Harry collapsed to the ground, his chest heaved with every panting gasp for air. He had thought that once Professor Jackson had started drilling him in actual magic use, that he wouldn't be nearly as exhausted as he was.
That had been a mistake.
"Up!" Professor Jackson barked, and Harry groggily got himself back to his feet. His arms shaking, and his temples throbbing, he brought his wand back up to the ready position.
"Set!"
Harry did his best to begin steadying his breath, and began channeling his magic.
"Go!"
Ten bullseye targets appeared out of nothing, and Harry began casting. Blasting curse after blasting curse arced through the air. Targets fell one after another, but Harry was working on little else but sheer determination and willpower, and his spells were becoming weak and off-target.
Professor Jackson had started him on this drill, along with a number of other similar drills. It hadn't been quite what Harry had been expecting, but Professor Jackson was proving to be something of a treasure trove of knowledge. Professor Jackson had explained to Harry that the key to being a successful mage, had absolutely nothing to do with knowing a million spells.
"You can know the biggest, baddest, most impressive spells on the planet, but it doesn't matter if you're out of the game after one cast." He had explained, "Even worse, just because you know something powerful, doesn't mean that you're casting it well."
So Harry had been drilling the basics. He hadn't been dueling, but he had been working on mastering the combative spells that he did know. Working them over and over again until Harry didn't even need to say the spells to be able to cast them. He simply knew how to cast the magic on instinct alone, allowing for the intent of the spell of guide him through the motions and muscle memory to perform the correct wand movements.
he had also been working on the speed of his casting, and the duration in which he could cast his spells. Professor Jackson had been worried about Harry only being able to cast a handful of spells before being too exhausted to continue. It had been a well-founded concern. The first time that Harry had performed the target drill, he hadn't even managed to make it through the first round. Not only could he not hit the targets with any semblance of accuracy, but he could only cast spells for a handful of rounds before he was out of commission completely.
But after a couple of weeks of practice, that was no longer the case.
It was a great way to take his mind off of school. The reception to Harry's name coming out of the Goblet…it had not gone over well. Dumbledore hadn't told the school whose name had come out of the Goblet, but someone had leaked it to the press and the school that it had been Harry whose name was the one that came out.
It was almost as bad as when the entire school had thought he was the heir of Slytherin, but in ways it was even worse this time. Sure, there was a pretty heavy contingent of the school's population that knew that he had been gone for the entire weekend, but there were still plenty of those that believed that he was guilty. At least when the school thought Harry was the Heir of Slytherin the students avoided him. These days, they were a bit more openly hostile, none more so than the students of Hufflepuff.
Though not everyone from the House of the Loyal was being so hostile towards him. Susan Bones, notably, seemed to believe him when he said that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet, and given that she was someone he could call a friend, that was about all he could ask for.
Through it all, Ron and Hermione had been at his side. Truly, having them there, helping him through this process, it made everything worth it. He barely heard the whispers in the hallway, barely saw the glares and harsh stares. His best friends helped to block all of that out as nothing more than white noise, and Harry was able to focus exclusively on the first task.
Which apparently were dragons.
Dragons.
Fire-breathing, man-eating, flying lizards.
Dragons.
Harry had nearly punched Professor Jackson when he'd told Harry what he was going to be going up against.
"How the hell am I supposed to beat a sodding dragon?" Harry had all but screeched at his Professor, "I'll be dead faster than you can say quidditch!' I can't fight a dragon! I can't-"
He had suddenly found himself completely unable to talk, as Professor Jackson had used a silencing charm on him with a roll of his eyes.
"You won't be fighting a dragon," Professor Jackson said in exasperation, "You just have to get around it."
"It's still a bloody dragon!" Harry wanted to roar, but nothing came out.
"You'll be trying to take a golden egg from a nesting mother, which as I say out loud again just pisses me off even more." Professor Jackson spat a load of saliva on the ground in disgust, ignorant to the way that Harry choked on his own spit at the casual delivery of the news,
"I mean for the gods sake, they say that they're going to make the tournament safer and they bring in fucking nesting mothers? What the hades are these lunatics thinking? I will throw Fudge into the damn Thames."
Professor Jackson suddenly seemed to remember that Harry was in the room and reversed the spell on him.
"Anyways Harry," He said, "What I'm trying to say is that you're going to be fine."
But Harry certainly didn't feel fine. Not even after Professor Jackson had explained the plan to him. Professor Jackson's idea was a relatively simple one. No need to make things more complicated than they absolutely had to be. Dragons, it turned out had vision problems. They had excellent range-of-field view, but had terrible depth perception. Furthermore, according to Professor Jackson, dragons relied heavily on the source of heat emanating from their prey in order to follow their movements.
So, Professor Jackson had a relatively simple solution to their dragon problem.
First, a minor disillusionment charm. Not enough for Harry to completely disappear or turn invisible, but a good enough charm that Harry would be effectively distort the dragons vision. Then, Harry would cast a form of a freezing charm on himself. Harry did not fully understand the rationale behind it, but Harry would be able to essentially lower the temperature of his body to a point where he was as cold-blooded as any reptile.
When asked why such a spell existed, Professor Jackson had explained that it had been created by middle eastern shaman to help them in the immense heat of the deserts.
Harry had asked if the dragon would have been able to smell him. Memories of the basilisk being able to smell Harry in the Chamber, even after it had been blinded would remain in his memory for the rest of his life, and Harry did not want to repeat that scenario ever again if he could help it.
Professor Jackson had explained that Dragons didn't use their olfactory senses in the same way that a snake or basilisk did. Snakes used their tongues to essentially "taste" the air, which helped them find their prey. What it meant for Harry, was that the Dragon's sense of smell wouldn't be strong enough to be able to differentiate between the crowd watching the show, and Harry in the arena.
It was simple enough.
But then again, Professor Jackson wouldn't be the one in the small arena, staring down a very pissed off mama dragon. It had taken some time, but after about a week straight, Harry had managed to garner some level of control and fines with the spells.
Which brought things back around full-circle.
Professor Jackson would start out the training session with target practice. The idea was to tire Harry out, and simulate the effects of working under the stress of the situation Harry would be in. After that, Harry would train on applying the layered magic. He would, quickly as possible, wrap himself in the disillusionment and blood-chilling charms. He would then take the charms off of himself, and then he would reapply them.
Rinse and repeat.
They would end the session with another target practice drill. Professor Jackson said that, if nothing else, Harry would be prepared to deal with a rampaging dragon for long enough for the team of dragon-handlers to take over.
But all of the training, all of the extra work, it was beginning to put a strain on him. He was going to school during the day, doing school work during whatever breaks he could, and at night he would spend three or four hours working with Professor Jackson.
He let out a jaw-breaking yawn as he was on his way to potions.
"Harry," Hermione stressed, "Are you sure you can keep up with this?"
Hermione had been incredibly worried about the effect of Harry's new workload on his life and psyche. Harry hadn't been sleeping as much as he should have been, as he was going to bed late and waking up early to do his exercises Professor Jackson had prescribed.
"Don't particularly have a choice in the matter, Hermione," Harry said with another yawn, "The least I can say is that I'm at least making progress."
"Still think you're a bit of a nutter for agreeing to this," Ron snorted, looking anxiously over his shoulder to make sure their hushed conversation couldn't be heard,
"I repeat my previous statement," Harry grunted as he leaned up against the wall of dungeons outside of the closed door to the potions room. Hermione was about to respond, when a deep voice echoed around the dungeon,
"Mr. Potter,"
Harry almost groaned. He'd been around Professor Jackson for far too long not to know his voice when he heard. With a roll of his eyes, Harry pushed off the wall and waved the professor down.
"Gotta go, Harry." Professor Jackson said, jerking his head back towards the staircase, "Got the weighing of the wands today,"
"The what?" Harry asked, and Professor Jackson rolled his eyes,
"Stupid ceremony where your wand is inspected. More of a photo-op and press thing," He arched an eyebrow, "Might want to give your wand a polish kid,"
Ron snickered at the unintended innuendo and Harry elbowed him in the ribs.
"Do I have to?" Harry asked, almost pleadingly. The absolute last thing Harry wanted, was to put himself out in the world and attach himself more to the tournament than he already was. He was catching enough flak from other students, and sure enough, he could see several of the Slytherins glaring in his direction, having heard what Professor Jackson had said.
"Afraid so, kiddo," Professor Jackson, looking genuinely apologetic.
Sighing, Harry was about to follow Professor down the hall, when the door to the potion's room opened, and the silky voice of Professor Snape slithered down the hall.
"Potter…where do you think you're going,"
Harry didn't bother turning around, he was too tired and too fed up with the entire situation to deal with Snape being vindictive. Besides, Professor Jackson seemed to be one of the few people in the entire castle that genuinely seemed to intimidate Snape.
"He's been excused," Professor Jackson said over his shoulder. True to expectations, Harry didn't hear a single rebuttal from Snape, and Harry and Professor Jackson ascended the marble staircase without further interruption.
"Really don't like that guy," Professor Jackson muttered to himself, casting a sidelong glance at Harry, "Might not want to mention that I said that to anyone."
"I won't, I promise," Harry laughed,
"Prepare yourself, kid," Professor Jackson said wearily, "You're about to walk into a real shitstorm."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked,
"Rita. Skeeter." Professor Jackson growled through clenched teeth. "A 'reporter' for the Prophet. She's trash. A vile woman who doesn't care about what the truth is, and is willing to warp anything to fit her narrative whenever convenient." He looked over at him, "She'll want an interview with you. Decline to comment."
"If she's so bad," Harry said, "Wouldn't that just force her to make something up?"
"Most probably," Professor Jackson admitted, "But if that's the case, we can do more with it than if she gets you on your own and gets an actual answer out of you."
"You really don't like this woman, do you?" Harry asked, curious. It wasn't often that Professor Jackson spoke so disparagingly about someone. Whoever Skeeter was, she must have done something to irk him.
"Long story," Professor Jackson grunted, before falling silent. It was clear that whatever his reasons for not liking the woman, he wasn't keen on telling Harry about it. The curiosity burned at him, but Harry decided to keep his questions to himself.
On the Seventh floor, Professor Jackson led Harry through a door and into an unused classroom. He could immediately see the other Champions gathered at one corner of the room. Fleur and Cedric were speaking to one another in a hushed tone, and Drum was sulking broodily on his own.
Dumbledore and the other heads of the schools were in another corner, speaking with Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, along with a woman that Harry didn't recognize. She was a painfully thin woman, with straw-colored hair that was wrapped in dangling curls that bounced off her shoulders. Her heavily-jawed face was framed by a pari of the most ostentatious pair of rhinestone glasses that Harry had ever seen. She had a sickly-green quill clutched in her long fingers, and Harry could hardly understand how she was able to write, considering she had the longest fake nails attached to her fingers that he had ever seen.
it didn't take a brilliant critical thinker to realize the woman must have been Rita Skeeter.
Almost as though she could smell his entrance, her head whipped around to the doorway, and a toothy and terrifying smile spread across her face. Harry instinctively shrunk away and tried to hide behind the considerable frame of Professor Jackson,
"Harry!" The woman simpered, her voice was sugary sweet, dripping with a false friendliness that added to her overwhelmingly uncomfortable visage. She skittered over in their direction, abandoning her conversation with the headmasters without so much as blinking, tucking her green quill into her ear.
"Perfect, absolutely perfect timing, hope you don't mind, would love to have an interview, get a few words, really get to the meat of everything, why don't you step over here and just-" She reached out and tried to drag Harry away by the arm, only for a far larger, far stronger hand to jolt out and stop her.
Skeeter yelped, and shrunk somewhat as Professor Jackson glared down at her. Professor Jackson towered over the smaller woman, standing well over a foot taller than her, even in the large heels that she was wearing. Skeeter flinched as she looked, for the first time, on the irate professor. The color drained slowly from her already, considerably, pale face. She tried to smile at him, but to Harry it looked more like she was constipated.
"Percy! Darling! Long time no see! How are you? Haven't seen you in ages, not since-eep!" She squeaked as Professor Jackson's hand darted out and grabbed the small, green quill out of her hair, and inspected it.
"What do we have here?" Professor Jackson asked silkily, his voice oddly even, yet disconcertingly unsteady at the same time. He appeared calm, yet the undercurrent of apocalyptic rage simmering just beneath the surface was far from hidden.
"A quick-quotes-quill? Rita…I would have thought that you of all people would have known better. You know that these are illegal…"
"Oh is that what that is?" Skeeter simpered innocently, batting away the accusation with the smoothness of one who had been lying all her life, "I hadn't realized, must have slipped into my bag without thinking, why don't I just-"
She reached out and tried to snag the quill from Professor Jackson, but before she could wrap her hands around the quill, it shattered into a few dozen pieces. Some of the feathers on the end of the quill danced across Skeeter's forehead. She tried to scramble away, but she was still trapped by Professor Jackson's unwavering grip.
"Whoops," Professor Jackson said, equally as innocent, "Guess I must have held onto it just little too tightly. Guess I don't know my own strength."
"Well…accidents have been known to happen…I suppose I should thank you for-for taking care of that for me…" Skeeter appeared visibly shaken, and her shoulders began to tremble slightly,
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure," Professor Jackson said disbelievingly, eyeing her green handbag suspiciously, "Would be a ream shame if you had accidentally grabbed a couple more of those little guys in your hurry out of the house." He blinked, and Skeeter yelped with a start once more as her handbag suddenly, and quite violently, burst into flames. Professor Jackson released his hold on the woman as she hurried to shuck the handbag off of herself, and threw it onto the ground. Professor Jackson, quick to the rescue, stomped a large foot down on the handbag, where there were quite a few loud crunches, as though a half-dozen twigs had been stepped on.
"Gotta be careful Rita," Professor Jackson said evenly, "Even the most experienced magical are prone to bouts of…accidental magic every now and again. Might want to try a few breathing exercises."
Skeeter, thoroughly abashed and looking as though she were torn from crying in fright and hitting the professor, merely turned, and stomped angrily out of the room. A man with a large, magical camera darting after her. Harry, feeling thoroughly amused by the entire situation, couldn't help but feel as though there was a history between Professor Jackson and the eccentric reporter. He made a note to ask the man later during their lessons.
"Perseus," Dumbledore called out, doing his best, it appeared, to look admonishing. Though if one were to ask Harry, he would say that the Headmaster looked more amused than anything, "You should do your best not to, ah, antagonize the members of the press."
"Just looking out for my students sir," Professor Jackson grunted, as he placed a large hand behind Harry and shoved him forward.
"Indeed," Chuckled Dumbledore, "Well, I suppose now that we have all arrived, we should do our best to get started. Garrick? Are you all set to begin?"
"I am." Said a familiar voice. To Harry's immense surprise, he saw that Mr. Ollivander, the owner of the wand shop in Diagon Alley and the man who had sold Harry his wand, was standing at the far end of the room, busying himself with a small traveling satchel.
"Wonderful," Dumbledore said happily, clapping his hands together, "Then allow us to commence the ceremony. Champions, gather around." After another minor shove in the back by Professor Jackson, Harry found himself sandwiched between Krum and Cedric, feeling much too small compared to the considerably taller boys.
"The weighing of the wands," Began Dumbledore, "Is an ancient tradition, dating back to the beginning of the tournament. We will be having Britain's premier wand-craftsman, Mr. Garrick Ollivander, inspect each of your wands to ensure that they are well within working order, and the tournament will have truly begun! Now, first up, from Durmstrang, Mr. Krum!"
For the next fifteen minutes, Mr. Ollivander inspected the wands of each of the champions. The only interesting thing to happen in the entire ordeal, was when everyone found out that Fleur apparently had a hair from her veela grandmother in her wand. Finally, it was Harry's turn. He stepped up to the older man, and handed over his wand. He had heeded Professor Jackson's advice, and given the wand a good polish on his way to the ceremony.
He handed the phoenix-feather wand over to its creator, who smiled happily as he took the wand into his hands. He hummed in delight as he rattled off the specificities of the wand, before he bent over and muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear,
"You've been practicing I see…"
Harry didn't know quite how to respond to that, so he simply nodded as minutely as he could,
"Good," Ollivander whispered, "I fear you may need the help."
Then, without another word, he stood back up and handed Harry the wand, and just like that, the ceremony was over and they were being ushered out of the room.
He was just about to head down the marble staircase back down to the Great Hall for lunch, when a gnarled hand darted out and grabbed him around the robes. Instinct took over, drilled into him after weeks of working with Professor Jackson, and his wand was in his hand in an instant and pressing into the jugular of the man who had grabbed him.
"Good reflexes boy." Alastor Moody growled, not flinching away from the wand jabbed into his throat, "Glad you've been taking my lessons seriously." He dropped Harry to the ground, and his magical eye whirred in its slot, and disappeared into the back of his head. Harry didn't put his wand away; ever since the discussion the night his name came out of the Goblet he had become extremely wary of the Defense professor. Ever since Professor Jackson had pointed it out, Harry had become hyper-sensitive to whenever Moody was drinking out of his flask.
Harry was convinced that this man was not Alastor Moody.
Perhaps more than just about anybody in the castle besides Snape, Dumbledore, and maybe Professor Jackson, Harry and his friends had the most experience with polyjuice potion. The effects of the potion could last anywhere from twelve minutes to twelve hours, depending on the strength of the potion, and while he didn't know how strong the brew was, Harry would never forget the stench of the potion for as long as he was alive.
Most wouldn't be able to recognize the smell of the potion, it was distinct and smelled like sewer water, but Harry would always remember it. He'd gotten close to Moody after class one afternoon as the man was taking a sip of the potion, and he had been certain that he had smelled the distinct stench of polyjuice. But it wasn't enough for him, wasn't enough proof. Not that he even knew what he could do with the information if he actually did confirm his suspicions. But he had decided to become increasingly more wary around the ma n.
"Professor," Harry greeted,
"Follow me," Moody growled, and stomped off up the stairs to the fourth floor and the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry followed in silence, his heart beating an unnatural rhythm in his chest. His instincts were screaming at him. He was walking into a room, alone, with a man that he was convinced was impersonating Alastor Moody. A man who was likely the person who had put his name into the Goblet. A man who was working for Voldemort.
He should have raised his wand and cursed the bastard in the back.
But he didn't.
While he was doing pretty well in his extra lessons with Professor Jackson, one lesson that Harry had been forced to learn the hard way, was that there was an enormous difference between a student who was above average in terms of spell casting capabilities, and a fully grown wizard. Regardless of whoever it was that was impersonating Moody, they were still a fully grown wizard. They were trained, and likely capable. Voldemort wouldn't have trusted the man if he wasn't.
Then there was that damned eye.
Harry knew that it wasn't for show. Even if Harry tried to raise his wand, he was all but certain that the impersonator had that eye trained on him, just in case Harry tried to pull something.
So Harry bided his time, and subconsciously played with the beads of his necklace.
Moody kicked the door open to his office and limped inside, and Harry followed him in, taking a seat in the chair across the desk from Moody.
Moody deposited himself in his chair with a grunt, and leveled a glare in Harry's direction.
"Jackson tell you what the first task is then?" He asked without preamble. Harry shouldn't have been surprised by the brusqueness of question, but he was somewhat taken aback by the sudden vehemence of the query.
"Sir?" asked Harry,
Moody growled, and slammed a hand down on the desk with a meaty 'THUD'
"The first task!" said Moody, "Jackson tell you about it yet?"
"Oh…yes-yes sir," Said Harry. He didn't bother trying to lie, he didn't think it was worth the effort.
"And?" Asked Moody,
"And what, sir?" Said Harry, uncertainly.
"And what is your damn plan, boy?" Snarled Moody, "How do you plan on getting past the damn dragon?"
Harry hesitated. He didn't know quite what direction he should go. He was all but certain now that this man before him, whoever he was, he wasn't Alastor Moody. Which meant that he was working for Voldemort. Which made him the enemy, and Harry didn't want to be giving the enemy any kind of information that might give Voldemort an advantage. But he also didn't think he could lie necessarily. But he didn't see much of a choice in the matter, and as he considered his options, an idea came to mind. A way to settle once and for all whether or not Moody was on his side.
He would see what Moody suggested, if he was really working for Voldemort…maybe whatever the man had to say would be a thinly veiled trap to get Harry killed.
It was worth a shot.
"We haven't figure it out yet," said Harry, trying to appear sheepish, "Professor Jackson has been trying to figure it out, but we're struggling to put something together."
"Jackson's clever," Growled Moody, "But he's too narrow minded. Too clever for his own good, and can't see the obvious solution when it's right in front of him."
"Sir?" Said Harry, fighting not to let the swopping sense of victory take over,
"You aren't going to stand a chance if you try and stand on even footing with the other kids. They've got three years, three sodding years on you. You aren't competing with them in terms of strict magic, which means you need to stick to your strengths."
"My strengths, sir?" Asked Harry, genuinely confused,
"Your strengths!" Roared Moody, slamming a fist on the table, "What are you good at? Don't pretend like you don't know sonny,"
Harry felt perspiration dribble down the back of his neck, and could feel his hand itching to grip onto his wand, but he refrained.
"I-I can fly pretty well, sir."
That was it. The smile that spread across Moody's face was…disturbing. A manic kind of happiness that contorted his face nastily.
"Then that's what you need to do."
After Moody had dismissed Harry from his office, Harry opted out from going to the rest of his classes, as he darted off towards Professor Jackson's office.
"Professor," panted Harry as soon as Professor Jackson called for him to enter,
"Gods kid, you okay?" Said Professor Jackson, as he stood up and walked over to Harry,
"Professor…Moody…Put my name…in the Goblet…"
"Okay…" Said Professor Jackson slowly, "Why don't you have a seat and catch your breath for a second bud."
Harry let himself get led over to the chair, and took a few deep lungfuls of air as Professor Jackson sat back down on his side of the desk.
"What's going on Harry, what's this about Moody?" Asked Professor Jackson,
"Moody…he just dragged me to his office after the wand weighing ceremony," explained Harry quickly, "He's the one who put my name in the Goblet, I'm sure of it."
"All right," Said Professor Jackson, "Give me what you have,"
Harry nodded his head, gulping down another lungful of air and tried to steady his racing thoughts. He then launched into an explanation about exactly what had happened with Moody, and his experiences with poly juice potion, and how he knew that Moody was using the potion.
When Harry had finished with his story, Professor Jackson leaned back in his chair, his and latched behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.
"You leave this to me, Harry," Said Professor Jackson after a few minutes of silence, 'I'll bring this to Dumbledore, see what we need to do about this situation."
"What do you think is going to happen?" Harry asked,
"I'm not sure," Sighed Professor Jackson, "But I got a feeling that Dumbledore isn't going to want to move on him,"
"Why?" Asked Harry, incredulously,
"It kills me to admit this, and I genuinely mean that it kills me, but I don't think we should make a move on this right now." He sighed and scratched behind his ear, "I think you're probably right, Harry. It certainly sounds like our suspicions about Moody are right, but I know what Dumbledore is going to say. He's going to say that we still don't know what the overall plan is. We take Moody in and then what?"
"Then we give him that verity-whatever stuff that makes him tell the truth!" Said Harry incredulously, "We find out what the plan is, find out where Voldemort is! We can take care of this now!"
"Calm yourself , Harry." Soothed Professor Jackson, sounding strangely like Dumbledore,
"I understand what you're getting at Harry, believe me I do. Hell, part of me is saying exactly the same thing, and not too many years ago I would have said the same thing as you. But this is more complicated than that." He cracked his neck and looked back down at Harry,
"Things don't work the way they work in T.V. and movies, off Moody is really working with Voldemort, or whoever the fuck this guy is, then the chances are really high that he hasn't told whoever is impersonating Moody the full plan. Only Voldemort is going to know what's going on. We tip our hand too early, and we risk ruining this before it can begin."
"But-but," Stammered Harry, his mind racing, "What about doing that thing you did with Sirius, where you look through his mind or whatever,"
"Legillimancy," Professor Jackson corrected, "And you'd be right, except that Voldemort is probably one of the most powerful legilimens in the if Dumbledore is to believed, and when it comes to this guy, I will trust what Dumbledore has to say."
Professor Jackson let out a tired breath, and rubbed at his eyes, "We need to play this carefully, Harry. It sucks, I recognize that it sucks, I think it sucks. But this is bigger than you can imagine, and with how much is on the line, we can't afford to play this too loosely."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, "Put this from your mind for the time being, and leave this to me and Dumbledore. You'll get your chance to prove yourself, but for the mean time, leave this to the people who have the experience doing this kind of thing."
Harry had questions about that. He wanted to protest, wanted to fight back, but he also knew that Professor Jackson was probably right. Professor Jackson had never done anything but given Harry the straight truth. He'd always been Harry's biggest supporter, and if Professor Jackson said they couldn't make a move on Moody, then Harry just needed to trust that the man knew what he was doing.
Besides, Professor Jackson was right. The First Task was in only a week and half.
He needed to prepare.
AN: As always shoutout to Double0Sxvxn for being an awesome Beta and dealing with my bullshit and as always if you enjoyed this but haven't checked out my other work, give them a try you never know you might find something else you like. I'm also on discord now, where I and a bunch of other writers hang out, chat and brainstorm ideas, you just have to copy the link that's in my profile bio if you want to come and hang out with us. Stay safe, stay healthy and have an awesome week.
All My Love, and I'll see you soon,
LilDB