Chapter 3

A/N: I hope people are enjoying this, despite the lack of SS/HG sexual interaction. What? No? Okay, okay, fine. Let me think here... umm... "Snape drove his throbbing hardness into her tight, wet sheath and listened with pleasure to her satisfied moans. 'Oh, gods, yes, Severus,' panted Hermione. 'You're so amazing.' Snape's answer was merely a grunt as he slammed himself into her, finally feeling her convulse around him, and finished with a groan of ecstasy." Hope that tides everyone over long enough to read a little OC fic and leave a stellar review! :)

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Augusta and Septimius strode into Diagon Alley after their long breakfast and moved easily among the clusters of nervous shoppers on the lookout for the next big Death Eater. Augusta tossed her wavy dark hair affably and took Septimius' arm. "Perhaps we ought to start in Flourish and Blott's, darling," she said sweetly. "I'd so like to read Aphrodite Cusan's latest."

Moody rolled his eyes. "A bit on the obvious side... darling," he said in the random Muggle's growl-free voice.

"This is just too odd," whispered Polyxena. "Melting clocks be damned, this is Daliesque surreal." She caught their reflections in a shop window. "Look at us! Look at you!"

The couple did enter the bookshop, as it would seem far more natural if they had a few shopping bags. "Don't tell me you read that Aphrodite Cusan tripe," grumbled Moody/Septimius, taking a discreet swig of his Polyjuice Potion.

Polyxena/Augusta gave an embarrassed shrug. "Occasionally, when I've time. What sort of books do you read, then? The Complete Idiot's Guide to Constant Vigilance?"

"You've read my book?" Alastor smiled widely.

"Er, I was joking," she replied uncomfortably. "Oh, look, they've revised Handshake or Murder Plot? An Auror's Guide."

"Finally." Looking around for the volume in question, Moody's eyes narrowed. "Another joke."

Polyxena nodded apologetically. "I can't turn it off. Can I just get my book without anymore snide comments?" Since Alastor waved her toward the 'Romance' section, she scurried off and pulled a paperback book from the shelf. After paying ten Sickles and five Knuts for it, she rejoined her companion and said, "Right. Now where?"

"I could use more lacewing flies," said Mad-Eye, indicating his flask. "We'll go to the Apothecary and then the wand shop. And in the wand shop, you don't say a word," he barked like a crusty old general in his bivouac.

"Such effrontery!" exclaimed Polyxena. "It's my father we're look... "

Alastor's random Muggle hand clamped over her mouth. "Not another word. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He gave a quick glance at their startled fellow customers. "... is what Mad-Eye Moody would no doubt say to do in dark times such as these. Come along, dear." The pair beat a hasty retreat to the Apothecary, and Polyxena remarked,

"Nice save. Glad you're thinking on your feet."

"It's quite a nice change to have feet," replied Moody. "It has a better ring to it than 'thinking on your foot and peg leg.'"

"Indeed," agreed Polyxena as her Polyjuiced pal paid a Galleon for a packet of stewed lacewing flies. "Do we really have to go to the wand shop?"

"Why else would we be here?" grunted Moody, sounding strangely like his old self. "Come on. Let me do the talking. Keep that tart tongue out of your pretty little cheek."

Self-consciously, Polyxena's long fingers darted to one of her smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. "Whatever you say," she sighed.

"Can I have that in writing?" asked Mad-Eye in the most jocular tone he could muster.

"Fuck off." Polyxena smiled as she said it. "We're almost there. Bloody hell," she added in a whisper. "Look at what's happened to it. My father's family... "

"Your family," interjected Moody dryly.

"... has had this business since 382 BCE, and now look. It's becoming a Stop 'n' Jinx." She observed the posters in the window with narrow, critical eyes. "But what a catchy advert."

"'Poisoned candle, one Galleon,'" Alastor read, "'vaguely menacing tribal mask, fifty Galleons; Hand of Glory, fifteen Galleons, twelve Sickles; coming up with the perfect jinx for Walpurgis Night, priceless. Stop 'n' Jinx: taking the Dark Arts out of Knockturn Alley, one opal at a time.' Let me guess: you designed this?"

"Of course." Polyxena preened proudly. "But that means my father must have sold his shop."

"He could be subletting it," Alastor soothed. "Come on, let's speak with this bloke."

"Oh, fuck it!" Cursing, Polyxena darted behind her companion. "That's Icarus Diggle, the marketing director. I've spoken to him only about a thousand times."

"Go on, then." Moody gave her a shove forward. "Pretend you're on business."

"I thought I was Augusta Blackwood?"

"Just do as I say."

"Hello there, Icarus," said Polyxena brightly. "How's our latest campaign working out for you?"

"Polyxena Ollivander! What a surprise. Here on business?"

"I am," she said nonchalantly. "We're working with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes now. I was just on my way there when I saw you!"

"These adverts are pure genius, Polyxena," said Icarus effusively.

"Thanks. I see you've got a new storefront. Did you just buy it?"

"Leased it, actually," confided Icarus, "from a fellow called Avery Harz up in Hogsmeade."

"Well, it's lovely. Good luck with things!" called Polyxena as she started off toward the Weasley's joke shop. "That was easy enough," she said to Moody. "But who the fuck is Avery Harz?"

"A Death Eater," returned Moody darkly.

"Oh, Alastor, you say that about everyone."

"My name's not Alastor; CONSTANT VIGILANCE," he roared to the astonishment of passersby and hastily amended: "... said Mad-Eye before he left the pub and went to his flat, where had sex with an irresistibly beautiful veela on every surface in the house."

Polyxena made a dismissive gesture. "You're going to run out of those excuse stories very quickly, Septimius. Beautiful veela, indeed. Stop drinking from that flask," she hissed. "This whole 'other body' thing is throwing my brain for a Snitch."

"Fair enough." Moody replaced the cap. "Give me another fifteen minutes." Checking his watch, he said casually, "We'll go behind these buildings until I transform, and you can explain why you think I couldn't sleep with a veela."

"I'm sure you could," began Polyxena in an apologetic tone. "I'm sure you could have sex with whomever you wish. Don't mind me. Why? Do you have a veela in mind? My father hated veela," she remembered suddenly. "He said their hair makes temperamental wands because they're so flighty."

"I don't like veela," he replied in a tone that was half reassuring, half something else she couldn't place. "But why resist a bit of, shall we say, advertising?"

"Right, of course, advertising. Anyhow, whatever your name is, why do you say this Harz character is a Death Eater? Any proof or is this just one of those 'the Dairy Witch cashier gave me back the wrong change; she must be working for Vold... bloke' things?"

"Avery, you may remember, is the reason for this." Withdrawing the wooden leg from the folds of his robes, Moody thumped it on the ground. "And the Death Eaters were once called the Knights of Walpurgis. On Walpurgis Night, the witches supposedly meet in the Harz Mountains." He snorted through his rapidly returning deformed nose. "Rather bloody obvious, if you ask me."

"Very Asti Spumante Code," agreed Polyxena. "Oh, that's better."

Moody had regained his original form and was currently reattaching his false limb. Pointing the tip of his wand at his magical eye, he said a quick Scourgify to cleanse it of any dust, then popped it back into his empty socket with a few taps to the side of his head.

"That's revolting, Alastor!" Watching him blink his eye into place, swiveling it this way and that, Polyxena wrinkled her nose.

"Not half as revolting as this." With his wand, he conjured a glass of water and reached back into his socket, withdrawing the eye with a long, slow sucking sound and swishing it in the water before he returned it once more to its proper place.

"Finished?" Polyxena arched a brow. "I must say, that's not at all sexy. No wonder the veela aren't lining up at the door."

"Cheeky wench," growled Moody. "Revolting is using half a bottle of Sleekeazy potion per day." Lifting her hair by the roots, he trailed his fingers down to the ends. "Like a head full of flobberworms, that," he lied. Polyxena's hair was like a thick, satin blanket and stopped just above her breasts.

Injured, she jerked away. "Keep your grimy, calloused hands off my hair!" she snapped, tossing her mane over her shoulder. "We'd better be getting to Hogsmeade, wouldn't you say?" She strode on ahead, until a now-familiar gnarled hand clamped itself over her mouth from behind.

"Any Death Eater could have been hiding under an Invisibility Cloak while you revealed our destination," he said in a low, dangerous voice. Well, a voice more low and dangerous than his usual growl. His eye spun wildly for a moment. "We were lucky this time. The next could mean death. Death!" He shook her for emphasis. "And," he added, moving closer to her ear, "there's also nothing sexy about a grown woman throwing a temper tantrum."

A sob broke free from Polyxena's throat. "You're mad and paranoid!" she wailed, sinking down to sit on a crate that had once contained canary creams. "What Death Eater would stand around an alley in an Invisibility Cloak waiting for an Auror to stop by and accidentally disclose his secret destination?"

Moody sank to the neighboring crate and wrapped an awkward arm around the girl's shoulders. "It's all right," he attempted gamely, never a fan of hysterical women. "But for Merlin's sake, use sense next time."

"Do you mean that we could actually die? And there's nothing wrong with my hair!" she continued wetly.

A non-sequitur indeed. Though he was not to be topped in catching Dark wizards, Alastor Moody had never professed to understand the female mind (perhaps that was why Bellatrix Lestrange had chosen to relieve him of his eye), but a niggling instinct told him to address the latter issue. "Of course not," he growled kindly, prying the tearstained folds of his traveling cloak from her balled-up fingers. "I was only joking. No, it's... fine."

"Fine?" That had only served to agitate her further. "Very creative, you are."

"Lovely?" he tried. Merlin's balls, what did she want him to say? "Why are you on about your bloody hair? You're lucky I don't fall to pieces when someone has a laugh about my looks."

Polyxena managed a small chuckle. "Sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. It wasn't that. It's just that I... "

A jet of red light brushed past her elbow, and Moody snapped to attention. "Get down. Shut up," he commanded before pushing her to the pavement behind the crates.

"I take it you've never been married," Polyxena couldn't resist hissing.

Jabbing his wand out before him, Moody glowered into the dark end of the alley, and his magical eye whirled until it hit the figure of a man crouched behind a dustbin. "Nott," he snarled. "Come on and fight a proper duel."

"Not a duel!" Polyxena's head popped up from behind the crate.

"STAY DOWN!" barked the former Auror as another jet of light, this time the ominous green, shot past him. Moody sent a silent spell at the dustbin, shattering it into a thousand pieces to reveal a surprised, but uninjured Nott.

"Sectumsempra!" bellowed Nott, slicing his wand through the air while an identical cut appeared on Alastor's wand arm. "Old Mad-Eye Moody," he sneered. "Reflexes starting to go? Then again... " He launched a spell at the wooden leg, which Moody nimbly dodged. "... they were never particularly good to begin with."

"Stupefy!"

"Protego!"

"Crucio!"

"Polyxena!"

"Rictusempra!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Nott's limbs finally snapped together, and Moody performed the Tickling Charm's countercurse on Polyxena.

"Gods above!" she cried when she had regained her breath. "Are you all right?" Taking his injured arm, she pushed back the sleeve and performed a quick Healing Spell. "I've never heard of the Sectumsempra."

"Come with me," ordered Moody. "Before the Full Body Bind wears off of that scum. I'll Floo Tonks, and she can get him to Azkaban."

Polyxena and Mad-Eye didn't speak while they waited the few minutes for the witch called Tonks to arrive. The former was surprised that the Auror turned out to be a young woman her own age, a girl she vaguely remembered from school, though Tonks had been a Hufflepuff. However, rather than her previous bright pink hair and mischievous eyes, her former classmate had mousy brown locks and a rather somber mien.

"Wotcher, Mad-Eye," she said wearily. "Wotcher, Person I Don't Know."

"Yes, you do," corrected Polyxena. "Polyxena Ollivander. We graduated from Hogwarts together."

"Right," answered Tonks distractedly, magicking Nott into the air. "Off to Azkaban I go. Nice one, Mad-Eye. Good seeing you again, Proserpina." Tonks Apparated from the alleyway, and so Moody and Polyxena hastened back into Diagon Alley.

He dragged her back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, sat them at a table in the corner, and cast a Muffliato Charm on the rest of the diners. "I've been patient, Polyxena Ollivander," he said in a deep growl, "but I ask you, where did you learn the Unforgivable Curses ?"

"Erm, Defense Against the Dark Arts?" she said hopefully.

"Don't lie to me." He grabbed at her arm. "Where?"

"Why do you always find it necessary to manhandle me?" she sighed, then took a look at his dark expression. "Father," she finally admitted. "He was a great admirer of Voldemort's spell work. 'Terrible, but great,' he always said. I think it was some kind of aesthetic thing. He wanted to learn every spell there was, and though he didn't believe that witches could ever be as great as wizards, he showed a great deal of his spells to me. I saw him occasionally when I was in school. I should have told you that, but no one likes to think that her father could be a Death Eater."

Mad-Eye ignored this. "Anything else you've been hiding?"

"I don't think so. He called the Dark Lord 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' Quite a mouthful, isn't it? He was very picky about his wands and quite arrogant."

"No more withholding information," snapped Moody, then he sighed, "I'm getting to old for this. I supposedly retired a good decade ago."

"You did brilliantly," Polyxena offered in a bracing voice. "I was impressed."

Moody shook the compliment off like a horse shaking off flies. "Should've checked the area for possible spies. I let my guard down."

"That was my fault," she argued. "Me and my pre-Parnassian fit."

"Didn't help," grunted the ex-Auror. "Well, never mind." He drank deeply from his flask, having replaced the Polyjuice Potion with brandy. "Tonight, we'll return you-know-where, and then the flock flies toward the motherland."

"The... what?" Polyxena was befuddled. "Did you steal that from In the Army Now?"

"Code, girl!" he said impatiently. "Never mind; I'll explain you-know-where."

"What is it with you people? You-Know-Who, you-know-where... do you know why?" She saw him draw in breath to bark his mantra and raise his fist above the table. "Never mind; don't answer that. Constant vigilance."

"The very thing," he agreed, pleased that she had finally caught on. "The very thing."