- 03 May 2018, 14:31
The fake Alastor Moody spent the rest of the day trying to leave a very Moody impression while the real one had been locked away with only the mouldy bread for company. In what little light he had in the travel trunk (and with the only eye he had left) he cleared most of the greenish stuff off the product, and tried to convince himself to eat.
He had to eat, he had to keep himself together. He had to fight. One day he would climb out of here, he told himself. By giving up, he would only facilitate his unknown captor's (and, consequently, Voldemort's) work, and that, he was unwilling to do. He would not break, he decided.
One oddity about the Imperius he had never believed until he'd experienced on himself: he had no idea who was keeping him imcarcerated. For almost a week he had believed it's the vicious murderer Sirius Black, but never had he heard that familiar, dry, barking-like laughter. It was a much weaker voice, a more sinister one, not the sound of Voldemort's second-in-command. But he had a horribly strong will, suppressing the old auror's own determination like heavy rain takes out a feeble candle light. He was unable to shield his own mind from him, and what's worse, he couldn't even hope for help on the outside. His latest student, a metamorphmagus girl, was away on her own Auror business. The others wouldn't lok for him, because he had always been a loner. To everybody else, the impostor was good enough. It hurt how easily the criminal had replaced him.
Meanwhile the other Alastor Moody had finished his lessons for the day and took a broom ride to Hogsmeade for a security check-up. (Only, he didn't need to worry about deatheaters tracking him, rather, about aurors and a really vicious Sirius Black. Wormtail had warned him that the white sheep of the Black family was an animagus. ) While he was there, he grabbed an owl order catalogue, and, to keep up his disguise, had immediately ordered the newest model dark detectors the company had on hand.
On his way back, he took a few extra turns.
Just as he suspected, there was at least one dementor in the forest. Even on the broom, he could feel the icy cold creeping up his spine, he had to struggle to sit straight. Either it was two or three of the beasts, or it was closer than Barty thought.
He had to avoid the creatures. Not only because he could never handle their presence, but also because the real Mad-Eye could.
On his hurry back to the castle, who else would he run into, if not ---