The corridor outside Professor Moody's office was cold and silent, the flickering torchlight stretching their shadows across the stone walls. The meeting had done little to ease Harry's mind. If anything, Moody's constant twitching eye and gravel-edged voice had made his suspicions burn hotter.
"Don't worry," Hermione whispered, wrapping her robes tightly around herself. "Barty Crouch is under stress, that the Ministry's been watching him closely. We don't know for sure he is being controlled."
"Yeah," Harry muttered, his jaw tightening, "and Moody told not to meddle. That's what they said every year before someone tried to kill me."
Neville trudged behind them, frowning. "Maybe Hermoine's right, Harry. Maybe Crouch really is just—"
"No." Harry stopped abruptly, his voice hard. "You saw him. First he was panicking like he'd seen a ghost, then walking around like a puppet. That wasn't stress, Neville. That was the Imperius Curse."
Hermione's hand trembled slightly around her wand. "But… to cast Imperius inside the castle—someone powerful would have to be here already. Maybe even among the staff."
"That's what worries me," Harry said. "If someone can control a Ministry official under Dumbledore's nose, they can do the same to anyone here."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. The echoes of their footsteps on the ancient stone felt louder than they should have, and every creak in the walls made Harry's nerves twitch. By the time they reached the moving staircases, his paranoia had already taken root again, deep and cold.
When they reached the fourth-floor landing, Harry stopped suddenly, his gaze sweeping over the empty corridor.
"Wait," he murmured, closing his eyes. The air tingled faintly with energy — not magic, but something else, a distortion that rippled through the Force. Someone had been here recently, someone dark.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, voice low.
"Nothing," he said after a long pause. "But something's watching us. Keep walking."
Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Neville, but said nothing.
When they finally reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Harry muttered the password, and the Fat Lady swung open with a tired yawn. The warmth of the common room did little to ease his unease. Students were laughing near the fire, oblivious to the creeping dread that had settled over him.
Neville collapsed onto an armchair, rubbing his temples. "My heart's still racing. I thought Moody was about to hex us when you mentioned Crouch."
"Moody doesn't scare me," Harry said, pacing near the window. The night beyond was dark, rain hammering against the glass. His reflection stared back — pale, hollow-eyed, the faint scar on his forehead glowing faintly under the firelight. "What scares me is whoever cursed me that day in the corridor."
Hermione looked up sharply. "You still don't know who it was?"
He shook his head. "No. It came from behind. If I hadn't been wearing the Basilisk hide armor… I'd be dead."
Hermione's face went pale. "Harry—"
"I checked every angle, every charm." His voice dropped, sharp and clipped. "Nothing. Whoever it was—knows how to mask their presence. It's not just some jealous student."
Neville's voice was a whisper. "You think it's the same person who put your name in the Goblet?"
"I'd bet my life on it," Harry replied quietly. "And until I find them, I can't let my guard down. Not for a second."
That night, when the others went to bed, Harry sat alone in the corner near the fire. The castle seemed to breathe around him — creaks in the wood, whispers in the stone. His mind stretched out into the shadows, feeling for disturbances, searching for that dark ripple of intent.
A faint shimmer appeared in the air beside him. Dobby popped into existence with a loud crack, followed by a smaller, thinner elf with twitching ears — Winky.
"Master Harry!" Dobby squeaked, his eyes wide and burning with fierce loyalty. "Dobby and Winky will watch over you, sir! Nobody will hurt you from the back again!"
Harry managed a tired smile. "You two shouldn't follow me everywhere. If anyone sees you—"
"We is being careful, sir!" Winky interrupted proudly, puffing out his tiny chest. "We goes invisible! We follows quietly! Nobody sees Winky!"
Dobby nodded vigorously. "Dobby swears, sir! When Dobby finds the bad wizard who cursed master Harry, Dobby will kill him!"
"No," Harry said softly, looking down at the trembling elf.
"But sir—"
"I will kill him myself, I swear it upon the Force." His tone hardened, but his eyes were deadly serious.
Winky looked up curiously. "What is the Force, sir?"
Harry gave a faint smile, glancing at the fire. "It's… everything. The magic between things. The breath of life. And right now," he whispered, closing his eyes, "it's warning me that something dark is about to happen again."
The elves looked at each other but didn't argue. Dobby tugged on his ragged sleeve. "Then Dobby will stand guard, sir. Dobby and Winky will watch every shadow, every step."
Harry nodded, staring into the flames. "Good. Because next time… whoever's hiding in those shadows won't get away."
It was by chance that Harry saw it.
The Marauder's Map shimmered faintly in his hands, the ink pulsing like veins of light under candle-glow. Every corridor, every secret passage, every moving soul within the castle flickered across the parchment. He'd been searching for intruders again — anyone who didn't belong in Hogwarts — when a single name made his blood freeze.
Barty Crouch.
His eyes narrowed. The name pulsed on the forth floor — in Professor Moody's office.
"Impossible," Harry muttered under his breath. "He shouldn't even be here."
For days, he'd watched that name appear and vanish in strange places — near the Forbidden Forest, once even by the Prefects' Bathroom. He had suspected Imperius before, but now… this was different. Crouch inside the castle? With Moody?
His jaw clenched.
"Mischief managed," he whispered, and the ink lines dissolved instantly. He folded the map, slid it into his robes, and was already moving.
The corridors were cold and silent, lit only by the occasional torch or window slit that let in the silver light of a dying moon. His boots made no sound; he'd long mastered the art of moving unseen, blending the stealth of a wizard with the instincts of a predator. The Force whispered around him, its tendrils brushing the air, guiding his path.
By the time he reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor, his heartbeat was a quiet thunder. The blue light under Moody's door flickered faintly — but the map had said Crouch was here.
Harry's hand tightened on his wand. He pushed the door open.
Inside, Moody looked up sharply from behind his desk. His magical eye spun in lazy circles before fixing on Harry.
"Potter," he rasped, his voice gravel dragged over steel. "Out for a stroll at midnight?"
Harry's gaze swept the room. No one else. No second set of footsteps. No trace of another aura in the Force — only the constant hum of deception that clung to this man like smoke.
"Where's Barty Crouch?" he asked flatly.
Moody blinked once, the magical eye twitching. "Crouch? Why do you ask, boy?"
"I know he was just here," Harry said, his tone calm but lethal. "Don't bother asking how. Just answer me. Where did he go?"
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint ticking of the enchanted clock on Moody's shelf. Then the old Auror chuckled — a harsh, humorless sound.
"Nosy, aren't you? Fine. You were right about him being under stress. I called him here myself — wanted to check whether he'd been cursed. You've got a sharp eye, Potter. But he's clean. No Imperius. Just overworked and half-dead from exhaustion."
Harry's eyes narrowed to slits. "And now?"
"I sent him away," Moody said easily, leaning back. "Back to his house to rest. Did a full sweep — mind, body, and soul. He's healthy enough. No dark magic on him."
Harry didn't move. The Force whispered again — quiet, uncertain, warning him that the truth was twisted here.
"You did a lot of spells, then," he said softly. "That must've taken time."
Moody's lips curled. "Not as long as you think. Experience, Potter. You learn shortcuts after thirty years hunting Dark wizards."
Harry stepped closer, his emerald eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. For a heartbeat, the air thickened between them — tension palpable, like a string stretched to breaking.
"Tell me something, Professor," Harry murmured. "When you checked him… did you check yourself too?"
The magical eye stopped spinning.
Moody's grin faltered for half a second — then returned, sharper, colder. "Careful, boy. You're treading dangerous ground."
Harry smiled — a slow, chilling expression that never reached his eyes. "I live there."
He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "If Mr. Crouch shows up dead like Rita Skeeter did," he said quietly, "I'll know who to visit first."
The door closed behind him with a heavy click.
Back in the corridor, Harry exhaled slowly. His heart was steady, but his mind was racing. He lied.
He was certain of it. Moody's emotions had pulsed with deception — small tremors in the Force, the kind only someone trained to feel the hidden currents of power could sense.
When he returned to the Gryffindor Tower, Dobby and Winky were waiting, crouched near the dying fire like two sentinels. Their eyes gleamed crimson in the half-light — the mark of Force training gone far beyond what house-elves were ever meant to touch.
"Master felt disturbance?" Dobby asked, his voice low, sharp, stripped of all the timid warmth it once had.
Harry nodded. "Moody's lying. Barty Crouch was there — then he wasn't. He's hiding something, and I'm going to find out what."
Winky tilted her head, her voice a hiss. "Do we kill him, Master?"
"Not yet," Harry said softly. His shadow stretched long across the floor, the flicker of the fire catching on his eyes. "But soon."
The storm outside thundered again — and in the crackling silence that followed, three figures stood in the firelight, calm and dangerous, as the Force coiled around them like a living serpent.
Harry entered the Great Hall later than usual. He'd barely slept, his mind still replaying every twitch of Moody's mismatched eyes, every pause in his speech, every lie buried under that gravelly voice. His body moved mechanically — sit, pour pumpkin juice, ignore the whispers — but his mind was elsewhere, coiling and calculating.
He had just started on his toast when Hermione dropped into the seat beside him, her eyes sharp with concern.
"Where were you last night?" she demanded in a whisper. "I saw you leaving the common room — you didn't even have your cloak. I tried to follow, but you just… disappeared!"
Harry's hand froze mid-bite. For a moment, he said nothing, then sighed softly and set his cup down. "You should've stayed in the tower."
"I couldn't," Hermione said, leaning closer. "You've been acting strange for days. You hardly sleep, you skip meals, and you keep scanning the corridors like something's out to get you."
Harry gave a low chuckle — humorless and tired. "That's because something is out to get me, Hermione."
She frowned. "You found anything?"
He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "I saw Barty Crouch's name on the Marauder's Map last night. In Moody's office."
Hermione's breath caught. "What?"
"I went there," Harry continued quietly. "By the time I arrived, Crouch was gone. Moody said he'd called him there to check if he was under the Imperius Curse. Said he wasn't — just stressed and weak. He claims he sent him away afterward."
Hermione exhaled, relief softening her features. "Well… that's good news, isn't it? If Professor Moody checked him himself — he's an ex-Auror, Harry. He'd know the signs of mind control."
Harry looked at her flatly. "You didn't see Crouch, Hermione. I did. Twice. Once panicked — once blank-eyed and walking like a puppet. I know what the Imperius looks like. That man wasn't stressed. He was being controlled."
Hermione opened her mouth, but stopped. The conviction in Harry's tone made her uneasy. His eyes weren't the same soft green she used to know — they were colder now, hard like polished emeralds that reflected nothing but calculation.
"Maybe Moody's right," she said carefully. "You've been under so much stress lately. The Prophet, the attacks, Skeeter's death — maybe you're—"
"Imagining it?" Harry finished quietly. "You think I'm imagining the spell that nearly burned through Basilisk hide? Or the man walking through Hogsmeade with someone else's will crawling inside his mind?"
Hermione flinched at the quiet venom in his voice. "No, I didn't mean—"
Harry leaned closer, his whisper sharp. "Moody's lying, Hermione. I felt it. And until I know why, I'm not trusting anyone — not Dumbledore, not Moody, not the Ministry."
She stared at him, stunned. "You're starting to sound paranoid."
He smiled faintly — cold, controlled. "Paranoia keeps me alive."
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. "Harry, please. Don't do anything reckless. If Moody is hiding something, Dumbledore will find out eventually. You don't have to handle everything alone."
Harry's gaze softened just a fraction. "You still think Dumbledore sees everything that happens in this castle?"
Hermione hesitated. "…Yes."
Harry's eyes gleamed. "Then you haven't been watching closely enough."
Later that morning, after classes, Harry walked through the courtyard alone. The students' chatter faded behind him. Dobby and Winky appeared from thin air at his side, silent as shadows.
"Master doubts the one-eyed man," Winky hissed softly. "Good. He smells wrong. Magic around him tastes of lies."
"I know," Harry said. "He's not what he claims to be."
Dobby's fists clenched. "Dobby can break into the man's room, search his things, bring back proof."
Harry's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Not yet. If we move too soon, he'll know we're watching. Let him think he's safe."
"What will Master do?" Winky asked.
Harry turned toward the direction of the Defence classroom, eyes narrowing. "I'll wait. I'll watch. And when he slips…" He raised his hand, feeling the invisible current of the Force coiling around his fingers like a living serpent. "…I'll strike."
The mist around the courtyard seemed to thicken, wrapping around him like a cloak. Dobby and Winky bowed their heads — not out of fear, but reverence.
For all the warmth of the day, the stones beneath their feet felt cold.
Author's Note:
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