Title: It's not really paranoia... when they're really out to get you.

Summary: Book 4 showed Voldemort giving Wormtail a fully-functional silver arm. So why would a certain paranoid old wizard settle for a mere wooden peg leg? AU GoF One-shot.

Rating: T for some swearing, non-graphic violence

Disclaimer: Merely borrowing a few characters from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter book series.

Moody awoke suddenly, as his alarm clock discharged an stored enervate charm into his body. 3:46 am. Bloody hell, he was getting too bloody old for this shit. He'd only just finished packing for Hogwarts a few hours ago. If it was another bloody muggle vagrant rummaging through his trashcans, they were going to get the scare of their life.

A glance at the door-sized foe-glass that sat opposite his bed caused these thoughts to vanish. This-this was no muggle vagrant. There were two enemies in the mirror. One slightly closer than the other. Still too fuzzy to identify who they were, but the images were defined enough, and large enough, to indicate that both were in his house. Adrenaline dissolved his few remaining traces of drowsiness as he surveyed the other ward indicators that blinked at him from the wall. The outer wards, of course, were down. They couldn't be inside his house otherwise. But someone had brought up a foreign APAS (anti-portkey apparation-splinching) ward. His house didn't have a fireplace, much less a floo connection. He'd never trusted such things.

Alastor paused only to don his invisibility cloak from under his bed before leaving the bedroom. His dueling robes and body armor had doubled as pajamas for the past two decades, and his wand, backup wand, and assorted weaponry were in their hidden holsters as always. He headed for his study which was located two rooms further down the hallway. From there, he'd have a clear shot at anyone walking in the hallway and a clear view of his opponents since the bedroom would still be within range of his fake eye.

As he hurried down the hall, he tapped his wand against various magical knick-knacks to switch them from passive defense mode to active attack-anything-that-moves mode. He could get out of the study via the separately-warded attic if necessary. Checking his reflection in the three foe-glasses he passed along the way, then again in the larger glass in the study itself, Alastor tried to get a clearer picture on who he was up against. Two men. Dark robes. Probably just entering the hallway to his bedroom by now. The foe-glasses, of course, were all keyed to only work for him-it wouldn't due to have his enemies able to track him through them, after all.

o

"Crouch!" Moody whispered in shock, recognizing the should-be-deceased Death Eater-for it was a Death Eater-searching his bedroom. He soon realized his mistake as Barty Crouch Jr. turned in his direction in spite of the walls separating them. A sensory-enhancement charm. Probably on his eyes and ears. Crouch got a spell off first-a powerful wide area vanishing spell that erased the various structures separating the two of them, and, unfortunately, allowed Crouch to bypass all the traps waiting for him out in the hallway.

'Lumos maxima! Explotra!' Moody cast silently, hoping to blind and deafen his opponent before the battle began in earnest.

A barrage of silent-cast reductor curses carpeted the wall behind him, coming from Crouch's position. Only his magical eye allowed Moody to see them coming from behind the thick clouds of dust and debris that his explosion spell had left hanging in the air the room-turned-battlefield. Diving behind and under his desk to avoid both Crouch's curses and the debris that had been sent back his way, he inwardly cursed his spell choice. The dust now floating in the room would allow his opponent-opponents-to track his movements in spite of the invisibility cloak. Moody bought himself a little more time by letting Crouch deal with the engorgio-ed and enchanted stapler army trap so he could check on the location of his second enemy. Glancing at the foe-glass under his desk, he paused-almost fatally-as he processed the face of-the also deceased and, moreover, wizarding hero!-Peter Pettigrew, whose face was even larger and clearer in the glass than Crouch's own. Why, Pettigrew must be standing practically right next to him!

Broken glass and something highly corrosive splashed down. The rat animagus had quickly resumed human form just before throwing the glass container. Its contents ate through part of Alastor's invisibility cloak as it raced towards its true target-his wand hand. Sparks flew from his wand as the substance rapidly ate through the oak, dissolving the unicorn hair inside. Moody dropped the now-useless twig as his bloodied grip failed. Swearing at the destruction of his primary wand and at his mauled right hand, Moody summoned his backup wand to his less-damaged-but-non-primary hand, conjuring gallons of water to dilute the corrosive liquid that coated his hands and prevent it from eating through his second wand. Then he banished as much of the mess as he could back towards Pettigrew as the animagus' stunners slammed into the shield that had failed to reflect the initial physical attack.

Dragging a hand across the various pressure-points under his desk, Moody set off nearly every prepared trap in the room to keep Crouch and Pettigrew busy. He needed to even the odds. Crouch was the better fighter. Alastor wanted to deal with him one-on-one. That meant he needed to take Pettigrew out early.

Sure enough, Pettigrew was distracted by the sudden transformation that came over the room as potions, spells, and projectiles flew from various orifices on the walls. Sharp glass rained from the chandelier in the center of the ceiling, followed by water and electricity. The two guest chairs galloped towards Crouch, fire-proofed, hardened arms lengthening to try to ensnare the wizard while Moody's own chair went after Pettigrew. A secret pocket in one of the walls disgorged two hornets nests, properly stirred up. Even through all the confusion, Pettigrew might have regained his focus in time, had it not been for the doorbell.

o

*Ding-dong*

Everyone in the room seemed to freeze for a split second. Normal people didn't come calling at four am in the morning. And Mad-Eye Moody's enemies didn't ring doorbells. Maybe it was some innocent bystander. They saw some flash of light or heard some worrisome noise. Or maybe...

And then the battle resumed fierce as ever. Moody got the drop on Pettigrew with a stunner-in case he couldn't take out Crouch without killing him, at least he could find out what they were after and who would be coming after him next-then followed up with enough rope to mummify him. Swearing inwardly at another poor spell choice, he wasted precious time transfiguring half the rope into anacondas. He didn't want the rat animagus to transform and escape later if Moody didn't get back to him before the stunner wore off.

With half his attention and one eye on Crouch, he caught the ending wand movements of an inanimate-to-animate transfiguration spell aimed at his desk. Realizing suddenly that his desk wasn't warded against transfiguration, Moody tossed a cutting curse up from under the desk, leaving Crouch with a half-transformed paraplegic wooden tiger, as he rolled out from under it. The tiger landed on him anyway thanks to Crouch's follow-up banishment charm. Another flash of light followed, and Alastor Moody knew no more.

o

Exactly 67 seconds later, Alastor Moody shook off Crouch's stunner. This was the intended effect of one of his four charmed silver teeth he'd had implanted after he'd lost some of his real teeth in the war. Somewhat shocked that he was still alive even if neither opponent had used Unforgivables during the battle, Moody tried to take stock as best he could without opening his eyes. He quickly noticed his magical eye was missing. As were his clothes. A thin sheet of some sort covered him while what was probably a petrification curse held him immobile below the neck. Moody frowned inwardly, keeping it from showing on his face, and listened carefully, hoping they'd talk.

*Ding-dong*

"Damn it." He heard Crouch curse. It appeared they had forgotten the person at the door. Moody kept still as one of his captors dragged their hand through his hair, snagging a strand. A pause. Then glass tinkled as it fell on wood. Someone grabbed something. And then he heard his own voice casting a transfiguration spell then a sticking charm. So they hadn't stripped him of his leg yet. Then he heard a low pained moan. Crouch or Pettigrew was probably attaching the magic eye. It'd taken Moody nearly a month to get used to the information overload. And then he heard his own voice again, "It's Arthur Weasley. I'll send him away. You keep an eye on Moody."

The words were followed by the sound of his own uneven gait. An excellent imitation of his gait at that. Polyjuice didn't teach you how to act like your mark. This wasn't just spur of the moment. They'd analyzed his behaviors, his movements. They'd planned on impersonating him. And that would give them... access to Hogwarts. To Dumbledore. To Potter. The impostor's footsteps grew softer, more distant.

o

Perfect. They'd split up. Cracking his remaining eye for a mere instant, Alastor processed the sight, and especially the location, of Pettigrew. Crouch must be the one under Polyjuice. Time to take care of business. They might have stripped him of his belongings. But they'd missed his teeth. And, more importantly, they'd missed his leg.

Back after Rosier took his leg-and after he'd killed the Death Eater in turn-he'd had to decide what to do about his leg. Alastor had initially considered having an artificial limb created-a real leg that would bring him back to about 80% of what he'd been before he lost the leg. It would have been expensive, but since the injury was sustained in the line of duty, the government would have picked up the bill. But one of his former trainees-Collingsworth, a muggleborn-had commented on the eye-patch he'd worn back when he'd first lost his eye-how all he needed was a wooden leg and he could pass for a pirate. And that had gotten him to thinking.

o

Moody silent-cast the counter to the petrification that held him bound. Then lifted his wooden leg-and the unicorn hair concealed inside-to point it at Pettigrew, silent-casting the reductor curse. Red light flashed suddenly and Pettigrew's head fell, severed, the rest of his body quickly falling too. Forget prisoners.

Gathering himself, Moody snatched Pettigrew's wand and his own dropped secondary wand off the floor before limping out of the study (via the passage to his bedroom that Crouch had opened earlier, of course, the traps in the hallway were still active, after all). Arthur would need backup.

o

Arthur Weasley jerked backwards as a reductor curse severed Alastor Moody's head right in front of him. His wand found its way into his hand unconsciously as he looked past the corpse to see... Alastor Moody?

Uneasy and deciding his old fellow Order member wouldn't be offended if it really was him, Arthur pulled up a strong shield and turned sideways to offer a smaller profile before starting through the updated gauntlet of questions Mad-Eye had insisted on last time they'd spoken. "What color did you paint-"

"Benjamin Moore Tuscan Red from a shop on Elm Street, forty-three to twenty-seven since that last dart didn't count, Chicken Cacciatore though I'm sure that wasn't chicken meat," Moody growled before he'd even had a chance to finish the questions. "What was the second curse I hit you with last time you stuck up on me?"

"The hand-locker curse. Then you followed up with Dorea's glass of butterbeer and some sort of illusion spell that you still refuse to identify. I spent half-an-hour seeing six independently-moving images of everything while you insisted on verifying my identity. And for the last time, Alastor, I didn't sneak up on you. It's hardly my fault you didn't know that fireplace was hooked up to the network. Now, just what in hell is going on here?"

"Barty Crouch Jr. and Peter Pettigrew just tried to kidnap and impersonate me."

"Crouch-Petti-what-"

"Mind if we head to your place? I need to contact Amelia and the Aurors and the nearest fireplace is over a mile away. Need to talk to Albus too, come to think of it. I'm pretty sure they were after my position at Hogwarts."

"Yes, yes, of course." Arthur answered, somewhat dazed.

"...and then we exchanged some questions to verify each other's identity. And then we headed to my place to floo-call you." Arthur finished.

Amelia sighed, glancing at the quill as it finished transcribing their interview before switching it off with a tap of her wand. "Alright, thanks Arthur."

Arthur frowned slightly as he assessed the slightly disheveled Head Auror sitting before him. Granted, it was five-thirty in the morning, but Amelia seemed a little more than just tired. "Are you alright, Amelia?"

"Fine, fine." Amelia waved off his concern. "Two dead Death Eaters and no serious casualties is good news. Very good news. We got lucky. Mind you, the pepper-up potion usage in my department is about to hit the roof. I need have Pettigrew and Crouch's original autopsies dug up. And Sirius Black's case reopened-puts a whole new spin on that confrontation of theirs, doesn't it, Pettigrew still being alive and a Death Eater besides... And then we need to find out when our inescapable prison became a revolving door. No, maybe that should be first item on the list. Still haven't a clue how Black got out. But Crouch had to have had help." Amelia paused. "Mad-Eye will be released from the infirmary shortly, but he'll need some assistance while his hands are healing. Should I tell Healer Jones he'll be staying at the Burrow?"

"No, definitely not. The Burrow's a little chaotic at the best of times. But it's September 1st and no matter how many times I tell my children to pack the night before, they insist on turning the Burrow into a mad house the day we leave. Not a very soothing environment for someone who's just been in a battle. Albus said he's welcome to arrive at the castle early. Madam Pomphrey's been there for the past two days doing inventory and I'm sure Albus can spare one of the castle's house elves for a few hours when needed."

"Hogwarts..."

"Yes... you did know he was taking over the DADA position, right?"

"Yes, he told me weeks ago. No, it's just... you know Mad-Eye got all sorts of flak for being over-paranoid. Some of it deserved even. Now though. Now he can honestly say that two death eaters-two men that were confirmed dead by my department, no less, and one a former war hero and Order of Merlin honoree-broke into his house in the wee hours of the morning and tried to kidnap him and impersonate him and use him for nefarious purposes. He's going to be impossible! I don't know how Dumbledore's going to keep him from layering his office and suite with more wards and traps than the bloody pyramids! I'm already expecting panicked fire-calls to the Aurors from Hogwarts sometime this year. I honestly pity his new colleagues, and those poor students he's about to be teaching."

"...our poor children."

Location unknown.

A small baby-sized homunculus sat in his crib, hissing words that no baby would know. Wormtail finding him in Albania had been a stroke of luck. The rat animagus lacked a spine and was desperate for a protector against Sirius Black. He wouldn't think to betray Lord Voldemort, not even in his current pathetic form. And then he'd had a second stroke of good fortune. In Bertha Jorkin's mind, he found out that one of his most devoted followers was not in Azkaban. Barty was kept from his service only by his father's Imperious Curse. Overpowering Crouch Senior, after the man had spent another long day in a long line of long days at work organizing first the Quidditch World Cup and then the Tri-Wizard Tournament, had not been difficult either. And so he had two very useful followers who wouldn't betray him. Wormtail, whose animagus form was perfect for spying and information gathering, and Barty, a very clever and powerful wizard, a little more insane than last they'd met, but also a little more fanatical in his devotion. He had followers and he had a Plan. And then... and then it'd all gone wrong!

He'd felt Wormtail's death first. The dark mark was many things-a real-time indication of his followers' status was one. As he started feeling the stirrings of unease, he'd felt Barty's death. And suddenly anchoring his soul to this artificial construct was no longer a step towards regaining his former power but a trap. Without Wormtail to retrieve Nagini from her hunting and milk her for him, he'd quickly lose his ability to perform magic in this form. And stuck here in this unplottable castle... He was immortal, but would anyone ever find him? Was anyone even looking?

FIN

AN - I always kinda figured Moody could channel magic through that leg of his. It'd be his final ace. It'd also be the kind of ace he wouldn't let anyone else find out about. It definitely didn't make it into the statement he gave Amelia.

AN - In case anyone's wondering, Voldemort isn't done yet. That homunculus will wear out eventually. But by then he'll be back to square one, lacking followers and barely strong enough to possess rats and other vermin. Moody's probably bought everyone a few more years-like Harry did back in '92. But hey, with Voldemort temporarily out of the way, the Class of '98 should have a good chance at a normal schooling experience. Well, unless Lucius Malfoy's got any more of Tom Riddle's old school stuff to pass out. Or unless the next DADA teacher is crazy. Or unless...

AN - I don't intend to add to this universe, so I'll leave you with a glimpse into a changed reality:

HP: Diggory! Hey, Diggory, wait up!

CD: Potter.

HP: Hey. Just wanted to let you know that I'm not upset about that quidditch match anymore.

CD: Um, great.

HP: Even if it is slightly suspicious that this hasn't-been-held-in-centuries tournament started back up just in time to cancel quidditch for your last year and prevent our rematch. What with your father working in the Ministry and all.

CD: Uh huh. You know, my dad works in the Magical Creatures department, not in Magical Games.

HP: Does he? Huh. Interesting. Guess your father didn't think you'd put your name in.

CD: What?

HP: Anyway, I was out in the forest last night-

CD: Potter, you do know I'm a prefect, right?

HP: Uh... did I say I was in the forest last night? I meant that I was on the quidditch pitch. You know, before curfew? I just looked towards the forest. I've got great eyesight, you know. Almost like I really was in the forest. I'm a Seeker, after all.

CD: (amused) Right.

HP: So, anyone tell you there are dragons in the forest?

CD: (shocked) Dragons?

HP: Yup! They definitely weren't there before. Er... not that I'd know what's usually in the forest, you understand. But there were three of them. Can't imagine what they're for.

CD: (pale) Dragons...

HP: Anyway, best of luck with this tournament. Glad it wasn't open to Fourth years. I wouldn't have a clue how to handle a dragon. But I'm sure you'll do great!

CD: (pale) Dragons...

HP: Oh, and uh, Diggory, if you don't make it, mind if I date Cho?

CD: (wanders away, dazed)

HP: ...that was a yes, right?