The ministry job really picks up after that. So does work at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Soon enough, summer is over and the fall is rolling in. Every time that I see Fred, be it for coffee or a walk in the park, he's on edge. He's always on the lookout for Landry, no matter where we go. We're safe, I reassure him, so long as we are in public.

It gets to be too much though, so in September, I agree to meet with Alastor Moody.

I go into work early, heading into the department of ministries. From there, I make my way to the auror offices.

Alastor Moody's is clutter. The same man who I believed to have taught me Defense Against the Dark Arts looks just as scattered in real life. He stares at me, the eyebrow above his fake eye raised.

"Well," he begins, his voice heavy and quick, "are you going to sit down?"

I follow his lead and sit down in the chair. There is an old tea set on the table, and the cup in front of me still has a brown stain from the last time it was used. He doesn't pour any for me like I expect him to do. He doesn't do anything as I expect.

"So, I hear you've run away from Travers?" he asks.

I nod my head. I don't dare speak. It's strange being in front of someone who feels so familiar, yet that I've never met before. Alastor Moody bites his lip, surely hard enough to draw blood. He leans in closer to me, raising his nose as if he's going to sniff me.

"Nothing gets past me," he says. "I would know if you're lying."

"I'm not," I tell him, finally daring to speak.

He looks at me, then over my shoulder. He blinks twice, before focusing on my eyes. His stare is particularly menacing. "Did you know what he cursed you with?"

It was so long ago, that I can barely remember the night. Sometimes, it comes back to me in dreams. I try to wrack my mind for what it was. All I can think about is waking up, sweating, alone.

"Come with me," he instructs.

We head out of his office and down a hallway. He leads me past people who seem busy, whose eyes linger on me as we pass by. I feel myself shrinking. I must look like he caught me, and I'm on my way to Azkaban, just like my uncle.

We end up in a dark room. It's illuminated by the wispy white smoke, pooling out of a bowl. It's a pensieve. I don't know that I've ever seen one in my life.

"Just pull out the memory, and we should be able to do the trick," Alastor Moody says.

I'm not entirely sure how to do it. Instead, I try to focus on the moments after the event as clearly as possible. My brother, wand in hand, striking me. Hitting the ground, screaming in pain. My mother, trying to help me but failing. My father, yelling at my brother but refusing to help me.

There is a tear down my face. Alastor Moody grabs it with a finger and flicks it into the pensieve. "Should do you the trick now."

I nod and turn to it. Quickly, I dive my face in.

I'm back there. It's cold. Even in the memory, I can feel how biting the frost is. I'm standing in the snow, but leaving no footprints. I watch as I turn around, and my brother fires a curse at me.

Then, I scream. It scares my mother, her horrified face shocked as she runs up to me. She trips but keeps going. Then, my father comes running out of the house. He grabs my brother around the neck. I've never seen such fear in Landry's eyes. He stares forward, trying not to flinch as my father holds him in place.

"What did you do?" my father demands. His arms shake.

"Dolohov taught me," my brother's raspy voice comes out as an answer.

As the memory begins to fade, I look over at myself. I know this isn't all real, it's only how my brain sees the memory. It's a fabrication, one that someone could alter if they so chose. Still, I can see what I think my face looked like.

I don't look like the most scared person in the room. Like I expected this to come, there is some resilience behind me that I have never seen before. A bitterness so intense that it makes me, the real me not the one that I have made to exist, flinch away.

Water splashes around me as I jerk my head out of the pensieve. Alastor Moody looks over at me.

"Well?" he asks. "What was it?"

"Dolohov," I tell him. "That's the person who taught my brother the curse?

Alastor Moody nods. "Dolohov, huh? Non-verbal spell, all the damage internal?"

I nod. "I have a scar, but I was told that my brother did not do it properly."

"If he had, you'd still be taking tinctures," Alastor Moody points out.

The thought makes me swallow. There are things more dangerous than what I went through, and that's what scares me. If there is still a cruciatus curse that still exists, I can feel worse pain. I hate the idea.

"Anyway, I don't know that there is much we can do," Alastor Moody points out. "A restraint charm takes time, and there would have to be a trial, and the ministry isn't quite as unfavourable towards people who associate with Dolohov as they ought to be. Hmm?"

I've got only a fraction of an idea of what he's talking about. "Yes?"

"It's dark times after the ministry," he says. "Even if we accept that You-Know-Who is back."

That part always slips my mind. I had forgotten about it at graduation, too wrapped up in NEWTs to pay attention to worldly news. If I had been friends with Elora still, I would've known sooner rather than later.

"What makes it so scary?" I ask.

He leads me back to his office at this. I'm still soaking wet. We are silent in the hallways, and I imagine that he has no intention of finishing my question. Perhaps that is why he chose to walk away, limping on a cane.

Occasionally, I'll get the feeling that he is staring at me. It's not possible, but I feel as though I can feel his eyes.

When we get back to his office, he flicks his wrist. Everything begins to move back into place. He's talented at nonverbal spells then, which I still struggle with unless they are defensive. If he knew the history we share, he might realize why my spine is straighter than it ought to be.

"I am quite glad that Fred Weasley sent you here, even though I can't help you," he says, grunting. He limps over to the desk and sits down on the other side.

I don't wait for him to tell me to sit down. Instead, I join him. "How do you know the Weasleys?"

"We fought together quite some time ago," he tells me. "Which brings me to the question. I hear from Dumbledore that you are quite the accomplished brewer. Some stint involving liquid luck and the hospital wing ring any bells?"

Dumbledore knows about me? It hadn't even crossed my mind, since I've never really interacted with him. Professor Snape must have mentioned something. "Yes, I am."

"We want to recruit you to brew us liquid luck," Alastor Moody says. His eyes flicker across my face. "We will supply the ingredients and components. You just must do the brewing."

"Why?" I ask, trying to keep my face still. I don't want a single look of his eye to recognize something in me that even I don't know about.

He pauses. "Why do you need to know? It's a job."

It may be a job, but this feels shady. Something going on that I don't know about. I stand up, abruptly, and pull away from the table. "I'm good, thank you."

"Dumbledore is offering a thousand galleons to the brewer," he points out.

A thousand galleons? That's like, rent for half the year. It's not enough for a down payment on a shop, but it certainly isn't nothing. Robbie and I could really use that money. It would make a big change in our lives.

I pause, thinking about the money. "I really need to know what it's for. Liquid luck is dangerous, and if I'm risking my life to brew it, I need to know why."

Alastor Moody stands up. "Well then, I'm certain that we will find someone else."

With that, I take my leave.

~~~~~

Do I have an exam today? Yes. Am I doing this instead? Also yes. It's a meh chapter for a meh day. It should be picking up again soon, especially after the excitement of the last chapter. 

I hope to see you then!