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Chocolate Frog by L A Moody

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Chapter Notes: A lethifold, or living shroud, is just one of the wildly imaginative creatures which appear in JKR’s Fantastic Beasts. An amorphous black shape that floats over the ground, lethifolds attack at night smothering their victims while they sleep. The last recorded sighting of these rare and elusive creatures was in the tropics of New Guinea.


Disclaimer: With humble gratitude to J. K. Rowling for allowing me to build castles in her sandbox once more.




Eight
Moody: The Devil’s Playground




It was but a pale imitation of its former glory. The constant Death Eater raids had stolen like a lethifold over the once bustling lanes of Diagon Alley. Only Knockturn Alley wore its desolate veneer proudly; yet Moody suspected that even there, business was not as brisk as it had once been.

The brashness of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes was an arresting display of excess. Garish against the steely sky, it displayed a stubborn optimism which was sadly lacking in these dark days. It was rumored that one of the twins had lost an ear in the aerial battle which had claimed Moody’s “former” life. Within the hour, he had allegedly been making ear jokes with his twin “ the lamer, the better.

Moody shook his head at the irreverence of those two. Bringing smiles to the dour faces around them was perhaps a more heroic task than most would like to admit. Yet the twins managed to do it on a daily basis, allowing a bit of childhood delight to shine into even the bleakest heart.

As much as he yearned to explore the shelves that whizzed, squealed, and flashed with merchandise that defied the ordinary imagination, Moody dared not venture inside. Against such a backdrop, he would draw unnecessary attention to himself. A destitute beggar such as himself would have no business inside a retail establishment. What if close inspection revealed the just laundered freshness of his ragged attire? The sandy clods his wand had fired at the cloth made it look dirtied and worn, but it was just street theatre. The multitudes of the displaced who lined the storefronts allowed him to “disappear” at will, but he did not live undercover among them.

Moody routinely overheard enough of the surrounding conversations to learn that the twins had been adding their unique twists to the fight against Voldemort’s tyranny. Although their sales of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder had raised many concerns in the wake of the infiltration of Hogwarts castle, the twins had adjusted the formula so that it gave the user the illusion of not being able to see anyone else. But a wraith-like image was still visible to the trained eye of the observer.

Headless Hats were refashioned so their effectiveness was of very limited duration. The packaging itself explained that the cost of materials had skyrocketed and the price point demanded that the manufacturers reluctantly cut corners. As an alternative, Handless Mittens were introduced that would obscure objects held within the wearer’s fist and slightly beyond. The imbedded charm was not strong enough to work with medium to large objects, however.

Despite the decidedly pureblood taint that permeated the area, many young customers continued to frequent the joke shop behind their parents’ backs. One such renegade was Nightshade McNair who was determined to arm herself against the ruthless pranks inflicted on first year Slytherins like herself. It was not difficult for Moody to eavesdrop on her strategic campaigns as she whispered unabashedly outside of Gringotts with her close friend, Natasha Mulciber.

“Look, Tash,” Nightshade hissed. “These Skiving Snackboxes are the dog’s bollocks!”

Natasha giggled as she whipped her head about to make sure no one was within scolding distance. “Which lessons are you planning to ditch?”

“Does it matter? And the Fever Fudge is ideal if I repackage it in some of those heart shaped boxes Mum brought from the bakers!”

That’s not to say that Fred and George were not experiencing the same procurement woes that plagued the remaining merchants in Diagon Alley. Moody overheard Verity complain about the unavailability of specialized doxie eggs from the Ministry’s subbasement, a species which had mutated in wondrous ways due to its rarified habitat. But Fred had assured her that his Unspeakable friend would come through for them “ he just couldn’t guarantee regular shipments.

Which was a good thing for Zeth and Zither, the fraternal Selwyn twins, who were ardent consumers of the Patented Day Dream Charms. There were enough adult enthusiasts to guarantee that such escapist pursuits continued to be best-sellers “ especially in the darkest of times.

It was on a dreary day, not too long after the Birthday Blowout Sale on April first, that a tearful Verity wrapped herself tightly into an oilskin cloak and boarded the door to Weasleys Wizard Wheezes for the foreseeable future. Her grey eyes surveyed the empty lanes with suspicion even though the steady downpour alone would have kept customers away. Only the usual chorus of the displaced, her gaze seemed to say, as she noted the few brownish lumps that were huddled under the various awnings.

The wide display windows had been shuttered and then fortified with magic, Moody noted as he later ambled by aimlessly. Nothing but mangled boxes remained on shelves that had artfully been given an extra layering of dust and cobwebs. Even the banner that stretched from one side of the tall room to the other was dirtied and torn. Between the skeletons of past displays, it was still possible to distinguish posters which extolled: Tired of Apparating to and fro? Use our handy Owl Order Service to speed purchases directly to your windowsill!

Moody hid a crooked grin behind his gnarled hand. Had those signs been there all along, unnoticed due to relentless activity within? Or had they been added as last minute instructions for loyal customers? Either way, it was a testament to the twin’s indomitable spirit. If pressed, Moody would likely contend that the April Fool’s event had been a clever ruse to empty the shelves without arousing suspicion. The inventory could then be warehoused in a remote site for further distribution via owl post.

Since then it had been a colorless expanse that greeted Moody as if the twins had packed the last bit of joy in their rucksacks. He had not realized how much the presence of the pure-blood children enlivened the mostly boarded storefronts. With one less reason to venture to Diagon Alley, most stayed prudently away.

From the murky mouth of Knockturn Alley, even the dubious enterprises of Uncle Ern’s Emporium seemed to attract even less customers than before. Although the shop did its best to court the only demographic that still enjoyed a measure of prosperity, Uncle Ern himself was hardly a Death Eater. Just another enterprising businessman trying to eek a living out of barren rock, Moody grumbled to himself. He couldn’t fault the wizened herbalist for indulging his penchant for marketing unique concoctions with vaguely sinister labels. Peddling dark dreams; Moody had dismissed it early on.

Luckily, Moody had stashed emergency supplies throughout the countryside for survival in even the most restrictive economies. In one such cave, he systematically brewed Polyjuice Potion for his daily forays among the enemy. At Tamisan’s insistence, he’d carefully ground the hair from a number of sources, men and women alike, into a fine powder to create unidentifiable features that tended to vary from batch to batch. An arsenal of faded faces that were then accessorized according to whether he would disguise his prosthetic leg or hobble around in a multitude of different ways.

He was now one of the Wandless, as the current euphemism went. Surprising that they’d actually come up with a name since most wizards averted their eyes so quickly that it was arguable whether the beggars’ presence had even registered. There were enough new faces each day that no one remarked upon Moody when he claimed his habitual spot just before the deserted awning of Flourish and Blotts.

It had proven to be fertile territory for the misinformation campaign he’d put into play. With the offices of the Daily Prophet just around the corner, there were always reporters nosing about for the latest scrap of gossip or Ministry leak. Nothing was ludicrous enough to be discounted, Moody learned early on. Especially that vile Rita Skeeter who would latch her lacquered claws into absolutely anything that might garner her a byline in the next issue. It would have been ungentlemanly to not oblige her, Moody chortled to himself.

First there had been the hints, mere whispers among the Wandless with no discernable source, that Lucius Malfoy maintained the purity of his albino peacocks by feeding them stewed manticore brains. An investigation into the illegal poaching of restricted species was initiated.

Next had come the persistent tales that Dolores Umbridge’s blood-status was not all she claimed it to be. It was revealed that a third cousin had married a notorious Muggle starlet and was instantly disowned by the remainder of the family. It was unclear, however, whether they had been more offended by the woman’s long string of previous marriages or her non-magical heritage “ it certainly hadn’t been by her investment portfolio. Two squibs in the past generation were uncovered to much consternation, but the enquiry had stopped short of unearthing any amphibian forbearers. Only because they had not gone as far back as the previous century, Moody single-handedly maintained.

So he’d artfully concocted a tale of the trained rats the insurgents were mounting to wrest control of the Ministry from Pius Thicknesse’s puppet administration. Tiny rats in vests and bow ties, as they appeared in Moody’s imagination, against a burly bastard like Thicknesse seemed inordinately funny. How was he to know the man harbored a pathological fear of rodents? Just an unsubstantiated rumor had marshaled most of Magical Law Enforcement into a search and destroy mission within the marble corridors of power. Perhaps he should’ve sweetened the pot by insinuating that Wormtail was at the helm, but he was fairly certain that Pettigrew’s Animagus status was known only to a select few.








The sky was the nondescript color of old clothes, the damp air heavy with the bitter tang of broken dreams. Along the desolate storefronts, discarded leaves and paper flickered in a restless wind that whispered secrets to the overlords and the oppressed alike. It was a sad reminder that the rubbish was often more colorful than the lives of those who systemically ignored it.

Even though he still felt doubly-blind without the extra features of his magical eye, Moody heard them before they came into view. Something about the furtive whispers just didn’t seem to fit their clothing and mannerisms. The woman was clearly Bellatrix Lestrange, her vacant glare and curled lip were unmistakable -- even with one eye bandaged as part of his disguise for the day.

Bellatrix was notorious and many of the Wandless scuttled or rolled themselves into whatever dark hollow they could find on short notice. Today, she was single-minded enough to ignore them completely, not bothering to swish her skirts away with disdain as if their very shadows were contagious.

Her companion was a stranger, yet there was something about his features that nagged at Moody. Could it be someone whom he’d met long ago and then forgotten in the mists of memory? Or was there some subterfuge at work? His magical eye would’ve known immediately, but ‘One-Eye’ Moody would have to work things out the hard way.

Perhaps something of Moody’s doubts conveyed themselves to Bellatrix’s companion as he shifted nervously in his boots. A flash from the gutter just beyond and Moody would have sworn that Dumbledore’s weary face had just winked at him from a pile of useless adverts. In the next instant, the patterns shifted in the wind and the chocolate frog card disappeared.

But Moody wasn’t watching the detritus as his eye had been arrested by a peek at something more sinister: a disembodied trouser cuff and a single ragged trainer. In the space of a heartbeat, they disappeared as if they had never been, but Moody was not so easily fooled. Judging by the way Bellatrix and her companion moved, there was at least one more person following in their wake. Rendered invisible by spell or artifice, it mattered not to Moody’s suspicious Auror mind. That entourage was up to something untoward.

From the depth of his rags, Moody wrapped his hand around his portable Foe Glass. Much to his surprise, it felt cool to the touch. Not a single tiny vibration to indicate impending danger.

Unsure what to make of that, Moody ran his fingers along the length of the wand he had smuggled in the seam of his trousers. With practiced nonchalance, he made as if to scratch his leg then worked his wand up his sleeve instead. From behind a dilapidated crate, he cast a surreptitious Homenum Revelio charm then barely stopped himself from gasping at the unexpected results: three humans and a fourth murky presence. It was a phenomenon he had previously observed in the presence of elves, mermaids, and centaurs. Any sentient magical creature that was capable of verbal communication, to be exact. The very creatures that Voldemort’s camp labeled as inferior beings. How could this be?

A shout from a nearby lane indicated that Bellatrix had been recognized by a fellow Death Eater. Moody recalled the steel wool hair of Turlington Travers, an officious bore if there ever was one. As Travers drew near, the Foe Glass still clutched in his left hand grew warmer by the second. The momentary panic that he saw flitting behind Bellatrix’s eyes spurred Moody to action.

With the stumbling gait of a man who hadn’t properly eaten in months, Moody threw himself at Bellatrix and extorted her help with his nonexistent children. The shock in her face was quickly replaced by a mask of loathing before her companion immobilized him with a well-placed hex to the chest.

Moody’s body crumbled obligingly to the ground where he rolled to the far side of the lane. Although his muscles still spasmed from the stunning spell, his vision was unaffected. He lay perfectly still, allowing them to think he’d been knocked unconscious so they would forget about him. Inches from the rough cobblestones, his unbandaged eye slitted open to observe the tableau before him.

If anything, his assault helped Bellatrix to assume her haughty demeanor as Travers engaged her in conversation. Her companion muttered a few words in a foreign dialect more indicative of his uncommunicative nature than his nationality. Yet the foreigner fingered his wand in a strangely rhythmic fashion even after he lowered it to his side. As if he were fingering a melody on a bagpipe; Moody couldn’t help making the comparison.

Travers’ misgivings were unmistakable as the brief interchange deteriorated into an interrogation in short order. But Bellatrix refused to be detained from her incipient business at Gringotts as she left him struggling to keep pace with her hurried strides.

Intrigued by the unanswered questions floating in the very air, Moody slowly inched his way towards a back alley providing a convenient shortcut to Gringotts Bank. There was no doubt that the indeterminate presence could rightly belong to a goblin. Unable to determine conclusively whether he was dealing with friend or foe, he was intrigued to see how this would play out.

From the deep shadows across the small square, Moody watched as the golden doors were swung wide to admit the unlikely procession. Bellatrix swirled her skirts majestically as in her wake the lesser mortals struggled to keep pace.

The first hint of trouble was about a quarter hour later when a goblin emerged to confer with one of the Ministry goons stationed at the bank’s outer doors. The guard nodded sharply and took off at a trot down the twisting lane, taking a sharp detour when he reached Knockturn Alley. The goblin stared after the guard with his customary frown, yet the clenching and unclenching of his spidery fingers indicated great agitation.

With that the ghost of memory rose from Moody’s subconscious. Pale, freckled fingers working the bed rail in St. Mungo’s in the same musical manner. Arthur Weasley! But he was in hiding with Bill and the twins, wasn’t he? That still left three other sons unaccounted for, Moody considered as he worked out the implications in his brain.

Was one of Arthur’s sons being held hostage by Bellatrix? The Prophet had announced that wanted criminals had infiltrated Malfoy Manor recently but had said nothing about them being apprehended by authorities. Had they managed to escape, as Moody had cheerfully surmised, or were they being held prisoner? Visions of Bellatrix’s past cruelty rose like a miasma in his gut.

What about the cloaked figure then? Why would an accomplice need to cloak himself when Death Eaters strutted unhindered through Diagon Alley?

Unless the invisible party was quite the opposite; if he was someone who would find himself in danger if he were recognized. Three humans and one sentient creature. One woman, one man, and one dirty trainer which could belong to either, Moody continued to ponder as the wanted posters for Undesirable Number One stared at him from every storefront.

Surely, it couldn’t be! They wouldn’t be that utterly brazen, would they? Perhaps if that was the only way, Moody acknowledged grimly. But such an undertaking without any kind of back-up or reinforcements was folly! Yet he’d been sent on similar infiltration missions as a young Auror “ when the Department had banked upon the sheer audacity and recklessness of youth to see him through.

Instantly, he knew what his next step would be.

When Ministry reinforcements poured out of Floo connections the length of Diagon Alley, they were confronted with a patchwork of human bodies strewn the length of the steps leading up to Gringotts Bank. The beggars shifted listlessly from side to side to allow passage, yet somehow managed to impede an organized assault. It was passive resistance at its best, Moody beamed proudly.

The first phalanx had just reached the lobby doors when the ground shook beneath them. With a mighty hiss, a fissure appeared in the pavement at their feet, forcing them to scramble like mismatched dominos in all directions. From within the edifice, the sounds of an earthquake echoed to the surface even as the other structures along the length of Diagon Alley stood by implacably.

The plaintive groan of metal fatigue grew in intensity until Moody clamped his hands over his ears. With a roar not unlike collapsing bridge girders, the golden doors of the impenetrable bank were wrenched from their hinges to rest crookedly against the walls. From the crumbling maw within, a fearsome dragon clawed its way onto the portico as beggars as well as enforcement officers broke into a panic. Ignoring the spells which were rebuffed by its weathered scales, the dragon launched itself into the air and circled above Diagon Alley once before winging towards the north.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, Moody could just make out the three figures astride the beast’s back. A female with curly brown hair and two lads, one ginger and the other dark-haired and spectacled.

With a grin of unabashed delight, Moody waved at them from a back alley. Knowing that it was only a matter of time until he was identified as the instigator of the Wandless revolt, and too weary to contemplate changing his appearance in mid-stream, he Disapparated home.







Moody threw the stack of Daily Prophets in the corner of the cave with a growl. Worse than useless, he decried inwardly.

A sensationalized report of an ancient dragon escaping from the bowels of Gringotts. An interview with senior trustees assuring that their trusted goblins were, at this moment, scrambling for even better measures of securing the vaults of the institution’s most prestigious customers. The root cause of the upheaval was conveniently omitted. No vaults were reported as being vandalized, no personnel reported as being harmed. Hell, it hardly allowed that the goblins had been inconvenienced!

No idea whether the trio’s covert mission had been successful. And what of the cloaked being who had accompanied them? Moody chafed at being stuck in the periphery.

“Madai,” Benji’s quiet voice broke into thoughts. “It is time.”

Moody favored him with a grimace and a non-committal huff.

With ever-patient eyes, Benji posed, “If you have changed your mind, we will understand. This is your struggle more than it is ours.”

“Tamisan won’t,” Moody huffed. “She’ll say I'm a self-centered old thestral who thinks the world revolves around his overblown ego.”

Benji chuckled warmly. “Yes, she will. Are you so certain that she’s wrong?”

“No,” Moody allowed glumly.

“Wouldn’t you rather tell her so yourself?”

Moody harrumphed, “And walk into the veela’s pit willingly? Absolutely not.”

“You’d rather I faced her instead,” Benji countered.

“Don’t fret, I’m coming. Just wanted to take an extra moment to say good-bye to my sumptuous surroundings.” With a wry twist to his lips, Moody’s arm encompassed the roughly hewn walls of the cave that had been their home for the past month.

“I’m certain our photos will be featured in Neanderthal Nooks and Crannies once we arrive in India,” Benji promised.

Moody threw back his head and issued a deep belly laugh. “If that doesn’t testify that you’ve been saddled with my company long enough, I don’t know what does!”

“Besides, I’d hate to think I risked my own life for nothing.”

Moody did a double-take. “Were the last minute errands so dangerous?”

“Not all. But having to trek to Honeyduke’s through a mass of roiling students was not as easy as you make it seem. I got the last of the sugar quills and was almost assaulted on my way out the door.”

“A grown man like you afraid of a group of children?” Moody teased.

“They were an organized gang,” Benji corrected. “And I couldn’t very well zap them with magic with their teachers on the next corner.”

“Not that cow, Carrow, and her throw-back brother?” Moody growled.

“Minerva McGonagall. An even stricter proponent of student rights.”

Moody sighed. “How did she seem? Snape’s appointment to Headmaster must have stung mightily, as if her years of experience were worthless… I should’ve sent her a letter of commiseration --”

“Ghosts don’t keep owls. Birds spook.” In a more serious tone, Benji added, “She seemed strained, her lips pursed as if they had never known any other expression.”

Moody nodded gravely. “Glad to see she’s been able to hang on, though.”

“You wish you could help her, don’t you?” Benji sympathized as he Levitated the last of their trunks before them.

“Can’t see how,” Moody grumbled. “Who knows what ripples my sudden reappearance might cause? And in this climate, just one moment of distraction might prove fatal.”

“Are you going to present the jumbo box of multi-flavored beans to Rajeesh, or shall I?”

Moody smiled at the mangled product name. “As long as you remember to save those sugar quills for Padma and Parvati.”

“How could I forget my nieces’ favorites? If only we could have convinced them to flee the country with their cousins.” Benji’s hangdog features recalled how the girls had stoically submitted to memory modifications lest they fall prey to unexpected coercion. “Bad enough they insisted on being imprisoned in that fortress for their final year of schooling.”

“It didn’t used to be a prison,” Moody attested.

“And it won’t be forever, old man,” Benji agreed. “But it’s time we left that fight for others whose hopes are less tarnished than ours. We’ve earned our retirement on all fronts.”