In the last chapter: Harry attends the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasley family. Along the way he meets Cedric and Amos Diggory. At the match, Harry runs into Philias Green and finds out about the Death Eater raid. Harry also encounters Viktor Krum. After the game the raid begins, Harry is separated from the group and meets Bellatrix again in the chaos. After the raid, Harry send another anonymous note to Voldemort.


Harry's fourth year swept in on the whispered tides of excitement from those students 'in the know.' Each table in the Great Hall was buzzing with overflowing excitement—including the staff table—as everyone anxiously waited for Dumbledore to make the announcement. Which didn't happen until after dinner, causing the room to become more and more tense as the minutes dragged on.

Harry simply sat back and watched with masked mild amusement, absently listening to the musings of his chilling companion over his shoulder. As time went on, Death was becoming more and more begrudgingly fond of the students of Hogwarts. He often spoke of how endearingly ignorant they were, with their—supposedly—long lives still ahead of them. Harry lightly teased him, ignoring the subtle shiver of Hermione next to him as she tugged at her sleeves with a frown forming between her brows. Those in Ravenclaw often complained about drafts, but it was none of Harry's concern.

The only one who could come even close to suspecting it had something to do with Harry was Anthony, and the other boy was the last person to stir up trouble when it came to his friend. As the years ticked on by, Anthony never grew apart from Harry and with the life Harry's had, he found that fact indescribably comforting. Even though he knew that at some point he would tell Anthony the truth about himself, Harry didn't necessarily feel that same clamping guilt in his gut that he felt around the others when thinking too hard about his own secrets.

Despite the fact that Harry didn't get to spend as much time with Anthony as he had last summer, they were still as close as ever. On the train, while the others were occupied either talking with each other or reading, Anthony told Harry about some of the practicing he'd been doing on his own and Harry had to admit to being impressed with his friend. Anthony had spent his summer searching for and learning obscure spells from a variety of different countries. Harry made him promise to give him a demonstration at some point when they returned and had smiled fondly at the lively spark behind the other boy's eyes.

Harry was drawn out of his head when Dumbledore stood up and finally began his announcement. Halfway through, however, the Headmaster was interrupted by the dramatic appearance of a rain-soaked ex-Auror, Alastor Moody, who would take up the position of the DADA professor that year. Only Harry was aware of the disgruntled man's true identity.

Because almost everyone else in the room was also staring at the man, Harry was allowed to openly watch him as he took a seat and slipped a hidden sip from a flask. However, when the secret-Death Eater's gaze scanned the sea of students and landed on Harry, the young Ravenclaw had to be careful about the expression on his face, so as not to set off any red flags for the man and possibly scare him away. After all, it was Harry's goal to allow him to capture Harry.

When Dumbledore reached the part about the age restriction on entering the tournament, he was relieved, even said so to his group. Not relieved for himself—no, he knew that there was no way he would volunteer for the tournament—but for his friends. He wasn't worried about Anthony or Hermione, but sometimes he worried about just how Slytherin Draco really was. The tournament was supposed to be incredibly dangerous, and he didn't want them anywhere near it. If he had his way, they wouldn't even be able to watch the events—not trusting whatever protections set in place for the audience if these people were alright with sending near-children into some sort of 'death-match.'

Dumbledore also announced that the other schools wouldn't arrive until the end of October, when the champions would be chosen. Which had the effect of dampening everyone's excitement even further, knowing that the tournament madness wouldn't begin for another two months.

On their way up to the dorms after the welcoming feast, Harry absently touched the locket hidden under his clothes and wondered how long he would have to wait, and how long he would have to prepare for the resurrection.


If there was anything to be said about 'Moody's teaching methods, it was that they were certainly 'unconventional.' From the very first day in DADA, the eccentric man had made it abundantly clear that he didn't give a rats arse about the Ministry approved curriculum and would be teaching them more about the dark arts than how to defend against them. Not that Harry could complain, considering all of illegal spells he'd learned on his own over the years—not to even mention the morally-unsound things he'd had to do while learning and practicing necromancy.

At the end of the first week, Moody introduced the class to the unforgivables. Moody's chosen victim being a small blood red bird with black wings and even darker eyes. It was sat innocently in a cage atop his desk at the beginning of class and most didn't notice the timid little thing's presence until the professor brought attention to it by flicking open the cage. The bird was in the middle of its desperate escape when it was hit by a plume of hazy yellow smoke and changed courses, slowly flying back to Moody's desk.

From there, the wizard's mismatched eyes filled with wild anticipation as his fun began and he made the bird fly all over the room. It nipped at fingertips and tittered cheerfully in ears, eliciting a wonderful chorus of laughter and shouts of surprise. At one point, it even attacked a Hufflepuff's hair with its small wings, ruffling the carefully styled locks much to the squawked indignation of the young girl. Harry was one of the few who watched in apprehension, knowing that the Imperius curse was no laughing matter, could make people do horrible things, and that there was a reason it was called an 'unforgivable.'

Something darkened in Moody's expression as he forced the bird over to a basin of water and it flapped helplessly over the still surface, unable to fight against the curse. Laughter dried up quickly at the panicked chirps coming from the small creature.

"Shall I make it drown itself? I could." The simplicity of the statement had the entire class slowly realizing the power of the curse and just how dangerous it could be. After a moment of silence, Moody brought the bird back to his desk and looked out over the room of pale faces that didn't meet his eyes. "Some might say that the imperius curse is the least harmful of the three, but I'd beg to differ. Every day, we take advantage of our free will, unable to imagine what it would be like to be imprisoned within our own bodies, completely at the mercy of another."

As he spoke, Harry couldn't help but reflect on what he'd learned about Barty Crouch Jr. How he'd spent years under the imperius curse, cast on him by his own father who couldn't accept what his son had become. In a way, Harry could relate. He'd spent most of his life under the thumb of the Dursleys. Trapped and controlled by his own family, completely voiceless without any visible way out. In the end, Harry had been set free at the price of his mortality. He could almost laugh at the poetic justice of being liberated through his own death.

Moody looked down at the bird on his desk, still under the influence of the unforgivable.

"Over the years, many witches and wizards have claimed to have only done You-Know-Who's bidding while under this curse. Does anyone know how they sort out the liars?" Moody spat out in distaste as he scanned the room. Knowing where he was going with that, Harry allowed his own hand to slowly rise among the few others. Moody's eyes immediately snapped to him and a grin split his scarred face as he ushered Harry up to the front of the class. Harry moved forward and spoke after Moody prompted with an impatient gesture.

"The cruciatus curse, sir." Harry answered blankly, hoping that he was wrong about what might happen next. Harry felt no fear nor disdain for death, he wouldn't shy away from it, but he was not one for unnecessary suffering. He would not react well if Barty tried to torture the bird, in front of a class full of near-children, no less.

"Crucio!" Harry didn't blink as the bird he had been looking at began to screech and flap helplessly against the desk as it suffered unimaginable pain. He heard the startled and distressed complaints of his peers at the gruesome display, even though their 'instructor' seemed to be lost within his own mind as he tortured the innocent creature.

Realizing that 'Moody' would not be stopped any time soon, Harry took matters into his own hands. Not moving an inch, Harry reached out with his magic, feeling the brush of the veil on his fingertips as a cool presence shifted closer to his stiff back. His magic and the veil wrapped around the bird and with a quick tug, the little creature crumpled onto the desk, suddenly still. Moody jolted, shock momentarily sparking in his face before he seemed to come back to himself and clear his throat as he realized what he'd done.

Moody looked up at Harry, then, something unreadable in his eyes as the air slowly warmed. Harry's face remained completely blank under the other's scrutiny. Their staring was interrupted by one of the other students speaking up in the otherwise silent class.

"Professor, does the cruciatus curse usually kill its victims like that?"

When Moody's attention was drawn away to answer the question, Harry silently returned to his seat where he gave a few quiet assurances to his very worried friends.

"Only if the victim is very weak or ill before-hand and after a long period of time." He answered distractedly. The same student spoke up again.

"Was the bird sick?"

At this, Moody's eyes shifted to chilling glacial green that pierced through him and left a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Perhaps." Was all the man said before returning to his lesson—though he seemed rather distant for the rest of it—choosing to teach the last unforgivable only in theory, since his test subject was already gone. At one point, the ex-Auror brought up Harry's peculiar encounter with the killing curse. He refrained from correcting Moody about him being the only person to have ever 'survived' the curse since, in actuality, he hadn't.


The week following was far more interesting than the first, seeing as Moody made it his duty to make sure that his students knew how to actually fight off an imperius curse. After the rather grim note the previous lesson had been left on, Moody had decided to once again aim for a more light-hearted approach and kept the commands he made of the students under the curse quite silly. Such as, jumping on one foot or making animal noises.

Harry lingered near the back of the class, trying—unsuccessfully—to go unnoticed, as he despised the idea of being under the influence of the curse. Harry would be the first to admit that he had problems relinquishing control to another. If it could be helped, he knew he would never do as such unless it was to someone he completely trusted. And Moody was certainly not someone he trusted!

Eventually, though, Moody called Harry forward with an interested light in his eyes. Harry barely had time to prepare himself before a plume of diluted yellow smoke was racing towards him. He hadn't even meant to do it. Being caught off guard, his magic reacted before he could and he felt the raw, undefined power pool under his skin like freezing electricity that almost burned. The only one that reacted to it was the person nearest to Harry at the time—Anthony. Harry heard the almost imperceptible intake of breath as his friend went utterly still next to him.

Harry could feel the insistent press of Barty's will against his own, but his magic was unyielding and he remained outwardly unaffected. Barty grinned at the challenge and doubled down on Harry. A faint sheen of sweat formed on Harry's smooth alabaster forehead and delicate cupids-bow as he continued to resist. Harry had very little practice with the imperius curse—which meant none—and so he was putting unnecessary amounts of energy and magic into resisting the cruse. He was doing it with brute magical force, and it was already beginning to drain him.

He only technically needed to shield his mind, but he couldn't risk shifting his magic while the blunt edge of the curse was pressing in on him. The briefest moment of hesitation could allow the Death Eater in to control him. By the time Moody finally relented, he was also sweating and a bit red-faced as he grinned almost victoriously. Harry was breathing a little heavy and had to quickly swipe the sweat from his brow, but was composed once again after only a minute or two. Moody had boasted to the class about Harry's success in resisting and even made Harry share some techniques he'd used.

Much to Harry's ire, word of his little display spread quickly through the school and he received many admiring gazes later that day during lunch and dinner.

Moody's approach to teaching DADA was undeniably rough and brazen. Harry had even heard from Draco—who was in the other class with the Gryffindors—that one of the Gryffindor students had had a particularly hard time with the initial unforgivables lesson and had to be comforted after class. However, nobody dared go and complain to their head of house or another professor about the unconventional methods. Because, despite the slight danger and uncomfortably gruesome topics, none of them could deny that Moody was an amazing instructor. Moody didn't tiptoe around anything because of their age and was working hard to make sure that they knew as much as possible. Which especially impressed Harry, knowing that he was secretly a Death Eater with his own agenda at the end of the day.

Don't get him wrong, Remus had been one of the best DADA professor's they'd ever had. But, unlike Moody, Remus had to be very careful about what he taught because of what he was. And in the end, it still hadn't made a difference. Speaking of, Harry had almost forgotten about his 'conversation' with the Potions Professor at the end of his third year.

Harry was surprised that what he'd said had—on some level, at least—affected Severus Snape. The man was not suddenly his friend, by any means, but Snape had gone from viciously targeting Harry in attempts to humiliate him, to treating him more like any other student in class. Harry even noticed Snape being a little more attentive to the rest of his students instead of sneering all the time and insulting them for every little mistake. He had no idea if it would last, but Harry hoped it was a step in the right direction for the man.

Philias Green continued to send Harry letters each week to update him, even though there wasn't much he could actually share with Harry now that the school year had begun. Almost everything in Voldemort's plans had been taken care of—anything truly important being done by Bellatrix—and they were now just playing the waiting game as said plans unfolded. Still, that didn't stop Philias from writing Harry each week.

His letters became less and less about Voldemort and more about warning Harry to be careful and generally mothering the young Ravenclaw almost as much—if not worse—than his guardians already were. Harry had to repeatedly remind the Death Eater that he wasn't as breakable as everyone liked to believe and Philias would do well to remember that before Harry truly became irritated. Philias ignored him and just continued to fret.

As the weather slowly withered into something cold, damp and rich with the vibrant hues of wilting leaves, Harry found himself gradually regretting bringing the ridiculously worrisome Death Eater into the fold.