Author's Note: I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.

xxxx

Welcoming Feast

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered."

"Hmph!" Hermione said who just discovered the Hogwarts had house-elves. She had been screaming things about slave labour and refusing to eat. Then, again, she hadn't met Kreacher.

Dumbledore got to saying something about the Inter-House Quidditch being cancelled because some other event was taking its place then Moody entered the room. Harry would never forget that face. It looked like it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Behind that weathered face, Harry knew Moody was a gentleman that had always treated him with utmost respect.

Moody sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair off his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared the sausage on the end of it, and began to eat.

"May I introduce our new Defence Against Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

Dumbledore and Hagrid clapped then Harry clapped.

Ron whispered, "Why are you clapping?"

"He's the auror who questioned me," said Harry. "I had the same impression when I first saw him. I've only seen men with faces so worn at train stations drinking from paper bags. Then he tells Dumbledore to leave the room, claiming Dumbledore as my employer had biases. He'll be fair unlike some teachers."

Hermione said, "Snape."

"I didn't name names," Harry whispered back.

Dumbledore explained the Triwizard Tournament. All Harry could focus on was the words "Death Toll." After everything Harry had been through in his life, he wasn't going near anything that had been banned because of the death toll. He didn't care what safeguards were in place. Safeguards fail.

After the feast was over, Moody sat down beside Harry. "How are you managing?"

"Good," said Harry.

"You must be Ron," said Moody. "I'm also a fan of Bertie Bott's."

"You took Harry to Azkaban," said Ron.

"Doing my job. I've learned over the years that only the innocent and the fanatical insist on veritaserum. People with a story to tell, and Harry had some story." Moody got up. "Boys, evil existed before Voldemort and shall exist after him. We need constant vigilance."

Moody left the Gryffindor table.

"Strange man," said Ron.

"He didn't like chaining me," said Harry. "Under different circumstances, we could have become friends. He left the ministry because he couldn't tolerate the corruption. He's a man with principles. So few of them left."

Hermione said, "Sometimes, you don't sound fourteen."

"I can say the same for you," Harry teased.

"I'm thirteen for two more weeks," Hermione teased back. "I liked having Professor Lupin teach Defence Against Dark Arts. I don't know about a former auror teaching."

"Professor Lupin wants to teach Care of Magical Creatures," said Harry. "He's looking forward to teaching the class. He says us fourth years are going to have the inside track on animal husbandry. You could have taken it. It makes more sense than Muggle Studies."

Hermione said, "I know how muggles view themselves. I need to know how wizards view them. I plan to change the world."

"Some people and house-elves don't want the world changed," said Ron. "Things can always improve, but some things are the way they are for a reason."

"Ron Weasley, you are so wrong." Hermione got up from her seat and stormed out of the Great Hall. House-elves didn't want things changed. Harry knew from Kreacher that elves didn't see the world the way people did.

xxxx

At night, after the other boys were asleep, Ron asked, "Are you going to put your name in?"

"Death toll," Harry repeated. "Besides I'm not seventeen."

"You're way over seventeen." Ron said,

"I'm not a sixth year and Dumbledore said that only sixth and seventh years will be able to enter the tournament."

Greed filled Ron's voice. "The prize money and the fame."

"I don't need the money and I have more fame than I want." Harry chuckled softly, not to wake the others. "If I had that kind of money, I'd give it to your brothers to open a joke shop."

"What about the vault?" Ron would say something like that. Harry didn't know what would happen to the Potter estate. He had only seen that vault once. Why did have to tell Ron about it?

The Weasleys had food to eat and a place to live. They were rich compared to some of the Africans that came to the Quidditch World Cup and they considered themselves well off enough to make a trip to England. Some lived in grass huts. They would consider the Burrow to be a mansion. Ron came the day of the game - the rich people seats. However, Harry felt sorry for him because he missed the nearly month long party - two weeks in each direction.

Harry had Sirius, Remus and Mrs. Quirrell who all loved him. He was richer than the biggest oil baron. Dudley lived in a huge house, had the newest video games and all the best toys, and he didn't appreciate any of it. He only wanted more and more.

"I'm legally Quirinus Quirrell. I can call myself God; that won't make me Him. Hopefully, the Potter estate will go to Sirius. After all those years in prison, it's only right he should get it." After finishing school, Harry would have a job at Hogwarts. What more did he need?

Ron fidgeted in his bed then shook a bit. "Every time you mention Azkaban, I think about Wormtail sharing my bed."

Harry said,"Peter was a rat. When Sirius licks my face, he's a dog licking my face. When he's in his animagus form, his mind is in another place. No human being could tolerate being a rat for eleven years. You weren't sharing your bed with a human being. Peter's dead now. It's over. Go to sleep."

Peter was kissed by the dementors after he gave his testimony. Britain didn't normally approve of the death penalty, but they had to keep Peter in a rat cage while he awaited trail. He could escape any prison cell and he was a murderer. They either had to imprison him as a rat, free him or kill him. Killing him seemed the least offensive option.

"It gives me the willies," whispered Ron. "Not only did I share my bed with a man, but he was a cold-blooded murderer."

"It's over. Pleasant dreams."

Ron put the blanket over his head. "I'll try."

-
Author's Notes: The description of Moody is sort of Rowling's. She was describing the fake Moody while this is the real one.