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Alastor Moody felt like he was going insane.
No, scratch that. The whole god damned world had gone insane. And he was the only sane son of a bitch in it. Because what the everloving fuck was going on.
Alastor sat across the desk from Dumbledore in his office at Hogwarts, reeling after taking in the memories he had just been shown. He had felt dirty, violated the entire time. What had happened to him - what that filthy bastard had managed to do to him - was a fucking travesty. But the worst part, oh the worst part by far-
“Do all you sods think I really fucking talk like that?”
Dumbledore huffed, no longer sure-footed as he tried to bumble his way through an explanation that would calm the increasingly pissed auror across from him. Alastor just shoved his head in his hands and laughed, hardly able to keep himself from sobbing. “You have known me for years Albus, years . Sure, maybe it’s been a while since we’ve shared a pint but seriously, Albus? You thought I…” here he trailed off, raking his hands through his hair and looking up at the impossibly moronic leader of the light in front of him .
“I know I always played up that ‘constant vigilance’ shit around others, you know the power of a good fucking catchphrase, but you mean to tell me not a single fucking one of you who spent countless fucking hours with me all throughout the last war caught on to the fact that maybe just fucking maybe , I wasn’t that fucking insane?!”
Alastor scoffed and rocked back into his seat, shaking his head and looking searchingly at Dumbledore. “You thought that I-” here his voice broke a bit, getting softer, “that I was him ? You… I don’t even know what to fucking say Albus.”
Dumbledore at least had the good grace to look thoroughly admonished at this point, face drawn like Alastor hadn’t seen it since the night the Potters died. ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘I don’t think I’ve seen it since then - who fucking knows what he talked about with the imposter while I was fucking locked in that trunk.’
Alastor folded forward, studying the carpet beneath them and trying to regulate his breathing. “I was in that god damned trunk for fucking months Albus. I was here , right under your nose in what is supposed to be The Light’s seat of power . And I was cursed again and again, with unforgivables , tortured in ways I’ve seen drive other men mad .” It was all Alastor could do to keep himself from choking as visions of his comrades, of people he knew suffered much worse, flashed before his eyes. He looked into Albus’ eyes, calculating. “War makes fools of us all, Albus, but I had hoped you would be better than this.”
Alastor leveled himself up, barely looking at the wizard again despite his attempts to assist. He didn’t speak until his back was to the man, letting his positioning communicate the drive of his point. “I’ll stick around, Albus. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll still follow you, hell, I have to. No other wizard has the power you do, and I know you have what’s best for the rest of the world in mind. But Albus,” he paused, letting no small amount of magic seep into his voice, “I need you to know that I am not here for you . If I thought another wizard had even half as good a shot at bringing down Voldemort as you do, I would leave in a fucking heartbeat . But I’m sticking around for Harry, for Neville, for the kids who have the dubious honor of being under your wing here. Because God save the poor souls left in your ‘protection.’”
Alastor scoffed again, moving out of the office as fast as he could before working his way back to what was supposed to be had been his office. And if he stopped by Snape’s rooms after the fact and strong-armed the sullen man into a drink afterwards, well, that was between them.
Because, hell, if anyone knew the machinations of Dumbledore better than Alastor, it was Snape. And they had a lot to talk about.