A tense silence lingered in the classroom, broken only by the faint crackle of lingering embers dying on the scorched floor.
Harry drew a shaky breath, his fingers gripping his wand so hard they were white.
He stared at the unconscious impostor sprawled on the ground, pale hair plastered to a bloodied forehead.
'Focus, Harry,' he scolded himself, forcing his attention back to the present.
The Polyjuice had worn off, revealing a stranger's face. One mystery solved, a dozen new ones unleashed.
'All right,' Harry thought, steeling himself. 'Now I need to handle this properly. I'm not going to Dumbledore—no way. That leaves me with… Fleur, Hermione and Neville. Maybe Sirius.'
His heart pounded with urgency. He didn't know how much time he had before someone noticed this duel—a student or, worse, someone on the impostor's side.
'Constant vigilance indeed,' he thought, recalling Moody's—or the impostor's, he didn't really know—favourite catchphrase with grim irony.
Slowly, carefully, Harry stepped away from the unconscious figure and raised his wand.
He let out a low, steady breath.
"Expecto Patronum."
A blinding silver stag burst forth, illuminating the ruined classroom. For a moment, the Patronus pawed the ground, waiting.
"Hermione," Harry whispered to the shimmering creature, focusing his intent as he sent the message. "Come to the Defence classroom. Bring Neville. Urgent—and don't tell anyone else. Not even the professors. Please."
He watched the stag bound off through the wall, knowing that his two friends would come soon.
Next, Harry looked down at the slumped impostor—still breathing, but unconscious.
'Don't have time to interrogate him alone,' he told himself, anger and adrenaline coursing through him. 'He tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on me… Merlin knows what's his deal.'
He forced the thoughts aside, letting his eyes drift to the battered office door.
Anyone could barge in.
'Better to secure him somewhere else,' Harry thought, a place in mind. 'Fuck. If I go to the chamber, Hermione and Neville won't know the change.'
A moment passed.
Harry had to be quick.
'Fuck this.'
He carefully bent down, ignoring the acrid smell of singed robes, and seized the stranger's wand, snapping it cleanly in two before tossing the pieces aside. No chances.
Taking another breath, he aimed his wand and thick ropes twined around the man's limbs and torso.
Satisfied, Harry turned his attention to the next crucial step.
'Dobby!'
A sharp crack echoed through the classroom as the house-elf appeared, his large tennis-ball eyes widening at the scene before him.
"Master Harry Potter sir! What has happened?" Dobby squeaked, his bat-like ears quivering with concern.
"Listen, Dobby. When Hermione and Neville come through the door, tell them that I went to the chamber. After that, grab them and bring them to me. All right?"
"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir! Dobby will tell them and bring them right away!" the house-elf squeaked enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Dobby is proud to help Harry Potter."
Ignoring his elf, Harry grabbed the unconscious man and flashed to the Chamber's secret room.
'Fawkes. I need Fleur,' he thought, conveying his words through their familiar bond, and noted the phoenix's acknowledgement.
Harry stood there, unsure how to continue, wand still clutched in his hand, gaze sweeping over the unconscious wizard at his feet.
His mind spun. 'He used the Cruciatus. On me. Inside the classroom… If Dumbledore has no idea, he's incompetent. If he does, he's allowing it… or even orchestrating it.'
Neither possibility brought Harry comfort. That familiar anger toward the headmaster twisted inside him like a coiled snake.
He suddenly felt a ripple in space and snapped his wand into his hand.
Crack.
Hermione and Neville stumbled into the room, breathless.
Hermione's eyes immediately fell on the crumpled body bound on the floor, and her mouth fell open.
Neville looked even more startled as he tried to stop himself from face-planting.
"Harry—what—?" Hermione began, words tumbling.
Harry lowered his wand, relief flooding him at the sight of familiar faces.
"Moody was an impostor," he said in a low voice, skipping straight to the point. "He tried to use the Cruciatus on me."
Neville gasped, turning pale.
Hermione's eyes darted from Harry's tense posture to the battered figure on the ground. "He—Cruciatus?" she repeated incredulously.
Harry nodded grimly. "He's not Moody. He's been drinking Polyjuice."
"But why—who—?" Neville managed, his voice trembling.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Harry answered tightly, running a hand through his hair.
Harry watched as Neville's eyes found the blond man's face and stopped.
He stood there, eyes fixed on the stranger's pale features.
His breathing seemed to stutter, and Harry saw an almost imperceptible tremor pass through him.
Hermione, catching the sudden change in Neville, frowned in concern.
"H–Harry…" Neville whispered, voice wavering. "I—I know him."
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "You do?" he asked carefully. 'I was honestly expecting Hermione to shed the light.'
Neville swallowed hard, his eyes not leaving the unconscious man's face. "His name—" he forced out in a shaky breath, "—is Barty Crouch Junior. He was… part of the group that attacked Mum and Dad."
Hermione let out a sharp gasp, pressing a hand to her mouth. "That's Barty Crouch Jr.? Neville, are you sure?"
Slowly, Neville nodded.
His face was pale, but his jaw was set with a kind of grim resolve Harry only saw when the boy duelled. "I—I'm certain. I saw pictures… I remember Gran showing me."
Neville bit his lip. "He was supposed to be locked in Azkaban."
Harry's mind reeled. 'Barty Crouch Sr. is high up at the Ministry. So his own son…?'
Anger burned in Harry's chest. "So he escaped—or someone got him out—and he's been teaching at Hogwarts under Polyjuice," he said, fury and disbelief mingling in his voice. "Under Dumbledore's and the Ministry's noses again."
Hermione knelt beside the unconscious man, peering at him with a mixture of horror and fascination. "If he has been drinking Polyjuice potions of Moody, he must have him nearby," she murmured, glancing at the flask on his belt.
Harry exhaled, a rough, bitter sound. "Someone should have noticed."
Neither Hermione nor Neville knew how to reply.
Shaking away his thoughts, Harry turned to his friend. "Neville," he began gently, "are you… all right?"
Neville's gaze remained locked on Barty Crouch Jr., unblinking.
Then, in a shaky voice, he whispered, "He tortured my parents. And now he's here, walking around freely… teaching me Defence Against the Dark Arts." Neville's voice tightened with barely contained rage. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Hermione laid a hand on Neville's arm. "We've caught him," she said softly, though her eyes showed how rattled she was. "We'll figure out what to do next, Neville, and he won't hurt anyone again."
Harry nodded. "Hermione's right. We're going to get answers."
He lifted his wand slightly, eyeing Crouch Jr. "And we can't turn him over to the other professors blindly."
Hermione seemed about to say something, but a sudden burst of flame lit up the far side of the room and drew their attention.
Fawkes materialised in a swirl of brilliant fire, and from behind his flaming plumage stepped Fleur.
"Harry," she breathed, striding forward. "What happened?"
For a moment, they stood in tense silence. Then, Harry let out a breath. "Turns out our Defence professor was one of Voldemort's Death Eaters under a disguise."
Fleur's eyes widened, but seeing as everything was under control, she smiled mirthlessly. "I assume you have a plan?"
Harry's own smile could have frozen ice.
"I'm going to learn what the hell he was doing in Hogwarts," he said and paused. "And then, I'm going to extract everything this bastard knows about Voldemort."
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Guess who's back. Back again.
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Chapter 97: Friends
Chapter 98: Answers
...
Chapter 106: Back