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The Tenth Weasley - CH - 145
🕑 Added 2025-11-16 11:51:02 +0000 UTCThe night after Harry’s meeting with Karkaroff, a heavy fog settled over Hogwarts.
The Black Lake was silent, the moon a pale scar above it.
Inside the castle, torch flames flickered restlessly, as if the ancient stones themselves sensed unease.
Because the truth was obvious now — someone is manipulating the entire tournament.
And everyone can see it clearly.
Harry walked through the courtyard with long, purposeful strides, Hermione keeping pace beside him. She kept glancing at him, sensing his tension.
“Harry… you’ve been quiet since you met Highmaster Karkaroff. What’s going on? What did he say to you?”
Harry didn’t answer immediately. He scanned the shadows — too many places for someone to hide.
Only when he was sure no one was close did he speak.
“He thinks Alastor Moody isn’t… Alastor Moody.”
Hermione blinked. “What?”
“He thinks Moody is acting strange. More hostile. More targeted. And that he might be controlled. Or replaced.”
Hermione stopped in her tracks. “Replaced? As someone else is posing as Professor Moody? Or worse?”
Harry nodded grimly. “Exactly.”
Hermione looked horrified. “Harry… that’s… that’s impossible. Dumbledore would’ve noticed!”
Harry turned to her, voice low. “Dumbledore didn’t even notice Charlie’s dragon chain was tampered with. He didn’t notice the Goblet was rigged. He didn’t notice that someone added Charlie’s name as a fourth champion.”
Hermione inhaled sharply.
And Harry was right.
Those weren’t accidents. They were deliberate attacks.
They walked again, their steps echoing against the cold stone corridors.
“Think about it,” Harry continued. “The dragon chain was enchanted by twenty Ministry workers and four Beastmasters. It’s supposed to be unbreakable. And yet… the moment Charlie baited the dragon mid-flight—”
Hermione finished his sentence. “It snapped.”
Harry’s eyes darkened. “That wasn’t coincidence. That wasn’t fatigue. Someone tampered the chain beforehand.”
Hermione hugged her cloak closer around her shoulders, suddenly cold. “Harry, do you think someone wants Charlie dead?”
“Many people want Charlie dead,” Harry replied.
Hermione swallowed hard. “And Karkaroff thinks Moody is involved.”
“Either willingly… or he’s being used,” Harry said. “Either way, we can’t ignore it.”
Hermione walked closer now, her voice hushed. “But Harry… who would rig the Goblet? Why Charlie? Why add a fourth champion?”
Harry stopped near a balcony overlooking the lake.
The moonlight reflected in his eyes as he spoke.
“Because someone wanted the boy who lived in the Tournament.”
Hermione frowned. “You mean death eaters?"
Harry shook his head. “Doesn’t matter who. Someone powerful wanted Charlie dead.”
Hermione whispered, “And if Charlie had died facing the Hungarian Horntail…”
Harry finished, voice flat and cold:
“Everyone would’ve blamed ministry. Or the Tournament.'
They continued walking, moving toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway. Every torch flickered as they passed.
Hermione spoke again. “If Moody is being impersonated… then who? A Death Eater? Someone loyal to the Dark Lord?”
Harry replied with a chilling calmness. “The kind of person who knows the Triwizard Tournament is the perfect place for murder.”
Hermione shivered. “But how would they keep Moody captive?”
Harry’s voice grew softer. “That’s what I’m afraid to find out.”
As they rounded the corner, steps echoed down the hall ahead of them — heavy, uneven steps.
Hermione froze. Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the shadow beside a pillar.
A dim light appeared.
Then the tall, rugged figure of Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody limped into view, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the stone.
His magical eye spun wildly — full circles, scanning everything, piercing through walls, floors, shadows.
Harry held Hermione still.
They waited.
Moody paused…
turned his head…
and the blue magical eye locked directly onto the pillar behind which Harry stood.
Hermione’s breath caught.
Harry whispered, “Stay still.”
Moody’s real eye narrowed.
The magical one spun again…
faster…
as if trying to pierce whatever was blocking his vision.
Then, unexpectedly, Moody smirked.
A cold, sharp, predatory smirk.
“Well well,” he muttered, voice gravelly. “I smell Weasley magic. Strong magic.”
Harry’s fingers curled around his wand, but he didn’t move.
Moody spoke again, louder this time. “Enjoying your little stroll? Or spying on professors now?”
Hermione flinched.
Harry stepped out into the corridor, his expression calm but his wand hand tense.
Moody turned, face shadowed, magical eye whirring faster.
“Well?” Moody asked. “Cat got your tongue, boy?”
Harry replied evenly, “Just checking the halls, Professor. Making sure the students are safe.”
Moody’s lips curled in a strange, twisted half-smile.
“One might think you’re the one causing all the trouble.”
The tension between them thickened.
Hermione stepped forward. “We were just—”
Moody cut her off. “Save it, girl. Some of us can smell lies better than Veritaserum.”
Harry’s voice was steady. “Good night, Professor.”
Moody tilted his head. “We’ll see.”
He turned and hobbled away, his magical eye spinning until he rounded the corner.
Hermione released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Harry stared down the dark corridor where Moody had disappeared.
“That man is either cursed… or someone else entirely.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “So what do we do?”
Harry began walking again, voice low and determined.
“We find proof. We watch him day and night. And we stay together.”
Hermione nodded, fear flickering in her eyes — but also trust.
“And Harry…” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“If Moody really is an enemy… then we’re already under his scrutiny.”
Harry didn’t look surprised.
He simply nodded.
“I know.”
And the night around them grew colder.
Hermione hurried across the courtyard, boots crunching lightly against the frost-covered stones. Her breath came out in sharp misty puffs. She didn’t bother pulling her cloak tighter; fear moved her faster than cold ever could.
Harry’s warning kept echoing in her mind.
She reached the stone archway leading to the Hogwarts training grounds. It was a secluded place where Charlie Potter and his friends — Ron, Neville, and a few Gryffindor fifth-years — practiced spells under the grand title the Mini-Marauders.
Hermione found them mid-practice.
Charlie was blasting a target dummy with a Bludgeoning Hex. Ron was trying to freeze the moving target. Neville was gathering smoke for a smokescreen charm. They were laughing, relaxed — unaware of the danger lurking inside the very walls.
Hermione’s voice broke through the chaos.
“Charlie! I need to speak with you. Now.”
Charlie turned, frowning. “Hermione? You look… rattled.”
Ron stepped forward, wand raised defensively. “What’s wrong? Did someone say something about you and Harry? I swear, if those Slytherins started—”
“No,” Hermione said sharply. “This is serious. All of you, listen.”
The boys gathered closer. Once Hermione had their attention, she lowered her voice.
“Harry met with Karkaroff tonight. He thinks Moody isn’t himself.”
Neville blinked. “Moody? As in Professor Moody? The man teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
“Yes,” Hermione whispered. “Harry thinks he’s acting out of character. And Karkaroff believes Moody might be under control.”
Charlie stiffened immediately.
“That’s impossible.”
“He looked normal today,” Ron insisted. “We talked to him this morning. He even gave Charlie a few tips for dueling.”
Neville nodded anxiously. “And he didn’t try to kill us. Yet.”
“Yet?” Hermione repeated incredulously. “Are you listening to yourselves?”
Charlie placed a calm hand on her shoulder. “Hermione, Moody might be paranoid, but he’s Moody. He hates Death Eaters. He hates anyone who sided with Voldemort. Why would anyone believe Karkaroff?”
Hermione swallowed hard.
“Because someone might be using him. Or hiding behind his face.”
Ron snorted. “Hermione, that’s insane. Do you know how hard it is to impersonate Moody? He’d hex someone into a jellyfish before they even got close.”
Neville added, “And he’s been helpful! He taught Charlie two powerful spells, and he gave us those dark-detection quills.”
Charlie nodded reluctantly. “He helped me prepare for the dragon. I mean—I didn’t want to at first. But Neville and Ron pestered me, and eventually I gave in.”
Hermione’s frustration boiled over. “That’s the exact problem! He’s helping you — but who’s he watching in the meantime? Who is he targeting when your backs are turned? You don’t know who he is!”
Charlie crossed his arms. “Then why are you warning me now, Hermione? What changed so suddenly?”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
She looked at each of them — Neville’s worried eyes, Ron’s distrustful stare, Charlie’s stubborn calm — and then she said the words that chilled her more than the cold ever could:
“Because Moody might be the one tampering with the Tournament.”
Silence fell.
Every boy stared at her like she had slapped them.
Finally Ron scoffed. “Hermione, that’s—”
“Ron!” she snapped. “Charlie’s chain broke! Someone SLASHED IT! That chain was enchanted by Ministry specialists — it should have held even if the dragon tried to bite it.”
Neville’s eyes widened. “You think Moody did it?”
Hermione whispered, “He was there that morning. He inspected every dragon. Alone.”
Charlie's face hardened. His voice lowered.
“That… is true.”
“But,” Ron said weakly, “Moody’s a good guy. Everyone knows that. He got out of Azkaban because he turned in other Death Eaters—”
“Because he had no choice,” Hermione snapped. “And that doesn’t make him safe. Or sane.”
Hermione took a steadying breath. “That’s why I came here. I need your Marauder’s Map.”
Charlie stiffened instantly. “Why?”
“So I can track Moody,” Hermione said firmly. “If he’s moving strangely, sneaking around, watching the champions… we’ll know.”
Neville frowned. “Hermione, only the Marauders use the map—”
“This isn’t a game!” she rebuked. “This is someone’s life. Maybe Harry’s. Maybe Charlie’s. Maybe yours.”
The tension in the air thickened.
Charlie finally exhaled.
“Hermione… I wish I could help. I really do. But I can’t give you the map.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Because, uh… he doesn’t have it anymore.”
Hermione froze. “…What?”
Charlie looked genuinely regretful. “I gave it to Moody.”
Hermione’s heart dropped.
“You… WHAT?!”
Charlie raised both hands, defensive. “He said he could use it to monitor anyone tampering with the Tournament! He said if someone tried to sneak into Hogwarts he’d know instantly.”
Hermione’s hands trembled with shock and fury.
“So Moody has the map? The map that shows EVERYONE’S location inside Hogwarts? At all times?!”
Ron winced. “When you put it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It IS bad!” Hermione cried. “It’s catastrophic! That map shows where every student sleeps, where every teacher walks, every password, every hidden path — and now Moody can see all of it!”
Neville swallowed loudly. “Oh no.”
Hermione pressed her fingers against her temple. “Harry was right. If Moody really is an impostor… then the entire school is exposed.”
Charlie looked pale for the first time. “Hermione… are you sure he is an impostor?”
Hermione straightened slowly, her voice trembling but firm.
“I believe in Harry.”
She turned toward the castle, her breath shaking.
“And Merlin help us,” she whispered, “because if Moody has the map… he already knows we suspect him.”
The evening sky was crimson, fading into violet as the sun dipped behind the Forbidden Forest.
The Great Lake shimmered darkly, still and cold — a mirror for troubled minds.
Harry stood near the shoreline with Hermione beside him, their cloaks fluttering in the cold wind. They waited.
Soon, footsteps approached — hasty, uneven, anxious.
Charlie arrived first, his Firebolt slung over his shoulder.
Neville, Ron followed behind him, whispering urgently.
Ron was the first to speak. “Harry! Hermione told us everything. About… Moody.”
Neville scratched his head nervously. “Are you sure he isn’t just—well—being Moody?”
Charlie finally stepped forward, eyes serious.
“Harry, we need to hear it from you. Is Moody… trustworthy?”
Harry inhaled deeply — and the group fell silent.
Harry’s voice was steady but cold.
“I don’t trust him anymore.”
A ripple of shock passed through the boys.
Ron frowned sharply. “But… he helped Charlie train! He was kind to him! He gave us advice!”
“Moody doesn’t do kind,” Harry replied. “He’s a paranoid hunter. He doesn’t teach students gently. He yells, curses, and tests them brutally.”
The boys shared uneasy glances.
Harry’s eyes hardened. “But this Moody? He smiles. He helps. He encourages. That’s not Moody — that’s a mask.”
Charlie crossed his arms. “Then what do we do? If we go around saying Moody’s an imposter, we’ll cause chaos. And we have no proof.”
“We’re not accusing him publicly,” Harry said. “Not until we have evidence.”
Neville nodded. “So… we bait him? See how he reacts?”
Harry’s expression darkened.
“No.”
Hermione folded her arms tightly. “Harry’s right. You don’t know what he’ll do if he thinks you’re onto him.”
Harry turned toward the lake, his reflection rippling with the water.
“You try to expose him and he’ll hex you before you finish your sentence.”
Ron muttered, “Still sounds like Moody to me…”
Harry spun around, frustration flashing in his eyes.
“Ron. Listen.”
The redhead stiffened.
“Moody didn’t break Charlie’s chain. Moody didn’t enter Charlie’s name into the Goblet.
But someone at Hogwarts did.”
Neville swallowed. “Someone who knows powerful magic.”
“Someone who knows Hogwarts’ secrets,” Hermione added. “Its passages, its chambers…”
“And now,” Harry finished grimly,
“someone who has the Marauder’s Map.”
Charlie winced, guilt twisting his expression.
“I didn’t know—” he began.
Harry raised a hand. “I’m not blaming you. But the fact is, the wrong person may now know every secret path, every password, every student location.”
Neville paled. “So he could follow us anywhere.”
“Exactly.”
The boys looked shaken now — fear settling where disbelief had been.
Charlie spoke quietly. “Then what do we do?”
Harry stepped closer, voice calm and commanding.
“Keep your distance from Moody.
Don’t talk to him alone.
Don’t meet him in private.
Don’t follow him anywhere, even if he claims it’s important.”
Ron nodded slowly, his fear beginning to show. “Right. No private lessons.”
Neville whispered, “What if he calls us? As a professor?”
“Make an excuse,” Harry said. “A good one. Say you’re sick. Say Hermione hexed you for missing homework.”
Ron blinked. “Hermione would do that?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
The boys straightened nervously.
Harry continued. “Just watch him from a distance. Note his movements. Who he talks to. When he leaves his office. When he returns.”
Charlie looked thoughtful now — cautious, not dismissive.
“You’re planning something, Harry.”
Harry’s gaze hardened into something cold and sharp — a glint Hermione had seen before, one that terrified his enemies.
“Yes.”
