The Potent but Terrible Solution

The motherhouse of the Order of the Aurora stood at the end of a short street known simply as Aurors' Close, which itself branched off the far end of Diagon Alley; thus, the Aurors' home was both part and not part of wizarding London, as they were part and not part of the wizarding government.

The Order in fact long predated the Ministry. Some said that Godric Gryffindor founded it to hunt down Salazar Slytherin when the Serpent-tongue fell to the dark; others believed it had been Merlin's answer to the Knights of the Round Table. The Aurors themselves, if they knew, remained silent on the matter; in the end, their founder's name was less important than their legend. For one thousand years (at least, said the Merlin camp) the Order of the Aurora had stood between Britain and the menace of the Dark Arts. They had known defeat, and betrayal, and all else that might come in a thousand years of warfare, but they remained steadfast.

Albus had written many letters of recommendation to the Order in his time at Hogwarts--it was a popular career choice among the more martial of his Gryffindors--but he had never visited their headquarters. It suited them, he thought. Three stories of plain granite, with windows only on the upper floors, the building backed solidly into the stone wall that surrounded the Close. Before the single door stood a watchman at attention, in the dress uniform of the Order: black hooded robes edged in silver, and over them a midnight-blue surcoat bearing the Order's device, the stars of the Big Dipper on a field that shimmered like the northern lights.

The watchman stifled a grin as Albus walked up to the door, and even under the hood Albus recognized him. Alphard Black, one of Minerva's year-mates, had been a byword for mischief at Hogwarts, and Albus couldn't help wondering if he was assigned greeting duty as often as he'd earned detentions.

"Who goes there?" the young man called. Gwyneth had mentioned this bit of ceremony.

"Albus Dumbledore, Master of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Alphard's grin, Albus noted, was becoming harder to suppress, though he was making an admirable effort. "The name of Albus Dumbledore is known to the Order. What business have you here?"

"I seek the counsel of Sir Alastor Moody on a matter of some import."

This had not apparently been the reply Alphard had been expecting. ". . . Sir Alastor is within, and will be informed of your arrival. Be welcome as a guest of the Order of the Aurora. Enter freely, tarry long, leave in honor, and return as a friend." He stepped aside to allow Albus to pass, and added in an undertone "Great to see you again, Professor. Don't believe a word old Moody says about me."

Albus raised an amused eyebrow. "I'm sure whatever he says will be a pale reflection of the truth, Mr. Black. I'll send your regards to Mr. Pringle when I return."

Alphard snickered. "Good old Polly." Taking an ornate key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and opened it. "Follow me, sir, and I'll have someone fetch Moody for you."

"Thank you, Alphard."

The young Auror showed Albus to an oak-paneled sitting room, a fire already burning in its hearth, and bid him a cheery farewell. Only a few minutes later, the door opened again.

The man who entered was short and stocky, with a mane of dark hair, a hawk nose, and a pale scar running across his left cheek. Dark eyes gave Albus one of the most piercing stares he'd ever felt, and then the man stepped forward and offered his hand. "Alastor Moody. Young Gwyneth said you'd be by; something to do with him, I gather."

Albus matched Moody's firm grip, but eyed the man with some reproach. "I have come for aid against Grindelwald, yes. And it has always been my policy that fear of a name--"

"I've heard the lecture, Professor." Moody grinned crookedly. "My policy is one of constant vigilance, and it's one you'd do well to adopt considering the enemy's gifts. Not to mention the Ministry's just down the road, and their official line is appeasement."

"And yet you've agreed to meet with me."

"'Course I did. Someone needs to fight the bastard. But that doesn't mean shouting it from the rooftops, eh? We're not part of the Ministry just yet, but they do like to keep an eye on things. Why d'you think that rascal Black was on the door? Not like he wasn't due for a stretch of extra duty, but he'll keep his mouth shut."

Albus sighed. "Very well. What aid can you offer?"

"What are you willing to pay for it?"

Albus bit back a snarl. "Pay? What--"

"Let me lay it on the line for you," Moody interrupted brusquely. "One. The kind of help Gwyneth asked me to give you involves divulging the secrets of the Order. You're an outsider. Two. If the Ministry knew you were here, that's just the excuse they'd need to roll the Order up into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the way they've been trying to do for decades. Three. There's never been a bigger Minister's pet born than Grand Master Rudolph Pilkington." Moody's grimace threw his scar into sharp relief. "Upshot is, I can't help you unless you're an Auror, and I can't put your name on the rolls without Ruddy Pillock running down the road to his cousin."'

"I assume you have another solution, since you agreed to meet with me."

"You catch on quick. The old usages allow any Auror to induct a layman on merit of deeds--battlefield promotion. Legal enough for my oaths, and I can forget to mention it to the Archivist until you've brought Grindelwald's head back on a pike, or not--however it turns out. 'Course, we're short a battlefield." Moody grinned and pulled out his wand, Banishing the furniture from the circular room. "Dueling circle's close enough, eh?"

Albus raised an eyebrow. "You want to duel me?"

"Well, if you can't handle one old man, the Swiss'll eat you for breakfast. Scared of a little spar, Professor?"

"As you will, then." Albus drew his own wand, smiling grimly. Transfiguration was unquestionably his first love, but he had been an accomplished duelist in his day, as well--and, he reminded himself sardonically, as he was still alive it was still his day.

Both men confined themselves to minor hexes at first, testing each other's defenses; Albus brushed them away by will alone, and Moody seemed equally capable. Then, without warning, the Auror opened up with a curse like a hammer-blow that Albus, caught off-guard, only barely deflected, and the duel began in earnest.

Moody was a wilder opponent than Albus had faced in some time, and staggeringly powerful; he swung his wand like a broadsword, and nearly every spell cracked against Albus' wards with a thunderclap that shook the small room. And yet, for all that, the Auror was fiendishly tricky--Albus soon learned to expect that a rebounded hex would leave residue that ate into his shields like acid, and Moody's few misaimed curses had an uncanny way of bouncing off the walls to find unguarded angles of attack.

Albus took advantage of a momentary lull in Moody's onslaught to raise the tempo of the duel himself, firing off a series of complicated charms he'd learned in Venice, years ago--only to find them all countered, effortlessly. But Moody had begun to sweat.

The duel swayed back and forth several more times, and Albus felt his own robes plastered to his back from the effort, before Moody finally stepped back and called a halt, breathing heavily and grinning. "Well, now, I'd say you know a few things after all. Bit too fond of fancy work, maybe--but you'll do, you'll do." He offered Albus his hand.

A hand which, when Albus clasped it, burst into flame--a contact hex that splintered off the professor's ready counterspell, spraying bright sparks around the room. "Constant vigilance, I believe it was?" Albus asked mildly.

Moody shook stinging fingers and chuckled. "Aye, that it was. Good to see a professor can still learn a new trick."

"I'll certainly remember that one; worthy of Helga herself--and I'd heard that Hufflepuff House produced no real duelists."

The Auror snorted. "Anyone who says that is welcome to corner a badger and see what happens."

"I didn't say I agreed with the sentiment."

"Good--then I won't make you try it." Moody grinned and held open the door. "My suite is this way; I'll take your oath there, and we can see to business."