Harry spent a lot of summer that year reading books from the secondhand stores of Diagon Alley. Mister Lupin was very good at getting cheap textbooks and, after a bit of complaining, got Harry some textbooks in the languages he'd so expensively learnt.
Harry sat down with the German textbook; Prugels' 'Praktische dunkle Verhexungen und Flüche', and tried to read it. It wasn't a Defence Against the Darks Arts book as much as … a book of curses and hexes. Really nasty ones. It was kind of awesome.
The post-sorting speech is a bit hard to comprehend. All the Quidditch fans are growling.
Some sort of contest for seventh years, and visiting schools.
The new Defence Teacher was an ex-Auror doing it as a favour to Dumbledore. He looked… utterly lethal, for all the scars and missing body parts. After a moment, Harry realised it was Mr Moody, who'd come to see him every year till he was eleven. Mr Moody was… well not harmless but probably not going to try to kill Harry.
Harry assumed two things, that the contest is completely uninteresting, and that he needs to do some divination sharpish. In case it's not.
By the way the top tarot card keeps coming up seven of swords, five of swords, then ten of swords, Harry assumes he's totally … effed, Betrayal, Competition, then Painful ending or crisis. The next card, in case Harry was hopeful, was nine of swords; nightmares. Harry looks at the four cards. Bother. It's not even Halloween yet.
"It's not even Halloween yet" said Harry aloud.
"Well, duh, the drawing of competitors has to wait till after the other schools get here" said Theo.
"It's on Halloween?" asked Harry.
"Dumbledore did say" said Theo.
Harry wondered if he could just… maybe drown himself in the bathtub. Avoid the rush. Still, if he found the betrayer first… it couldn't be Mr Moody, Every other one but Remus had tried to kill him. While he was an old psycho ex-auror, he had spent eyars checking up on Harry. But… imperious curses could be used to make sleeper agents. Probably the Defence Teacher.
Harry realised that he'd sworn off killing people. But…. Draught of living death… that was an option.
As he struggled thought the potion textbook, he wished he knew someone really good at potions.
Still, Crabbe and Goyle would eat anything. A plan began to congeal.
A week later, Harry felt his eighth attempt at Draught of Living Death was probably fairly effective. It had put Crabbe and Goyle on the floor like corpses until Harry administered the antidote, after all.
Professor Moody's classes were exciting. Harry thought the man was a bit too intense, and his gleeful exposition of the Unforgivables had a lot of the class looking uncomfortable.
And he kept drinking from that flask of his. He did seem a little different to the man Harry remembered from his childhood.
Harry decided that switching spells were his best bet.
An invisible Harry hiding in the Professors office switched his potion with the Professor's flask contents as the Professor sat marking papers.
Oddly, the stuff from the flask looked like some kind of muddy brown potion.
The professor passed out from his next sip, about an hour later.
He felt dead, but so had Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry decided to search the office carefully now the professor was out cold-ish. While invisible, in case there was a talkative painting hidden somewhere.
One of his bookcases had a lot of potions ingredients hidden behind fake books. Harry swiped things he'd need for calming draught.
And the huge trunk in the corner looked very interesting. It had a large keyhole.
The Professor had been wearing the key on a chain around his neck.
The lid swung open and Harry peered in. Twenty feet down was the bottom of the trunk, and an old man, half naked, missing a leg and one eye. He lay on his back, seemingly asleep, or perhaps stunned. That he looked exactly like the Mr Moody was a bit suspicious.
Harry decided to ignore the man in the box, for now and concentrate on the other things.
The real bookshelf had defence against the dark arts books… including Prugel. Harry switched back the potion and the muddy stuff, and laboriously vanished his draft of living death, and the bottle. Less evidence was a better thing. Harry was counting the moneybag contents when something went clonk over by the professor.
Harry looked over and the weird magic eyeball had fallen out of the Professor's face; which was bubbling and changing to someone else, much younger and… not missing a leg.
An impostor, then. Or… maybe a teachers assistant, said Harry's second thoughts.
Harry searched the person that probably wasn't Alastair Moody, took his wand and a little amulet, and tied him up with an incarcerous. The Draught of living Death he'd made probably worked properly, but he couldn't easily have Crabbe or Goyle out cold for days to be sure.
Harry decided to leave the not-professor tied up, leave the trunk open and let someone trustworthy find the whole mess. The catch being… he wasn't sure anyone was very trustworthy.
Professor McGonagall maybe. But… how to get her to go look in this office?
A letter by owl. That would do it.
'Professor McGonagall.
Defence Professors office, now.
A friend.'
Harry used the professor's own parchment and quill, then took the letter, still invisible to the owlery.
Harry didn't have an owl, but a school owl… flew off with the letter.
Tempting as it was to head back to the common room and hide, Harry had to watch, in case Professor McGonagall couldn't be trusted either.
So he had to go back and stand quietly, invisible.
Professor McGonagall arrived nearly an hour later, and knocked on the door, which was ajar.
"Alastair Moody?" she called out very nervously.
The potioned whoever didn't wake.
Professor McGonagall entered, and stared, confused at the bound man. "Who in heaven is that?" she asked the room, and cast a spell on the man. It did nothing.
She made a hmm noise and entered the office properly, and must have seen the wooden prosthetic leg on the floor, with the eyeball. "what!" she exclaimed, putting the eyeball on the desk carefully.
Harry waited, and as he'd hoped, she looked in the flask and sniffed. "Not… booze" she said thoughtfully "Or water."
Then she walked over to the open trunk and looked in. Harry was hoping she'd know what was going on now. When Professor McGonagall instead sobbed and shouted "Alistor!" Harry was confused. She knew Moody, he guessed. She cast a spell into the trunk and someone that sounded like Professor Moody groaned out "Minerva?"
"What the hell are you doing in your own luggage?" asked Professor McGonagall stiffly, sounding like Aunt Petunia haranguing his dead uncle Vernon.
"I've been captured by Barty Crouch Junior. He's not dead. Be very careful Minerva!" said Professor Moody.
"Early thirties, narrow face, brown hair?" asked Professor McGonagall "He's bound and out cold in your chair. Renervate did nothing."
"How the hell did that happen?" asked Professor Moody from inside the trunk.
"I got an anonymous note sending me here" said Professor McGonagall.
"So someone knocked out Barty Junior, opened the trunk, and then the polyjuice wore off" said Professor Moody "He had to keep me alive for the damn stuff to work."
"But he died" said Professor McGonagall.
"You could get me out of this damn trunk?" asked the real Professor Moody angrily.
The real Moody got out on a conjured ladder, and even with his fake leg, could barely stand.
"You're in need of Poppy Pomfrey" said Professor McGonagall.
"Well, I appear to owe you" said Professor Moody, sitting down on a visitors chair.
"I'll call Poppy, do you need anything?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"My damn wand. Little shit there broke it." said Professor Moody, sniffing the flask. "Polyjuice, I think" he said and tipped some on the desk. "Yes" he said. "Muddy brown sludge."
"Try the one he was using?" asked Professor McGonagall.
Professor Moody apparently made the wand work, and put in his magical eyeball, with a disgusting goopy schlup noise. "Our mysterious friend isn't disillusioned" he said soon after.
"We need to know what he was doing here" said Professor McGonagall. "I'll call Albus."
Harry watched as Professor McGonagall somehow sent off her Patronus, which was also a cat, through the wall.
A bit later, a fireball appeared in the room, and dissipated, and Professor Dumbledore stood, with the Phoenix on his shoulder.
"What is Barty Crouch Junior doing in my school" he asked.
"Pretending to be me using polyjuice" said Professor Moody, "You senile old arse. You've known me for decades, and some shithead death-eater impersonates me and you don't notice?"
"I could ask Minerva the same question" said Professor Dumbledore.
"I've been avoiding Alistor… Who I thought was Alastor" said Professor McGonagall "For personal reasons. We did not part on good terms."
"Well, lets wake up Young Barty and see what he has to say" said Professor Dumbledore, flicking his wand.
"He's not stunned" said Professor McGonagall.
Professor Dumbledore walked over and touched the bound impostor.
"Feels dead… but not quite. Draft of Living death." said Professor Dumbledore. "Easiest to just call Severus."
"Given Severus's … divided loyalties, do you think that wise?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"Fine, I'll get Poppy to send a vial" said Professor Dumbledore. "It's just some veritassium would be useful, and Severus has some."
"Fine!" snapped Professor McGonagall "Use your own faulty judgement."
"Harry Potter has not exactly turned out the way we might have wanted, has he?" asked Professor Dumbledore.
"He's a good student, even if he's in Slytherin" retorted Professor McGonagall.
Veritassium, Harry surmised from watching Barty Crouch Junior, made people tell the truth. And drool. And Voldemort was back, and wanted Harry to win the contest, then be portkeyed to a location for … some sort of ritual. Harry could easily imagine some sort of painful ending from Voldemort. The story of Barty Crouch Junior's escape from Azkaban was apparently more traumatic to the adults.
"Barty… brought his own son out of Azkaban, and has been imperius cursing him. I'll have no choice but to send Amelia to put him in Azkaban" said Professor Dumbledore. "His wife's dying wish."
"Well some people have families" said Professor McGonagall. "Ourselves excepted."
"Don't be so catty, Minerva" said Professor Dumbledore grumpily.
"Well, get on with it. One patronus call to Amelia?" asked the real Professor Moody.
"But we have an opportunity here" said Professor Dumbledore "We know the plan now, we can take measures… use the trap as a trap for Voldemort."
"With Potter as bait?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"He's a bright boy, and with a little subtle help from, perhaps the inestimable Mr Lupin, he will do well enough" said Professor Dumbledore.
"You're talking about rigging the contest" said Professor McGonagall.
"We of course, cannot, it's against the rules. However, Mr Lupin has an ahem track record of finding things out. He was one of the better Defence Professors' we've had. I think while we cannot help Harry Potter… we could perhaps… accidentally leak details to Mr Lupin, who would then train Harry Potter… and with dedicated training, he could do well in some of the events." said Professor Dumbledore "And end up with one of ours polyjuiced as Harry taking the cup at the end of the last event, and taking a portkey beacon to the destination. Harry can be found, confused and lost in the last event later."
"The contests is for seventeen-year-old students. He's only fourteen!" said Professor McGonagall "He could be badly hurt or even die."
"Oh I think he'll be fine. He knows a remarkable amount about the larger situation" said Professor Dumbledore "And capturing Voldemort… we could prevent a war."
"So he's not really dead?" asked Professor Moody.
"Not completely" said Professor Dumbledore "Very dark magic indeed."
Harry went to bed feeling slightly flattered, and quite utterly doomed. A bit of reading the next evening about the Tri-Wizard tournament was… awful. Competitors routinely died.
And Quirrell was probably still possessed by Voldemort, just too insane to walk. Harry took one vial of calming draught. Just to help him sleep.