Arthur Weasley sat on a high stool next to his workbench. His fingers ran idly over his collection of plugs, but his eyes were riveted to a scene he never expected in his wildest imagination to be played out in his garage.

When it had started, it was almost exciting. Alastor Moody was like some kind of Muggle cowboy, the way he had bound the two thugs and arranged them for interrogation. Then Dumbledore had taken over the questioning, the good sheriff in the tall--pointed--hat. But the tension increased as Crabbe and Goyle refused to talk. Now Arthur was feeling sickly over the measures Moody was taking. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, wiping the sweat beginning to bead on his brow. Retrieving enchanted Muggle artifacts had never prepared him for anything like this.

"We ain't tellin' you nuffin'," grunted Crabbe. Moody stood over the man tied to an old kitchen chair with a seat that had busted through. It had been part of a set he and Molly had received at their wedding.

"You don't have the brains of a gnat, Crabbe, but even a dumb animal does what it can to avoid pain," Moody growled.

The pug-faced man gave a throaty laugh. "Call that pain? When the Dark Lord gets a hold of you, old man...." His threat was cut short by a jab of Moody's wand. The thickset body seized up, his head rolled over to one side and smoke began to drift from his ears.

"Oh, I say," said Arthur, jumping up and banging his head on an overhanging lamp. He batted it away and turned horrified eyes to Dumbledore.

"Arthur, come outside," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Yes, okay. Good idea." He took a circuitous route to the door, stepping over car parts, studiously avoiding the scene. Once outside, he gulped the fresh air, pacing a small circle before he pulled up short before Dumbledore, hands on hips.

"This is brutal, Dumbledore. It's torture, that's what it is."

"This is war, Arthur."

"This is my home. This is the yard where my children played.... I thought we'd left all this behind."

He turned and picked his way across the dew-wet grass, knowing every hole or hillock despite the dark. Stepping around the pile of Wellies and a rusted-out cauldron, he slipped in the front door.

As he made his way down the hall, he stuck his head into the living room and studied the face of the grandfather clock that stood in the corner. His hand was at "home"; Bill and Charlie were at "work" already. Well, they were in different time zones, weren't they? Percy was "traveling," gone to Diagon Alley to examine a shipment of robes from America that the merchant claimed was defective. The remaining hands rested on "visiting". None, to his great relief, pointed to "mortal peril".

In the kitchen, he pointed his wand to the small light over the sink. His supper dished were still waiting to be washed up; Molly wouldn't care for that.

Molly. He had better send an owl out to the Grangers telling her to stay there for a while with the children. He didn't want them coming home to that out there. He went to the corner cabinet and pulled out a slip of parchment, a quill, a glass and a bottle of Old Ogden's FireWhiskey.

The children had been so young the first time You-Know-Who had reared his ugly snout. The two older boys played Auror and Dark Wizard, but they really didn't understand what was happening. Percy was in short pants, the twins toddled about and Ron was only an infant. He had worried then, but not so much. His Molly was such a tiger, she'd never let them come to any harm. He was younger then, too, and felt invulnerable even as the stories of dreadful deeds piled up around them.

Now, they were all out in the world and he had Ginny to worry over as well. At least Bill and Charlie were out of the country--for now. But Percy was involved at the Ministry, associated with Crouch. And there was Ron's friendship with Harry Potter. Arthur felt ashamed at the thought, but tonight he was relieved that Harry was required to stay with the Dursleys.

The sound of the front door opening nearly made him drop his glass till he heard Moody call out, "It's just me, Arthur."

"Back in the kitchen, Alastor." As the older man came in, Arthur was surprised to find feelings of revulsion and anger aimed at the ancient Auror rather than at Crabbe and Goyle where they truly belonged. He attempted a smile and tapped the bottle of Old Ogden's with his quill. "Can I offer you something fortifying?"

"That would be greatly appreciated, Arthur."

He retrieved another glass from the cabinet and placed it and the bottle in front of Moody. He watched as the man poured, one dark eye concentrating on the transfer of liquid, the other vivid blue one tracking all over the kitchen. They sat in silence for several moments as they sipped their drinks.

"I'm a coward, Alastor."

"There'd be something wrong with you, Arthur, if you enjoyed what was happening out there in your shed. We'd maybe think about sending you over to work for the Dark Lord if that happened."

"Why did it ever get so far, Alastor? We should have gone on the offensive when we had that trouble after the World Cup last year. But the Ministry was so busy saving face."

"Pah! The Ministry! There are those in the Ministry that won't believe this until they've got You-Know-Who's red eyes staring them in the face. Or the Dark Mark over their house."

Arthur shuddered.

"Dumbledore's taking things into his own hands though, Arthur, and it's about time. He'd be Minister of Magic right now if he wasn't so dedicated to Hogwarts. We wouldn't be in this pickle if that were the case. But there's been some news of late. Minerva was in the Owlery tonight, getting ready to send your lot a message when she found Errol and insisted we come over."

Then Moody related the latest news that had come from Chance and Black in the field and the steps Dumbledore had planned to address them.

"What can I do, Alastor? I'll buck up. I haven't always been this faint-hearted."

"Well, you don't need to do my job, Arthur. There's not many cut out for it. Right now, you're our pulse on the Ministry. Minerva should have gotten with you before she popped off to see Fudge. But you can keep an eye on that situation. It's important."

"I want more than to be a watchdog."

"First the dog watches, then he springs into action. Don't rush it, Arthur."

Moody stood and drained the last bit from his glass. "I think it's about time to get back to work. See how far Dumbledore has gotten with them. He promised to keep me away from them if they tell us who planned the attack on you."

"You'll understand if I don't accompany you?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

Arthur walked to the front door with Moody and shook his hand before the man left.

"It'll all look better when the sun comes up. See if it doesn't, Arthur."

Arthur finished the letter to Molly then sent it out via Percy's owl. Errol had yet to return from Hogwarts. Then he returned to the living room to find the grandfather clock the same as before. He settled into a small, overstuffed chair, but did not sleep. He may not be able to be out there in the garage with Moody and Dumbledore, but he would keep vigil with them, as long as it took.