And would you let me know if I forget the secret, took my eye off of the ball

[ocularlunacy.livejournal.com]

*There is a precariousness in leadership, where the better and stronger one is the finer the line between absolute trust and absolute chaos becomes. Moody has steadfastly kept the same rank, the same position in his squad for nearly his entire career. The promotion offers don't even make it to his office anymore, so firm has his insistence been over the years that he doesn't want to become some trussed up ninny behind a desk. This stasis remains one of the leading factors in why Moody is still considered one of the team, rather than some fair-weather superior. No one wants someone on the field who thinks they're worth more than anyone else fighting alongside them, just because they get a bigger desk and more galleons in the bank per year.

He's worked hard for this comradeship in the workplace, but as times change so do leaders. The Order, he feels, as he marches out of the Ministry with news while a certain prisoner is being restrained downstairs, is the last place he wants to alienate himself with power, but the one place he must.

Much of war is not spent throwing hexes, but knowing when damage control it needed, when to take a night off from fighting and invest in keeping things stable for the future. Moody practices this with as much surly realism as he does a battle, delivering both messages of encouragement and orders in nearly indistinguishable tones. When he arrives at the Potter's that night, much too late to be visiting a house with an infant in it, it's not clear to anyone which this is meant to be. What is clear, is that what had begun as Dumbledore's moderately peaceful protest is now an organisation ready to suffer the greatest losses of this war without looking back.*

It's Moody, and I see your light on, open up.

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[scarletskirt.livejournal.com]

*Lily has always believed that she has an uncanny ability to sense when things are, frankly, arse over tit in the universe. Well, in her universe. On the day of her grandmothers death, nearly four years ago now, Lily couldn't sleep. More recently, Lily couldn't manage to sleep the day of Clover's disappearance. And now, even after an exhausting day with Harry, a glass of wine, and staring at the steady rise and fall of James' chest, her eyelids aren't even attempting to flicker shut.

Her restlessness tingles in her bones, but the cold sensation of dread replaces it when she hears the knock, hears Moody's voice through the door of the flat.

This can't be good.

Lily makes to stand, running a hand through James' hair in the process.*

James, wake up. It's Moody.

*With each step she can feel the blood pump through her veins at uncomfortably sharp intervals. She opens the door and skips the niceties. Sirius has a penchant for asking "who died?" whenever these situations arise. It's a grim habit that Lily has never cared for, but she almost finds herself asking Moody the very same question.*

What happened? Oh God, what happened now?