Chapter 4

A/N: Leave reviews! I will gladly trade them for sexual favors and/or baked goods.

* * *

Polyxena staggered into the kitchen behind Molly, who was carrying two brimming bags of shopping, and heaved her ten-pound watermelon onto the kitchen worktop with a resounding thump.

"Bloody hell," she gasped. "What exactly is your objection to mixing magic and groceries?"

"If you knew my twins, you'd understand," said Molly briskly, storing a loaf of bread and a bag of apples.

As Polyxena contemplated the sizeable, green spheroid dominating the tile, Moody stalked into the room and thundered, "Where were you?"

"Doing a shop," replied Molly calmly. "Nothing to lose another eye about, Mad-Eye. Leave your robe on."

He quirked an eyebrow at Polyxena, whose cheeks flamed. "I plan to. Why'd you take her with you?"

"I carried a watermelon," answered Polyxena with a cheeky grin.

Moody didn't get it, of course, but he did say casually, "You've got a bit of color. Did you get too much sun in Diagon Alley?"

"Fuck off," she snapped, turning away to put a pack of yellow onions in the cupboard.

"Don't torture the poor girl, Mad-Eye," scolded Molly. "She's had a long day. In fact, sit down, dear. I'll make you some onion soup."

Willingly, Polyxena obeyed. "I take it I'm not a 'right bitch' any longer?"

A pot of jam exploded when Molly started and dropped it onto the stone floor. "I beg your pardon?"

"How did you hear that?" Moody was as cheerful as she'd ever seen him.

"I hardly think I have to tell you that," she returned. "I found this string thing that amplifies conversations."

"Extendable Ears," sighed Molly wearily. "My sons sell them in their joke shop."

Moody was practically dancing on the table. "Perhaps I underestimated you."

"Perhaps?" Polyxena returned dryly. "Perhaps so. Excuse me." Rising from her seat, she started toward the loo to splash her face with water. Molly Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody were too much personality for one small room.

"Polyxena Ollivander." An arm snaked out to catch her by the elbow. "You have no idea how surprised I was to see you showing up here."

"I think I probably do," she answered, seeing Bill's face loom over her in the shadowy hallway. "It's hard to believe you're engaged." She imbued her statement with false cheer. Though the girl had absolutely no desire to pick up where they'd left off (one embarrassing and alarmingly short night on the Astronomy Tower of all uncreative places), the news of his imminent marriage didn't exactly fill her with joy and good wishes.

"You're telling me," he said with a shake of his head that made his fang earring jangle. "It seems like just yesterday I was chatting you up in the library and... " He leaned closer, until his lips were brushing her cheek. "... waiting for you in the Tower."

"Me and about a hundred others," she scoffed, but made no move to pull away. Her curiosity was piqued by the idea that Bill had gotten better in the nine ensuing years since their assignation. Merlin knew he couldn't have gotten any worse.

Lowering his lips to hers, Bill pressed a firm kiss on them, openmouthed, but no tongue. A blunt object that she didn't think was his wand pressed into her taut stomach and made her cry out:

"Gods above, your mind really did stop at sixteen! I pity this poor Fleur, whoever she is. Her fiancé can't even kiss his ex-girlfriend without getting a hard-on."

A chuckle bubbled up from Bill's throat. "You always were a pisser, Ollivander," he said with a nostalgic grin. "But believe me, I'm a lot better now. Your review didn't do much for me with the seventh-year girls. I didn't get laid for weeks after you told every bloody Ravenclaw that I was a two-minute man." With a heated look, he added, "And I'd be willing to bet you've acquired a few skills yourself. Well," he said, checking his watch, "I'd better go get Fleur from Gringotts. Don't like to leave her alone with the Death Eaters about." Bill turned and galloped down the stairs, so Polyxena was able to complete her errand.

She dabbed at her temples with a soaked facecloth, gave her hair an unnecessary brushing, and then turned to go. "Merlin!" she exclaimed into a face full of olive robe and black wool. "Alastor, you gave me a fright." With narrowed eyes, she added, "Don't say it. But does that really extend to your following me to the loo?"

"Wasn't thinking about you," he said, a bit condescendingly. "Molly sent me to find Bill."

"Oh. Well then." She pursed her lips and informed him in a frosty tone: "He just went downstairs."

"It took everything I learned in Stealth and Tracking, but I did see him go downstairs," grumbled Moody. "That's not all I saw," he added after a moment's hesitation. "I thought you were through hiding information."

Polyxena bristled. "Anything I did with Bill is nothing to do with finding my father," she said icily, repeating, "Finding my father. A task you seem to be doing little about. It feels like we're in the fourth chapter of the 'Constant Vigilance' story, and all we do is engage in witty banter during halfhearted searches."

"You nearly got Avada'd by one of You-Know-Who's inner circle," he snarled. "If there's something witty and halfhearted about Dark wizards, I'd like to know what it is."

"Nothing," she said succinctly. "But I spent an afternoon grocery shopping with that Weasley woman and getting hit on by her worthless tosser of an eldest son!"

"I didn't even think you wanted to find your father." Merlin, she was giving him a headache. "And I never saw anyone look so cozy with a bloke she thought was worthless."

"What do you care?" she demanded, ignoring the part about Ollivander. "Paranoid fucker, looking through walls with your namesake mad eye. But just for the record, Bill's a crap kisser and an even more crap lover. Not that I have anything to... " She trailed off. "Well, now you know."

"Now I know," said Moody equably. "Now I know that I should have put Veritaserum into your sherry."

"Naff off," mumbled Polyxena as she turned to walk down the stairs, promptly crashed into a slovenly, ginger-haired man, and was nearly suffocated by a whiff of stale tobacco, Jack's, rum punch, and what she could only hope was fish. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Nice girl," the slovenly man called to Mad-Eye.

"Before this gets any worse... " Moody approached the pair on the stairs. "... Polyxena Ollivander, Mundungus Fletcher."

"Are you in the Order?" she queried. "Or did you escape from the homeless shelter?"

"Didn' escape," mumbled Mundungus. "Left of m' own free will."

Polyxena's eyebrows rose faster than a Firebolt. "Well, that makes it all better, then. I should get downstairs. I'm exhausted; your friend dragged me to Diagon Alley at the crack of dawn this morning."

"We're not friends," growled Moody, but no one seemed to listen.

"P'lyx'na Ollivander?" Dung scratched his unshorn head.

"Yes, but you really need to start using vowels."

"Then m' message is for you. See, I had a business transaction down in Knockturn Alley; these special Dark wands got 'lost in shipping' if y' know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. So I go, an' there's this bloke says, 'Dung, that locket y' sold me last week's got a hex on it like a motherfucking Doxy in heat,' an' so I says... "

Befuddled, Polyxena shook her head and said, "I really don't see what this message has to do with me."

"I'm gettin' to that! So, I says, 'Go fuck a goat, Abe, it's what y' do best.' An' he gets all out of his cauldron an' starts casting the Engorgement Charm. M' healer says I'll have permn'ant damage if I get one more of them cast on me, know what I mean? So I get the hell outta there an' go t' the Leaky Cauldron, an' old Tom says he's got a package for P'lyx'na Ollivander, an' she was with old Mad-Eye Moody, an' I says 'Mad-Eye Moody, the cocksuckin' bastard!' Heh, heh, just kiddin' Mad-Eye. So I gets a glass of Firewhisky, an' this hag sits down wantin' somethin' I could damage with the Engorgement Charm, know what I mean? So I says, 'Fuckin' hags is what I do best; how 'bout... "

"Can I just have the package?" cut in Polyxena, reaching out a spidery, white hand for the elegantly wrapped green and silver box in Dung's grasp. "I believe I'm superfluous to the conversation at this point."

Mundungus thrust it at her with a disaffected grunt. "Here y' go." Pulling a pipe from the pocket of his threadbare tweed overcoat, he lit it with the tip of his wand so that it belched out a cloud of acrid, green smoke. "What's in it?"

Deftly, Polyxena began to peel the Spellotape from the front. "Good question."

"PUT THE BLOODY THING DOWN!" shouted Moody, casting a Banishing Charm on the box. It flew forth from the girl's hands and crashed into the opposite wall. "This could have a curse on it the likes of which no wizard has ever known! I've just seen a girl in St. Mungo's who opened a cursed necklace and may not live to see Christmas!" Moody pointed his wand at the package and slowly peeled back the layers of paper with some sort of spell until it fell open to reveal a slender, white object on a bed of green velvet.

"'S a joint!" cried Dung joyfully.

"No." Mad-Eye focused his specially-abled ocular prosthetic on the object and then magicked the box back across the room. "Although there are joints on it."

Nervously, Polyxena peered at the thing resting there and no sooner had she, when she let out a piercing scream that brought Molly, Arthur, and Remus running up the stairs, and set Mrs. Black shrieking,

"Mudbloods! Vile, wretched thieves! Stealing from the house of my fathers!"

For once, no one paid her any heed, for they were all too transfixed by the finger that had been wrapped up in pretty paper and sent to Polyxena. It was long, white, and tapered with a neatly trimmed nail, but an oozing, bloody stump where it had been cut off with a knife, and the resemblance it bore to Polyxena's finger was so uncanny, it went without saying.

"That's absofuckinglutely horrible," she moaned and stumbled to the loo for a good vomit. When she opened the door, Moody was waiting for her, and she said weakly, "They've sent me my father's finger. His fucking finger. How disgusting can you be?"

He handed her the flask. "There was a card."

"A card? I shouldn't have asked that last question." Tearing it open, she read,

Bad idea to send Nott to Azkaban. Who knows what I'll cut off next?

"'I'? Doesn't he mean 'we'? This note can't possibly be from Vold... wizard himself, can it?"

"Not likely," growled Alastor thoughtfully. "Threatening notes and limbs in pretty boxes aren't You-Know-Who's style. If You-Know-Who doesn't like you, he just kills you. Besides, he wouldn't go to all this trouble for Nott. Nott denounced him after the First War."

"We should go to Hogsmeade tomorrow," said Polyxena suddenly. "Whoever this Avery Harz character is might still be there. Maybe Vold... iekins doesn't act like a character from a Janet Evanovich novel, but some dramatic Death Eater could."

"Fair enough," said Moody. "I have a few questions for Dumbledore, come to that."

* * *

Mercifully, Polyxena was allowed to sleep off the shock of finding her father's finger in gift packaging, and she and Moody Apparated to Hogsmeade just before noon the next day.

"All right," he said in a low voice, keeping his cloak over his face. It didn't do much to disguise his appearance, but the idea was there. "First, we go to Gladrags Wizardwear."

"Gladrags Wizardwear. Distinctive looks for witches and wizards at prices that will make you glad," rattled off Polyxena under her breath.

"Right," muttered Mad-Eye, giving the area a quick three-sixty check. "Keep your cloak over your face. You can leave your hat on."

"Kinky, aren't you, Tom Jones?" she replied, making the necessary wardrobe adjustments.

The pair set off for the robe shop, and an hour and a few well placed Glamour Charms later, they emerged in new disguises: Polyxena as a younger, prettier version of Rita Skeeter and Moody in a long, trailing cloak that hid his wooden leg, an eye patch over his magical eye, and a capacious hat to hide his grizzled hair.

"You look... " Polyxena paused, trying to force herself to say 'nice'. "... fucked up. I think that will draw more attention than your original form. I never thought I'd say that, but, Merlin, look at you. Don't you have anymore of that Polyjuice Potion?"

"Come on," growled Moody. "We've got an appointment with Dumbledore."

Up the road they went toward Hogwarts Castle, Polyxena trailing anxiously behind her bizarrely attired companion. "Have you been back to school since your graduation?" she queried.

Snorting, Moody said, "In a manner of speaking. I signed on to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for a year, but that all went to hell."

"Spitwads?" asked Polyxena lightly.

"No, Imperius Curse, locked in a trunk, used in a plot to bring back You-Know-Who."

"Really? By whom?"

"Barty Crouch the Younger. It wasn't a pleasant time. When You-Know-Who came back to life, they finally foiled the plot after what felt like a 734 page novel. Dumbledore had me shipped off to the hospital wing, of course, but I heard something about Potter's wand foiling Voldemort's wand. When I heard that old Ollivander had gone missing, I wondered, but Dumbledore never said a word to me. But I figure he'll talk to Ollivander's own daughter."

Polyxena was silent as they passed through the great stone doorway and found their way to the stairs. The school had never seemed so vast when she'd attended, aside from the night of her Sorting. "Horace Slughorn still works here?" she asked incredulously. "He must be as old as Dumbledore by now."

"Last I heard, Snape was teaching Potions," growled Moody.

The sexy man, remembered Polyxena with a wry grin, though she didn't mention it. He and Moody had gotten on poorly enough as it was. "Well, that was Slughorn with a cauldron of... something." She watched him go, carrying a pewter cauldron that gave off a gentle, spiraling steam. "Something that smells good, though. Baking cake, rain, and some other thing. Like a brandy and coriander musk." She inhaled again. "I like it."

Disfigured nose twitching, Alastor took a swig from his hip flask. "All I can smell is Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Come on; it's this way."

Potion long forgotten, they arrived at Dumbledore's office, gave the password (Blood-flavored lollipops), and soon were seated in front of his desk.

"Afternoon, Dumbledore," said Moody easily.

"Hello, Alastor," said the older wizard, blue eyes a-twinkle. "Sherbet Lemon? One for your companion?"

"Yes, please." Polyxena took one politely, which seemed to please Albus to no end.

"Not for me." Moody lit his black pipe and puffed out a ring of smoke toward Polyxena.

"Motherfucker!" she exclaimed, stomping her high-heeled shoe on the floor.

Not a flicker of curiosity crossed Dumbledore's serene face. "Polyxena Ollivander of Ravenclaw. I was so sorry to hear about your father."

"I got a NEWT in fucking Potions," was her reply.

Mad-Eye glanced around suspiciously. "What happened to the Secrecy Sensor and the Sneakoscope I gave you last year?"

"Capslock!Harry saw fit to break them," sighed Dumbledore. "So, what brings you and your charming lady friend here today, Alastor?"

"It's about Potter's wand," he began. "I heard you mention that it reacted with You-Know-Who's and kept off the Killing Curse. Now that Polyxena here is looking for her father, the wandmaker who made both wands, I thought you might tell us why."

Dumbledore regarded Polyxena's face, disguised though it was, and said, "I see. I wasn't aware you and Ollivander were close."

Polyxena fixed him with a glare. "What exactly is that supposed to... "

"They were extremely close," grunted Moody. "And she wants to know what the Death Eaters have in store for him. One of them sent her his finger wrapped in Slytherin wrapping paper last night."

Dumbledore's silver brows knitted together. "Indeed?"

"Along with this note." Moody shoved the card across the headmaster's desk. "Doesn't look like You-Know-Who's doing."

"If it was the Dark Lord himself, he'd have killed my father and set the Mark over his shop, but if he was using him for something, I doubt he'd taunt us with notes and severed limbs. He seems a bit too prosaic for that."

"Priori Incantatem," said Dumbledore heavily. "Harry's and Voldemort's wands both have a phoenix feather core. That phoenix gave two feathers only. Fawkes. The effect is rather rare; even Voldemort himself didn't plan for it. My guess would be that whoever kidnapped your father is looking for a way to sever that connection."

"Isn't that quite a lot of trouble?" asked Polyxena. "Couldn't Vold... ieboy just sneak up behind Potter and hit him with the Killing Curse? Or, er, you know, the other way around," she amended at the outraged looks from both men. "Just brainstorming here."

"She's got a point," Moody allowed. "When it comes to constant vigilance, Potter's not exactly the Triwizard Champion. He keeps his wand in the back pocket of his trousers, for Merlin's sake."

"He'll lose a buttock like that," added Polyxena. "The cheekless Chosen One."

"I do not think that either Harry or Voldemort will have the opportunity for a surprise attack," put in Dumbledore, however graciously.

Moody set down his pipe. "There's always the opportunity for a surprise attack," he said darkly.

"It's true," said his companion. "Nott tried to kill us when we were sitting in an alley. Fortunately, Alastor put him in a Full Body Bind and had him carted straight to Azkaban, but did we expect to be Unforgivabled at? Not in the slightest."

Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore exhaled it in a regretful sigh. "He's out of jail."