Chapter 263: "The Illusion of Normalcy"

As the sun rose over Hogwarts, casting long shadows across the ancient stones, Alastor Moody—or rather, Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise—made his way through the castle's winding corridors. His magical eye spun constantly, scanning for any potential threats or curious eyes. His destination: Dumbledore's office.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance jumped aside at Moody's gruff password, revealing the spiral staircase beyond. As he ascended, the stairs creaking softly under his uneven gait, Crouch Jr. steeled himself for the performance ahead. Voldemort's instructions echoed in his mind, a roadmap for the deception he was about to undertake. If he could successfully navigate this meeting without arousing Dumbledore's suspicion, his mission would be halfway accomplished.

Dumbledore was waiting in his circular office, surrounded by the soft whirring and clicking of various silver instruments. The headmaster's usually twinkling eyes were grave and thoughtful, the weight of recent events evident in the lines on his face. He had returned from the Ministry late the previous night, only to be bombarded with alarming news from Madam Pomfrey and a visibly shaken Charles Potter. The headmaster had spent a sleepless night pondering the implications of Barty Crouch Sr.'s bizarre behavior and subsequent disappearance.

"Ah, Alastor," Dumbledore greeted, his voice weary but alert. "I trust you have news for me?"

Crouch Jr., channeling Moody's gruff demeanor perfectly, launched into the tale Voldemort had crafted. His magical eye spun wildly, adding to the illusion of agitation and urgency.

"Found Crouch at the forest's edge, Albus," Moody growled, his voice rough with feigned exhaustion. "The man was completely off his rocker. Mumbling nonsense, eyes wild as a cornered beast."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "What happened then, Alastor? Please, spare no detail."

"Tried to approach him, didn't I? Thought I could talk him down," Moody continued, frustration evident in his voice. He paced the office, his wooden leg thumping against the floor. "But the blighter attacked without warning. Had to defend myself, of course, but I was trying not to hurt him. Bloody difficult, that. The man fought like he was possessed."

"And then?" Dumbledore prompted.

Moody's face twisted into a scowl. "That's when things went pear-shaped. Pettigrew, the sniveling rat, appeared out of nowhere. Didn't spot him till he was right on top of me. Animagus form, you see. Fit right in with the other rodents in the forest. Crafty little vermin."

"Two against one," Dumbledore mused.

"Aye," Moody nodded grimly. "Fought them off, but they managed to slip away. Spent hours combing the forest, but the trail went cold. Constant vigilance wasn't enough this time, it seems." He shook his head, a perfect picture of self-recrimination.

When Moody finished his report, the headmaster posed the question Crouch Jr. had been anticipating. "And what are your conclusions about this incident, Alastor? What do you make of Barty's condition?"

"Barty's symptoms," Moody replied, his magical eye fixed unnervingly on Dumbledore, "they're consistent with prolonged exposure to the Imperius Curse. Explains the ramblings, the erratic behavior. I'd wager he's been under it for months, maybe longer." He paused, allowing the implication to sink in. "It's possible he was the one who put young Charles's name in the Goblet. He certainly had the opportunity to get in close with the cup while it was at the Ministry."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "To what end, do you think? What could be gained by entering Charles into the tournament?"

Moody's face twisted into a scowl. "Hate to say it, but Snape might be onto something. This could all be part of some elaborate scheme for the Dark Lord's return. The Dark Mark's been getting stronger—you've seen it yourself on Snape's arm. I will need to keep a close watch and guard Charles until this year ends. He is most likely the target of this plan."

The conversation continued for nearly an hour, with Dumbledore probing and Moody responding, each answer carefully crafted to reinforce the narrative Voldemort had constructed. To make everything believable, Voldemort had even risked leaking most of their plans for his resurrection. Junior had been nervous about revealing so much, but Voldemort had convinced him that it was necessary to gain Dumbledore's trust.

Finally, seemingly satisfied—or perhaps simply having gathered enough information to ponder—Dumbledore dismissed his old friend.

As Crouch Jr. left the office, descending the spiral staircase, he couldn't be certain whether Dumbledore had fully bought the story. The old wizard's face had remained impassive, giving no hint of his true thoughts. But Crouch Jr. took comfort in his master's confidence. If the Dark Lord believed this would work, then surely it must.

---

The next order of business for Dumbledore was damage control. A British Ministry official attacking a champion from a rival school could spark an international incident. The headmaster summoned those involved—Charles Potter, Viktor Krum, and Igor Karkaroff—to his office.

The meeting was tense, with Karkaroff barely containing his outrage. However, Dumbledore's calm diplomacy prevailed. An agreement was reached to keep the incident under wraps, with Karkaroff grudgingly agreeing, hinting at some private arrangement with Dumbledore that seemed to satisfy his need for compensation.

Charles, for his part, understood the need for secrecy. The revelation that a high-ranking Ministry official had been under the Imperius Curse would cause panic, potentially destabilizing the entire magical government. Moreover, he felt a sense of vindication. This proved his innocence in entering the tournament, a fact he clung to with relief, even as the weight of the situation settled heavily on his young shoulders.

---

As classes resumed the following day, an eerie normalcy settled over Hogwarts. The halls buzzed with the usual chatter of students, their laughter and gossip echoing off the ancient stones as they remained blissfully unaware of the previous night's events. Even Harry Potter, typically the first to uncover any mystery within the castle walls, remained in the dark.

The previous evening, after a pleasant walk with Fleur, Harry had retired to his room for some light reading before drifting off to sleep. The lack of close relationships with Charles and Krum, the people involved in last night's incident, left him oblivious to the whole unfolding drama that might have been crucial for his plans of confronting Voldemort.

The days that followed passed in a whirlwind of activity. With OWLs and NEWTs looming for many of the students, and the third task on the horizon, there was little time for idle gossip or investigation. The castle was filled with the rustle of parchment and the murmur of students revising incantations under their breath.

Fleur, in particular, found herself torn between exam preparation and training for the final challenge. Her time with Harry dwindled, their moments together becoming precious islands of calm in a sea of stress and preparation. She could often be found in the library, her silvery hair gleaming in the lamplight as she pored over thick tomes, occasionally casting complex charms with a grace that belied their difficulty.

Harry, for his part, threw himself into his studies with renewed energy. Under Professor Flitwick's guidance, he delved deeper into advanced charms and practical magic. With a potential battle looming in the near future, possibly involving many dark wizards, Harry knew that any extra preparation might prove invaluable. He spent long hours practicing in the Room of Requirement, the air crackling with the energy of his spells.

Throughout this period, the impostor Moody moved through the castle with calculated caution. Aware of Harry's sharp instincts and the danger posed by the Marauder's Map, both of which Wormtail had warned him about, Crouch Jr. took great care to avoid any suspicious behavior around Harry. His magical eye proved invaluable, allowing him to spot potential observers long before they could see him.

He knew that if Moody suddenly started drinking from a hip flask at regular intervals, it might make Harry suspicious. So he found secluded moments to take his Polyjuice Potion away from prying eyes, often ducking into secret passages or unused classrooms to maintain his disguise.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with Harry, "Moody" maintained his gruff persona, barking out instructions and demonstrating complex defensive spells with a flourish. However, he was careful to excuse himself at regular intervals, citing reasons like writing urgent letters to his Auror colleagues or needing to meet with Dumbledore. These absences allowed him to maintain his disguise without arousing Harry's suspicion.

Harry completely trusted what the Marauder's Map showed him. Since the map showed Moody as normal, there must be nothing wrong with him.

As the days ticked by, the atmosphere in the castle grew increasingly tense. Fleur emerged from her NEWT exams exhausted but determined, immediately throwing herself back into preparation for the third task. She was determined to claim at least second place, a goal that drove her to push herself harder than ever.

Viktor Krum, his brush with danger having only sharpened his focus, could be seen jogging around the lake at dawn and practicing advanced spellwork late into the night. His stoic demeanor betrayed no hint of the ordeal he had faced in the forest.

Charles Potter, feeling the weight of expectation more keenly than ever, split his time between the library and secluded corners of the grounds, practicing defensive spells and studying magical creatures. The revelation about Crouch Sr. had only heightened his sense that real danger lurked behind the tournament's glamorous facade, and he was resolved to be ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

As the day of the third task drew near, an air of anticipation settled over Hogwarts like a thick fog. Students and staff alike speculated about what challenges awaited the champions in the mysterious maze that had sprung up on the Quidditch pitch. Bets were placed in hushed whispers, theories were shared over breakfast in the Great Hall, and excitement built to a fever pitch. The very stones of the castle seemed to vibrate with the energy of anticipation.

Yet beneath this surface excitement, a current of unease ran through those who knew the full story. Dumbledore's eyes, once twinkling, now held a shadow of concern as he watched over the Great Hall, his gaze often lingering on Charles Potter. Moody's magical eye spun ever more frantically, searching for threats both real and imagined, while Crouch Jr., beneath the disguise, felt the weight of his mission pressing down upon him.

And in a hidden chamber deep within the castle, guarded by enchantments and secrecy, the Triwizard Cup sat waiting. Its polished surface gleamed in the dim light, unaware of the crucial role it was soon to play in events that would shake the wizarding world to its core. The cup, meant to be a symbol of international magical cooperation, now stood as an unwitting harbinger of the darkness to come.