Chapter 2

A/N: *Note to self: do not invent original characters when in a vile, garum mood* Thanks to my kindly reviewers of Chapter 1 and the helpful concrit about Polyxena's less than friendly attitude. I'd also like to thank Bottle_Of_Sherry and PrepackagedCheeseCrackerSnacks for helping me write late into the night. I love you two!

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Though she had professed jet lag, Polyxena's lethargy had long since worn off, and thus the sojourn in Hermione and Ginny's room (whoever they were) was merely a welcome reprieve from her cantankerous, self-proclaimed shadow and hipster ex-lover. Therefore, she clutched a stuffed hippogriff and lie facedown on the bed, playing with a piece of flesh colored string she had found on the floor. Pressing it to her ear, she suddenly heard the faint voices of the members of the Order filtering from the kitchen.

"Never heard such language from a lady," came the disapproving cluck of the woman called Molly.

"Aw, Mum, she's had a rough time of it," spoke up Bill compassionately. "Her father left them, and now he's gone missing."

"What surprises me is that Moody took the initiative to bring this girl all the way to headquarters. Forgive me, but do you not normally require a triple background check and complete set of references before you ask a person for the time of day?" the sexy, dark-haired man's voice accused Mad-Eye. It sounded as though he was making some heavy-handed attempt at levity, but was entirely unsure how to go about it.

There was a long pause. "I could tell she was out of place. Nothin' like instinct for that sort of thing." Moody's voice was especially gruff. "A Death Eater wouldn't have worn that ridiculous Muggle garb."

Ridiculous? Polyxena was outraged. If he'd known how much those bloody suits cost, not to mention the shoes...

"Does 'the best Auror the Ministry ever had' have a bit of a soft spot for someone?" teased Remus, convincing the eavesdropper beyond a doubt of his homosexuality.

Moody's reply was a barely discernable grunt.

"I must say, Alastor, you could have chosen a bit more wisely... ."

Chosen? Polyxena was a bit perturbed. She hadn't dated in an age, some crazed retiree comes up to her in a London bar, and now he's 'chosen' her like something in a meat market? That'll be the bloody day, she thought savagely.

"... she's a pretty enough girl," Molly's voice went on, then, after an embarrassed pause added in a whisper, "but she's a right bitch."

Polyxena could almost imagine the redhead's blushing cheeks as her motherly tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar curse word.

"Now, Molly," came Arthur's easygoing tone, "Bill's right. She's here to search for her father among Death Eaters. One of the very things we're trying to do, since the Ministry has turned yet another blind eye."

"The Ministry has more eyes than Argus, all of them blind," called Polyxena from her new position in the doorway. "Sadly, Io gets off scot-free every time."

The six of them jumped guiltily, and the first to regain his voice was Bill. "True. Poor Fleur was outraged by the power the Ministry seems to wield here."

"Fleur?" queried Polyxena with a sense of foreboding.

"My fiancée, Fleur Delacour. She attended Beauxbatons, and I daresay... "

Polyxena tuned out the rest of Bill's prattling. So, he had hoodwinked some unlucky girl into marriage, had he? Well, more pity for her, then. Bill, despite his purportedly 'glamorous' job at Gringotts', struck her as one of those unfortunate souls who peaked at sixteen and lived out the rest of his days trying to capture his youth with a string of veela and a flying motorbike or two. Arrogant, Astronomy Tower bastard in his dragon skin boots. She settled back down at her place near Remus with steely resolve not to be 'a right bitch.'

"So, the Order of the Phoenix. You hadn't finished telling me about it."

Moody exchanged a dark look with the others before reluctantly beginning, "We're an underground society, founded during the First War by Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort. We've a lot of secrets and prefer to keep them that way."

She nodded her understanding. "How very Darkness at Noon of you. I'm actually rather impressed. There are more of you, I take it?"

"Naturally," sneered the sexy man, whose name she had just remembered was Snape. "Though there were more of us in the old days. War does tend to take a toll."

Aghast, she cried out, almost involuntarily, "You don't mean that some of you have died?"

"What did you think I meant?" Snape glowered. "Do you have no memories of the First War?"

"Not really," she replied a tad too breezily for everyone's liking. "I was only born in '73, then my dad left us three years later, then Vold, er, the Dark Lord died when I was eight."

Alastor started at the use of the appellation 'Dark Lord,' and growled, "Well, they were miserable times. Damned miserable, just like these. Can't trust a soul... "

Though it's doubtful you would anyhow, thought Polyxena, though to her credit, did not say it aloud. "But yet you felt no qualms about bringing, no, dragging me back to your secret headquarters and introducing me to your members." Bill hid a grin at her last comment, and she thought, I was right, his mind did stop at sixteen.

"You resisted my help every step of the way. No Death Eater would have been so unpleasant if it meant learning about the Order. Besides, I did a background check after you went up to your room in the Leaky Cauldron. Ravenclaw prefect, five NEWTs in Divination, Potions, History of Magic, Charms, and Muggle Studies, very impressive, account executive for the Bicorn Advertising Agency, only daughter of Hecuba Smethwyk and Priamus Ollivander, wand thirteen inches of birch with the heartstrings of a dragon, boggart the... "

"We get the picture," interrupted Polyxena, holding up an imperious hand. "Unpretentious Pureblood lines and a lot of schoolwork. Please. I'm really a bit fraught at the moment. I... " She was hesitant, but finally admitted, "I have no bloody clue what I'm doing." She looked so small when she said that, so wan and helpless that Moody proffered his hip flask, which his charge accepted gratefully. "Thank you. Sorry, I don't normally get so Bronte sisters about things. This is turning out to be the week from hell."

"Well, that's all going to end," Arthur assured her with a paternal twinkle in his eye. "We've narrowed it down to two possibilities: either he went with them willingly or he was Stunned and dragged off by force."

They had to narrow it down to that, wondered Polyxena. What other choices could there be? However, she held her tongue peaceably and said, "I see." Pursing her lips together in a thin, white line, she repeated, "I see. He's a trifle off his trolley, I'd be the first to agree, but a Death Eater? It hardly seems likely. He wouldn't even speak the Dark Lord's name as I recall."

"The Death Eaters," Severus informed her from his place in the corner, "also do not speak the Dark Lord's name."

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly certain," returned Snape with a hint of sarcasm that she didn't understand. "And the Dark Lord prefers it thus."

"What do the Death Eaters call him?" Polyxena's curiosity was piqued.

"The Dark Lord," said Moody with a heavy, quelling stare.

Passionately, Molly exclaimed, "Decent people call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"Or I-Think-We-All-Know-Who-I'm-Talking-About," added Bill with a sidelong smirk and a quick snigger at his own joke, in which Polyxena was tempted to join until Moody's disparate eyes narrowed at the eldest Weasley.

"There's nothing funny about an evil dark wizard, you plait-wearing pillock," growled Moody.

This time Polyxena did laugh, not her usual harsh, derisive scoff, but a rich, sincere chuckle, until her large, pale grey eyes shone.

Affronted, Alastor snatched his hip flask back from her and took a long swig before snapping the cap back on with one of his gnarled hands. "You-Know-Who likely kidnapped your father or put him under the Imperius," he snapped. "Find that amusing, do you?"

"Of course not!" she protested. "Plait-wearing pillock. It was funny, that's all." Bill glowered, but Moody seemed pleased. "I agree; Vold... person appears far more dangerous than I'd thought. What were you saying about the Imperius?"

"It seems a likely explanation," Remus explained. "His shop was empty, there was no sign of a struggle... "

No sign of a struggle? "What the film-noir detective channeling himself through Lupin means is that your father gave every impression of having packed up his shop, put it all in a Gringotts' vault, and gone away with no forwarding address. There's not even any definite indication that the Death Eaters took him," Snape offered.

At that, Mad-Eye gave a disbelieving snort through his partial nose and coughed an odd sort of cough that sounded to Polyxena very like 'Death Eaters... in the third person.'

Anyone could see that a derisive comeback rested on the tip of Snape's no doubt dexterous tongue, so Polyxena said quickly, "I'm not looking to find the bastard, you understand. Just tell me 'he was dragged off by Vold... character's minions' or 'he was Imperiused' or 'he joined the Dark Lord,' and I'll be off. No more intrusions on your secret Dumbledore Order; you can even Obliviate me if you like. It would only be fair."

"Well!" Moody seemed a bit disconcerted. "No one's being Obliviated, at least, not tonight." He ran a hand through his grizzled hair and discreetly fixed his magical eye on her.

The grandfather clock struck six then, and Snape rose, muttering something about getting back to Hogwarts. Lupin excused himself as well to go take his potion, but not before he shot a wolfish grin at their new houseguest, and Molly dragged poor, uxorious Arthur off to the kitchen to help with supper. Bill gave his former lover a final wink before heading to the fireplace so he could collect his fiancée from work. Rising then, Polyxena made her way out to the shadowy parlor and settled on the couch. She had not even noticed the sound of a wooden leg clomping behind her, and for that, the leg's owner repeated his mantra,

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Oh, hello," she said gamely. "Didn't see you there. I thought the meeting was over?"

"It is." Moody handed her a glass of sherry. "Thought you could use this." Settling down next to her, he watched a bit gleefully as she gave the liquid a suspicious sniff.

"What's in this? Veritaserum?" she demanded, setting the glass aside and pulling a small phial from her handbag. "Because I have the antidote."

With a guffaw, Mad-Eye took a sip from the glass in question. "Satisfied?"

With a slight blush, Polyxena nodded. "You'll forgive me for being a bit paranoid?"

"Of course," replied Moody without a trace of irony. "Better paranoid than dead, I say. Vigilance is better than the veil."

"Without vigilance for Voldemort, the veil is viable," agreed Polyxena.

"Very viable." Alastor's lopsided mouth twisted into something that may have been a grin.

When her giggles had subsided, Polyxena looked at her companion seriously and touched a long, white finger to the remnants of his nose. "How... I mean, that is to say... if you don't mind my asking... "

"Rosier." Moody removed her hand from his face. It was soft and warm, like a recently used candle. "A duel to death back during the First War."

Polyxena shook herself free of his gnarled grasp. "Whose death? Oh, right," she amended stupidly at his raised eyebrow.

"Lestrange," he continued, gesturing at his magical eye, then thumping his wooden leg on the floor, finished, "Avery. The former survived to go to Azkaban, the other claimed Imperius."

"Imperius? Was he really? After all your hard work?"

Moody snorted and lit a grimy black pipe. "Not bloody likely since he went running back to You-Know-Who straightaway after his rebirth."

"Oh."

"Not much punishment went to the Death Eaters," he said with a puff of vaguely coriander smoke. "For all the Ministry's gunboat tactics. Are you going to drink that?"

Polyxena downed the glassful of sherry in one gulp. "Yes." The warm, buzzy feeling from the fortified wine spread through her limbs and settled in the pit of her empty stomach. Her tightly wound, workaholic face visibly relaxed. "May I have another?" Wordlessly, he handed her the flask. "Thanks. What is this, exactly?" She took a lasting sip without waiting for a reply. "It's quite strong."

"Scotch, vodka, maybe a hint of gin. Whatever's on hand." He took it from her proffering fingers. "You say you don't want to find Ollivander?"

"It doesn't matter," replied Polyxena tiredly. "We're not close, but my mother has it in her head that we need to know where he's gone. I don't know why; we've not heard from him in an age."

"You do realize he could be a Death Eater?" Moody pressed in a surprisingly gentle growl. "Or dead?"

"Of course," she said dismissively. "I'm not here for my benefit. I'd prefer to be at work."

"At work," Mad-Eye repeated neutrally, blowing the last of his pipe smoke across the room.

"It's not that I'm terribly bitter," she began, sherry putting her in as confessional a mood as would Veritaserum, "but he's nothing to do with us. He seduced my poor mother in the top floor of his wand shop where he lived and left her with me when the Dark Lord was still in power."

Moody smirked. "I wouldn't have thought old Ollivander had it in him."

With a scowl, Polyxena stood to leave, swaying slightly. "And you think that's funny?"

After he had leapt up to balance the slightly tipsy witch, Alastor assented, "Just the thought of that crackpot wandmaker getting off with teenagers."

"My mother was absolutely breathtaking back then," defended Polyxena hotly as she attempted to worm her way from the ex-Auror's steadying grasp.

"Of course she was," Moody shot back gruffly, tightening his grip on the girl's arms. "Come on, Molly should have supper ready by now."

"What if she's poisoned it?" was Polyxena's sarcastic query to hide the twinge of discomfort at Moody's frank statement. Had he known her mother then or did he mean 'of course she was; you take after her'? The fucker.

* * *

Polyxena stumbled after Alastor in the bleary darkness of Grimmauld Place before dawn. "It's hard to be constantly vigilant when one hasn't even regained one's faculties from sleep," she mumbled in exhaustion. There had been wine with dinner, then more sherry, and another swallow or two from the flask, so the slight nausea of a minor hangover churned at her stomach as the pair made their way through the foyer and out into the parlor.

Alastor ignored her griping. "What do you know about disguise and concealment?" he asked instead.

"Obviously very little," admitted Polyxena. "I tried to question British wizards while wearing a Chanel suit. How are we getting there? Floo powder? Apparition?"

"Muggle taxicab," he said grimly, dragging a bowler hat down over his magical eye.

"Very Bada Bing Club," approved his companion with a worried glance at her own green velvet robe and heavy brown traveling cloak. "Can't I put my normal clothes on? I won't be very disguised or concealed like this."

"In Diagon Alley, you will be," he reproved. "Now what's your name?"

"Augusta Blackwood," she replied obediently.

"And I am?"

"Septimius Blackwood."

"And we're... ?"

"Taking a stroll through Diagon Alley," Polyxena said automatically. Moody had drilled their story into her brain all last evening. "Oh where, oh where is the wandmaker? Has he gone? Was this his little shop? Merciful heavens, my dear Septimius, what has become of old Ollivander?"

Moody glared at her as they climbed into the back of a black cab. "Constant vigilance," he hissed before directing the driver to Charing Cross Road.

The warm cab and thick wool of Alastor's cloak were soothing to the woman, and before they reached the Leaky Cauldron, her head was nestled quite comfortably in the black fabric. She slept until somehow she was on the sidewalk before the pub, blinking herself awake in the face of rosy-fingered dawn, and Alastor shook her, chastising,

"Always on your guard. The first rule of CONSTANT VIGILIANCE is: Never. Fall. Asleep. On. The. Job."

"Sorry," she yawned heartily. "Your cloak is nice."

"Get in." He pushed her through the inconspicuous door. "We'll find you an Energy Draught."

"We just got the first all-magic Starbucks in Kenishara," she complained, "and here I am in Diagon fucking Alley."

They took their breakfast in the Leaky Cauldron at a table well apart from the three or four other customers, and as Polyxena greedily poured a mug of thick coffee down her throat, she became far more personable.

"So, erm, Mad-Eye," she began awkwardly. "Is that what you want me to call you? 'Mad-Eye'? It seems a bit insensitive to point out your visual... uh... non congruence every time I address you."

He smiled his lopsided grin and said with a hint of amusement, "Alastor will be fine. But today," he said sharply, "you'll be calling me Septimius Blackwood."

"Yes, of course, although how are you going to pass yourself off as someone else? No one knows me, but you're quite a... distinctive... bloke."

Winking at her with his normal eye, Moody raised his hip flask and drank deeply, shuddering when he had finally finished. "Took a couple of hairs off an unwary Muggle," he informed her as he began to change to the form of a nondescript, sandy-haired forty something man.

"Brilliant!" gasped Polyxena. "Polyjuice Potion, what an idea."

"Come along, Augusta," he said, rising from his seat and stowing his leg and magical eye beneath his voluminous cloak. "We've wand shopping to do."