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The Starlord - Chapter - 52
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 15:39:43 +0000 UTCMorning came heavy with fog. The air in the Gryffindor dormitory was cool and damp, and pale light filtered through the window curtains, casting a silvery haze across the room. Harry hadn’t slept. The events of the previous night replayed endlessly in his mind — two Barty Crouches on the map, and Moody’s sudden appearance near the dungeon at the exact same time.
By the time the rest of the dorm stirred awake, Harry was already sitting by the window, the enchanted two-way mirror in his hands. The glass surface shimmered faintly, awaiting his call. He glanced around to make sure Ron was still snoring — then whispered,
“Sirius Black.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the surface rippled like disturbed water, and Sirius’s rugged face appeared. The background behind him was dark wood and candlelight — his manor in Sweden.
“Harry,” Sirius said immediately, his eyes narrowing. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
Harry didn’t waste time. “Something’s wrong, Sirius. The map… it’s not making sense anymore.”
Sirius frowned. “The Marauder’s Map?”
“Yes,” Harry said, his voice low, tight. “Last night, I saw two Barty Crouches on it — one near the dungeons, one near the Forbidden Forest. And when I went to check, Moody caught me before I could see who it really was. But right before he appeared, Crouch’s name was still there.”
Sirius leaned closer to the mirror, the candlelight flickering across his tired eyes. “Two Crouches? That’s impossible. The map doesn’t lie, Harry. Not ever.”
“That’s what I thought,” Harry replied, frustration bleeding into his tone. “But it showed both moving at the same time. One of them even vanished while I was heading back to the dormitory.”
Sirius was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was serious — stripped of all its usual humor.
“Listen carefully, Harry. The map is directly linked to Hogwarts’ ward network. The reason it works at all is because James, Remus, Peter, and I—” he stopped, correcting himself quickly, “—the Marauders built it using the castle’s lifeforce signatures. Every magical being inside Hogwarts leaves an imprint on the wards. The map reads those imprints. It can’t create false ones.”
Harry frowned. “So it’s impossible for it to show the same person twice?”
“Impossible,” Sirius confirmed. “Unless…” He hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Unless there are two separate magical imprints— one belonging to the real Barty Crouch, and another to someone who has taken his place.”
Harry’s pulse quickened. “Polyjuice Potion.”
“Exactly,” Sirius said. “Someone could be impersonating him. The potion wouldn’t fool the map — it reads identity through magic, not appearance. So if the map showed two Crouches, then one of them is the real man… and the other is the imposter.”
Harry’s hands tightened around the mirror. “Then why was Moody there? Why does he always show up when Crouch’s name appears?”
Sirius’s expression darkened. “You think Moody’s involved?”
“I know something’s wrong,” Harry replied. “Every time I see Crouch’s name, Moody’s nearby. And the night I was cursed from behind — he was the one who found me afterward. Too convenient.”
Sirius leaned back, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Alastor Moody is a paranoid old Auror, Harry. But he’s also dangerous. If someone’s impersonating him—”
Harry’s eyes widened slightly. “You think he’s involved?”
“I don’t know,” Sirius said grimly. “But remember — Moody wouldn’t be careless enough to let a Death Eater roam Hogwarts.”
Harry’s expression hardened. “Then I’ll find out who it is before the Final Task. One of them — Moody or Crouch — is lying. Maybe both.”
Sirius’s voice dropped low, urgent. “Harry, promise me you won’t confront either of them alone. If you’re right, whoever’s behind this is already several steps ahead. You’re dealing with someone cunning enough to manipulate an entire tournament.”
“Don't worry about me.” Harry’s tone was almost a whisper, edged with quiet power. “I have been training for a long time.”
Sirius frowned, clearly uneasy but not understanding. “Harry, whatever training you’re doing, remember — you’re still just one person. You can’t take on the Ministry, the school, and a Death Eater alone.”
Harry’s gaze sharpened. “I don’t need to. I just need to find the right shadow to strike.”
The look on Sirius’s face shifted — pride and fear warring behind his tired eyes. “You sound more like my grandfather every day. Dangerous. Proud. But remember, Harry — Don’t shut everyone out.”
“I’m not shutting them out,” Harry said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “I’m keeping them alive.”
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the magical connection between them. The rain began to patter against the windows of both worlds — one in Sweden, one in Scotland.
Sirius sighed. “Alright, then. You’ve got six days before the final task. If the map shows anything strange again, call me right away. I’ll see what I can dig up from this end. But Harry…”
“Yes?”
Sirius leaned closer, his tone grave. “Whatever’s happening there — it’s not just a plot against you. It’s bigger. I can feel it. So don’t trust anyone. Not even the ones who tell you they’re on your side.”
Harry’s lips thinned. “I stopped trusting people a long time ago.”
The mirror’s surface shimmered once more as the connection broke.
Harry sat there for a long while, staring at his own reflection — pale, shadowed eyes staring back through the glass. The silence was suffocating.
Finally, he whispered to himself, “If the map can’t lie… then someone in this castle is.”
From the corner of the room, Dobby’s voice cut through the stillness like a whisper of wind. “Then Dobby and Winky will find the liar, Master. We’ll find him, and we’ll bring him to you.”
Harry turned toward the elves, the firelight flickering across his cold smile.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because after the final task… this ends.”
Professor Binns’s monotonous drone filled the classroom like a slow-moving fog. The ghost’s voice drifted lazily through the air, lecturing about goblin rebellions no one cared about. Quills scratched half-heartedly across parchment, a few students nodded off, and dust motes floated aimlessly in the pale sunlight spilling through the tall windows.
Harry sat at the back of the room, his books open but untouched. His mind wasn’t on history. It hadn’t been for days. His eyes flicked to the enchanted mirror lying flat on the desk beneath his hand — silent, reflective, but humming faintly with a pulse of magic.
Then it flashed.
The surface rippled once, glowing briefly with silver light. Sirius.
Harry frowned. It wasn’t morning or evening — their usual times to talk. Sirius never called during the day, let alone during class.
Something was wrong.
He tilted the mirror slightly toward him and whispered, “Accept.”
The glass shimmered, and Sirius’s face appeared, framed in the dim light of his hideout. His eyes were sharp, and the urgency in his voice made Harry’s pulse quicken.
“Harry,” Sirius said quickly. “You need to listen — I’ve found something. Something big.”
Harry leaned closer, keeping his voice low. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Neville, sitting beside him, caught the tone and instantly shifted his chair closer, angling his Herbology notes to block the view from anyone glancing their way. His body acted as a perfect cover.
Sirius looked grim. “Barty Crouch… had a son. A son with the same name. Barty Crouch Junior.”
Harry blinked. “Junior?”
“Yes,” Sirius said. “Both father and son share the same name — Crouch Senior and Crouch Junior. But listen closely, because this isn’t just about names. Junior was a Death Eater.”
Harry’s breath caught. “A Death Eater?”
Sirius nodded, his expression darkening. “He was arrested years ago — caught after torturing the Longbottoms.” He paused. “Your friends’ parents.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. He glanced sideways at Neville, who was pretending to read, unaware that the story had suddenly turned personal.
Sirius continued, his voice hard. “Crouch Jr. was sentenced to Azkaban for life. Officially, he died there. The records claim illness — said he wasted away like many prisoners do. But what I’ve found doesn’t add up. Before his supposed death, he was perfectly healthy. Then suddenly, he ‘falls ill’ right after his parents visit him in prison.”
Harry frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Sirius said slowly, “that Barty Crouch Senior — the father — may have taken his son out of Azkaban and left someone else in his place. A dying prisoner. They could have used Polyjuice Potion to disguise the man as Junior.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be without proof,” Sirius replied. “I was in Azkaban at the time of his trial. I remember the commotion. The boy was crying, begging for mercy. His father didn’t flinch. Everyone thought Crouch Senior was a hero for sentencing his own son. But if he smuggled him out later… then everything we’ve seen this year starts to make sense.”
Harry’s mind raced, the pieces locking together with chilling precision. Two Barty Crouches on the map. One near the Forbidden Forest, one in the castle. Moody appearing every time he investigated.
It was like the puzzle had been waiting for this missing piece all along.
“So the Crouch I saw near the forest could be the real one,” Harry muttered, mostly to himself, “and the one in the castle could be… Junior.”
Sirius nodded sharply. “Exactly. And if that’s true, Harry, you might be dealing with one of Voldemort’s old followers hiding right under Dumbledore’s nose.”
Harry’s blood ran cold. “Then it’s not Moody who’s lying.”
Sirius’s gaze hardened. “Or it could still be both. You said Moody acts strange. If Crouch Jr. escaped, he might not be working alone. Someone powerful would’ve had to help him — someone with access to the school.”
Harry leaned closer to the mirror. “You think Voldemort’s already inside Hogwarts.”
“I think he has a hand in it,” Sirius said. “Someone’s been moving pieces for months — Skeeter’s death, the attacks on you, the Imperius on Crouch Senior. It’s all linked. Someone’s making sure every trail leads nowhere.”
Harry’s eyes flickered with cold light. “Then I’ll burn the trail myself.”
“Harry—”
But he’d already made up his mind. “If Crouch Jr. is here, then he’s been using someone’s identity. Maybe a teacher’s. Maybe a Ministry worker’s. Whoever he is, I’ll find him.”
Sirius’s tone grew tense. “You can’t just—”
“I can,” Harry interrupted quietly. “And I will. The map doesn’t lie. You said so yourself.”
Sirius sighed, rubbing his temple. “You’re too much like James when you get that look, you know that? He had the same ‘I’ll handle it myself’ streak.”
Harry smirked faintly. “And you followed him every time.”
That earned a small, reluctant grin from Sirius. “Yeah… I did. And it got us all almost killed.”
Harry’s smirk vanished. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Professor Binns’s droning voice and the scratching of quills.
Finally, Sirius spoke again, softer this time. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. If I’m right — if Crouch Jr. is really alive — then he’s dangerous. He served Voldemort once, and he’d do it again.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Then he’ll find out what happens when you cross me twice.”
The look in his eyes made even Sirius pause — the calm intensity, the quiet power that wasn’t just magic but something deeper. Something darker.
“Harry,” Sirius said finally, “don’t let that darkness consume you.”
Harry’s voice was barely a whisper. “It’s not darkness if I control it.”
Before Sirius could reply, the mirror dimmed — connection fading as the charm wore off.
Harry slipped it back into his robes just as Professor Binns floated through another wall, still oblivious. Neville leaned closer, whispering, “Everything alright?”
Harry didn’t look up. “No,” he said quietly. “But it will be soon.”
The quill in his hand snapped under his fingers.
