'," recalling the article from Dumbledore's desk.

"Clever," she commented dryly, keeping her attention on his leg. She reached for a jar of salve from a prep tray at the head of the bed, and applied some on the wound. Almost immediately, the bleeding stopped.

As she worked on his leg, Moody couldn't help but stare at her. "Have we met before? You look familiar."

"Probably because I only graduated last year," she replied absentmindedly before adding, "I'm working here as an intern until I receive my certification."

He snapped his fingers as the memory came rushing back. "Right. I hardly recognized you without your Head Girl robes. Minerva, right?" he asked with a lopsided grin. "But you've still got your grandmum's spectacles, I see."

"That's Miss McGonagall." She glared at him over the rim of her glasses. "And I hardly recognized you without your entourage behind you screaming accolades in your name."

Taken aback by the rebuke, he decided to return the focus back to his injured leg, saying, "I tried to charm it myself, but it just opened up again for no reason..."

She straightened his leg out brusquely over the mattress. "When healed improperly, stress can cause a wound to reemerge."

"Well, what's the verdict? Are you going to have to lop it off?" he said nervously.

"Not this time." She took out her wand and waved it over the cut.

"Ow!"

She continued to work quickly and efficiently, saying, "I'll just have to remove all vestiges from your inept attempt at magical surgery before I apply the proper healing charms."

He continued to wince at her ministrations. "Has anyone ever told you that your bedside manner needs work?"

"Maybe it'll remind you to think twice before engaging in battle with a man-eating giant," she replied with a hint of a smirk before closing the wound. "Just a little pinch now...."

"BLOODY 'ELL!"

He left promptly after his leg was healed and his pants Scourgified, thoroughly convinced that McGonagall was a sadist, although he had to admit that the results were exemplary. There was no sign of a scar and the pain was gone. Since he didn't have time to eat before his next appointment, he decided to skip lunch and walk down to the lake on the far side of the grounds.

Hogwarts had lush and beautiful scenery year-round, but Moody always regarded autumn as the season when it was exceedingly breathtaking. It was brisk outside, even though the sun shone overhead. He stood alone along the bank that buffered the Forbidden Forest and looked out over the waters as the breeze graced the skin on his face. He always found a calm center here.

A faint scent of jasmine brought him out his thoughts. Looking over his shoulder, he eyed a figure at the edge of the tree line dressed in robes bearing the Slytherin sigil. He turned slowly, wary of his visitor's intent. The stranger advanced silently toward him, brandishing a wand.

"Stupefy!"

Moody rolled out of the way to dodge the hex, coming about on his feet with his wand raised. He blocked another hex and counter-advanced as he aimed his own spell.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Disarming jinx knocked his opponent to the ground. They wrestled in the grass, but Moody prevailed, using his weight to pin the assailant down. He removed his attacker's hood, and a pair of dark, glimmering eyes stared back at him – the same eyes from the girl he had seen on the staircase.

"Get off me, you brute!"

She tried to free her arms, but he had them pinned securely by her wrists above her head. With his free hand, he used his wand to undo the clasp on her robe, exposing her school uniform.

"Well, well. What are you doing so far from Slytherin, little girl?"

"Gryffindors don't own the grounds." She stopped struggling and sighed. "Now let go of me."

"There's a price for freedom, lass." He leaned into her lips and kissed her eagerly.

She turned away, giving him her cheek. "You're late, Allie. And I saw you making eyes at all those Gryffindor girls during first meal."

"I had to keep up appearances, didn't I?" he offered in defense. "Imagine the scandal, especially now, if the school found out that a Gryffindor is dating a Slytherin."

"Don't exaggerate."

His eyes perked. "You aren't jealous, are you, Druella?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly."

"Then why the hex?" he asked with an accusatory look.

She smirked. "Just marking my territory. I don't like all the attention you've been getting lately." She looked up to him, her face clouded with concern, before continuing, "It was bad enough before, but now I think you're going to find someone prettier than me."

He rolled off and lay next to her on his side, looking down at her with his head propped on his hand. He knew how easily he could lose himself staring into her dark gray eyes.

"C'mon, Dru, you know I would never date those girls from the other houses, least of all from Gryffindor."

Her teeth tugged gently on her lower lip. "Really? And why is that?"

"Too prim and proper. I've always been attracted to slightly naughtier girls," he said, grinning as he leaned towards her.

She turned her head away quickly, giving him her cheek again. "Maybe the sorting hat got you wrong, Allie love. You're all Ssslytherin," she said, teasing him with a seductive hiss.

He picked out a buttercup from the grass next to her head. She closed her eyes and let him pin it in her hair just above her ear. As he touched it, her hair started to change color in waves, turning from black to violet.

"Nah, I could never be a Slytherin... dreadful colors." He grabbed a few of the purple strands between his fingers and put them to his nose. They had the same hint of jasmine as her perfume.

Her eyes widened. "Not again," she sighed when she saw her hair. "Stop making it do that."

His eyes narrowed. "How could I possibly make your hair change colors?"

"I dunno," she said with a shrug. "But it only does it when I'm around you."

"Why do you hide it anyway? You should develop these abilities... see how far they can go..."

"And be regarded a freak? No thanks."

"You are not a freak." He continued to stroke her hair, making note of the way it glistened at certain angles in the sunlight.

She blew back a tuft of hair that had fallen on her nose. "I'm glad you think so."

He slid a hand slowly down her tummy until he reached the waistband of her dress. "I wonder... Does it change colors everywhere?"

Giggling, Druella pushed Moody onto his back and sat astride him. "Don't get cheeky, Allie," she said, while she punched at him playfully. "I was just starting to forgive you."

They both laughed until her punches started to turn into gentle caresses. She arched a violet eyebrow as she pulled his shirt up to his chin to expose his muscular torso. He leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head, while she traced her nails between the grooves of his lean stomach.

"Beau corps, monsieur," she said with hungry eyes. "Est-ce que que tu es aussi doux que tes yeux?"

"No fair speaking French, Ms. Rosier." He spasmed when she dug her nails deeper into his skin. "Aren't you afraid we'll be caught?"

With a mischievous smile, she leaned forward, propping her hands on his biceps. Her medium-length hair draped over one side of her face with the ends lightly grazing his cheek. "What do I have to be afraid of when I have the mighty Alastor Moody to protect me?"

He frowned. "That'll remain to be seen when everyone finds out I lost Gryffindor the House Cup to your lot."

She sat up, resting her hands on her hips. "I rest my case: you prefer Slytherin on top," she said with a wink.

He sat up and grabbed her firmly by the arms. She yelped when he buried his face at the base of her neck. He began to kiss her tenderly, following the line up to just below her jaw. Her moans indicated her approval as the kisses lingered longer and longer in the same spot.

She gasped when she realized that she was enjoying the sensation a little too much. "Allie, what are you doing?"

"Marking my territory," he said after he finished sucking her flesh.

She forced herself to push him away. She picked the flower out of her hair, and using his wand, transfigured it into a hand mirror. She brushed her hair aside to examine the bruise. Exasperated, she snapped, "I have class in ten minutes, you git!"

She threw his wand back at him and got up to retrieve her things. A lopsided grin of satisfaction crept across Moody's face as he looked upon her. Her pouty expression remained even as she fastened her robe. She turned to storm away, but spun on her heels too fast and ended up tripping on the hem of her robe. A shrill yelp escaped her lips when she landed on her bum. She scrambled to her feet and glared at him, her bottom lip trembling, daring him to laugh.

He wisely chose to keep his expression humorless. "Don't forget about your hair, Dru."

She shook her head vigorously from side to side until her hair returned to its natural raven color. As she walked away, more carefully this time, she glanced back at him over her shoulder, giving him a wry smile before turning her nose up at him.

o~o~o~o~o~O~o~o~o~o~o

Barty Crouch released his grip on Moody's mind, allowing him to regain consciousness. "Sorry about that last interruption. We had a little run-in with the police. Fortunately, your blood-traitor friend, Weasley, took care of it." He grinned with satisfaction when he noticed Moody clench his jaw. He leaned in closer to whisper in Moody's ear, "Y'know, I had no idea that old hag Druella was such a tasty slice of crumpet in her day."

"Don't talk about her like that!" Moody's head was still pounding; it felt like he had been drugged. He noticed that he was still in his chair, but had been moved to his bedroom – his magical portmanteau sat open at the foot of his bed. He tried again to break the Binding Curse, but was unsuccessful. "And you stay outta my head, boy!"

Crouch spun him around in the chair, looking Moody in his good eye. "I could force you to answer a bunch of boring questions, but this way is much more efficient. Besides, I can't wait to see how this train wreck turns out. Who would've thought you were such a ladies' man."

Moody returned Crouch's stare. "If a peep show is all you're looking for, next time I'll just dredge up some memories of your sweet old mother," he said with an even timbre that hid his fury.

Crouch stood up straight, not taking his eyes off Moody. "My mother wouldn't give you the time of day, old man!"

Moody smiled. "It wasn't the 'time' I got from her, mate."

His eyes narrowed as he pointed his wand at Moody's temple. "You're lying."

Moody winced when he felt Crouch's Legilimency invade his brain. Struggling to stay conscious, he sneered when he saw the color drain from the young wizard's cheeks. "Thought I was lyin', did ya?"

Crouch's eyes widened in horror. "Mu...Mummy?"

He tried to break the connection, but Moody held fast in hopes of reversing the link. He was now able to wiggle his fingers slightly, so he continued to press Crouch, saying, "Look at the sweet haunches on that wench. Your mum really knew how to mount a broomstick, if you catch my drift. She always smelled like pickles, though."

"Shut. Up." Crouch's features contorted. He placed his hand over his eyes in a vain attempt to obfuscate the images forced into his mind.

Moody could feel Crouch's resolve weakening. If he could just free his hand, he could reach his wand across the end table. "I really miss shaggin' your tart of a mum. Let's see... The last time I was with her was around the year 19... Er, how old are you, boy?"

"CRUCIO!"