As it tended to do this timeline, the hours-days-weeks seemed to stretch and contract weirdly, without Harry's input, and the morning of the First Task arrived all too soon. It was, Harry decided, rather loud.
He tried to ignore this. He hadn't slept well: something about a nightmare where dragons chased crows before the dragon flame turned into Fleur's little sister, who shrieked in pain as she immediately evaporated like mist. The whole experience left Harry awake, shaking and convinced of his own incompetence, and Crookshanks grumbled audibly at Harry's restless sleep.
He tried to go to sleep again afterwards, but only managed fits and starts.
When morning came and it became appropriate to finally get out of bed, Harry found that the dream had left his temples throbbing and his ears overly sensitive. Even an hour later, the sensations were lingering. However, even taking all that into account, Harry thought the castle was louder than usual.
The chatter at breakfast was shrill and frantic, even more so than the usual rumour mill, and tensions were running high all over the Great Hall.
On Monday, one of Harry's least favourite professors – Trelawny – had made another prediction about the risk of sudden and violent deaths to fourth-years facing challenges. The rumour mill had been working hard ever since. The prickly sensation of being at the centre of attention was a familiar inconvenience, but Trelawny's sudden return to form did have Harry shaking his head in amused nostalgia.
At the breakfast table, the memory revisited him – her misty tone promising doom and gloom, Neville's wide eyes, Hermione's scoff even as Lavender and Parvati gasped in horror – and Harry caught his breath. Fortunately he choked out, rather than snorted, the laugh he would have otherwise let escape; Colin had his camera floating around here somewhere.
Unfortunately, his small noise failed to join seamlessly with that clamour and racket of the Great Hall, and that meant that the two girls on his right immediately turned to fuss over him.
"Are you—oh, thank Merlin! A false alarm."
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Parvati added. "We'll be here for you no matter what happens. 'What will be, will be,' Professor Trelawny says."
Harry paused in his chewing and, after a moment of ironic amusement, swallowed his porridge a little too soon. It went down his throat in a lump, and Harry had to bash his chest thrice to clear his throat.
The divination girls clucked in worry.
"Another dusting of cinnamon, do you think Harry?" Lavender asked. "Or can I get you more sugar?"
Parvati, one seat over, butted in. "Say 'no' if you need to, Harry. Your breakfast today should be everything perfect, just in case."
He felt rather than heard Lavender nod. "If it is to be your las—I mean…Not that I'm doubting you, of course, but if it's written in the stars…Here, let me pour you another cup, at any rate."
Harry felt his shoulder patted kindly, long nails catching ever so slightly on the folds of his robe. "The poor professor does suffer from her mystical burden, Harry. The terrible fates she must have seen… And she's ever so fond of you. It must be difficult to see your future de—erm. But of course we believe in you, don't we, Lav?"
"Oh, yes. Well…to the best of yo—"
On Harry's left, Hermione snorted very loudly. "Oh, leave off. Harry will be fine. He's smuggled his godfather out of Britain, taken on the Ministry of Magic's miscarriage of justice, and regularly beats me in our end-of-year exams. Besides, I've seen him do his due diligence: what's a silly school competition in comparison?"
Harry found himself hunching his head over his porridge, the better to hide from anyone overhearing.
The irritating if admittedly well-intentioned girls huffed and protested before Fred Weasley of all people seemed to pop out of the ether and chivvied them off their seats. "Move along, girls, move along. Potter's the man of the hour – the day, I should say."
George's voice added, "You've had your turn. Budge up now."
Lavender scoffed unhappily and Harry heard her rustle and mumble for a moment before her body heat disappeared from next to him and she flounced away. Her friend followed. Harry exhaled a tiny sigh of relief as they left their space for the twins to slide into their abandoned seats.
In the fuss of the bench legs squealing on stone floors, and robes rustling, Hermione had a chance to murmur in Harry's ear.
She leaned close to him, so close that her curls itched at Harry's ear and her warm breath puffed against his skin. "You will be fine, won't you?"
"Of course!"
"It's just…Trelawney—"
"Professor Trelawney, Hermione," Harry grinned.
"Yes, her." Hermione didn't get his amusement. "She might be a hack, but today she might actually have a point. And I've barely seen you in the library recently!"
Trust Hermione – this Hermione – to think that the best way to prepare for violent death was theoretical research.
"Didn't you just say—?"
"Well, yes. But that was for the benefit of Lavender and Parvati."
"Oi! I'll have you kn—"
That was the moment that Fred butted in. "You might not know how advanced Harry's spellcasting is," which was quite a supportive statement coming from Fred, "but we've got full confidence in him, so don't you worry."
Hermione huffed. "Well, yes, but against goodness-only-knows-what will be in the first challenge, plus he's been so busy with his lawyer and the aurors and all…"
"I'm prepared, Hermione," Harry reassured.
She kept going. "The reporters have already started arriving, and there's way more than I was expecting, so whatever's going on is going to be really big and really public, Harry."
He rolled his eyes inside his blindfold. "I know."
"There's no way I'm going to be able to help you out during the Task, Harry. Not that I think you'll need it, but if there are any last minutes surprises, I'll be stuck in the stands with the rest of the audience…people would notice if I snuck closer."
Harry felt warmth in his chest. Good old Hermione. Always having his back.
But George, for some reason, sniggered. "Sounding awfully invested there, Hermione."
"Taking things a little personally, wouldn't you say?" Fred's voice grinned.
She squawked. "Wh—!? You…It's only natural for me to worry about Ha—my best friend's safety in an International Tournament that's famous for its body count!"
Harry swallowed another mouthful of porridge and made little calming motions with his spoon. "Alright, alright. No need to worry." It was true that Hermione wasn't used to charging straight toward danger time around. Or watching him do it either. "I've done a lot of practice."
"Harry, that's not what they—Hmph!" Hermione seemed oddly riled up for some reason. Probably the twin's presence, straight after that silly conversation about Divination, Harry figured. Divination did seem to bring out the worst in her.
He let their squabbling wash over him in a calming, familiar pattern until Harry heard the clinking of his spoon against the bottom of his now-empty bowl.
He leaned back in his seat, belly full, and stretched. "That's one thing down for the day, I reckon."
Hermione twitched to give him her full attention again. "Are you going to be going to the morning classes, Harry? Or will you be, I don't know, doing last-minute practice? Is your lawyer coming today? Is Sirius? What about the reporters?"
From the sound of their silence, the twins also seemed interested.
"Sirius can't come," Harry had to say eventually. "Ruddy Fudge is still refusing to renounce his arrest order – never mind that practically the whole world now knows that he's innocent. He can't come back into the country legally, and Mr Lloyd-Elliot has persuaded him not to sneak back in either. The Dementors won't get him either way, but it means Fudge could end up cutting a deal where Sirius loses all of his reparations, and Sirius is pretty keen to take the Ministry for all he can get."
"I would too," George's voice broke in, righteously indignant.
Harry shrugged. "I mean, yeah. I get it. Fudge is desperate to get out of this mess looking good, somehow, so we figure that if he catches Sirius breaking laws or something, he'll use all the leverage he can get."
The twins snorted. Hermione gasped.
"Politics seems to be like that," Harry explained. "But anyway, he can't be here, and Remus is staying with him in Germany to make sure that Sirius doesn't do anything half-cocked." He paused. "I've got Mr Lloyd-Elliot anyway. What were your other questions? Oh, I won't be going to class this morning. It's only History of Magic and Charms anyway, and I'm ahead in those. Besides, I still can't see inside the castle so Professor McGonagall's agreed to have me excused today."
The conversation was interrupted by a few older students – Ravenclaws, from the sound of their voices – walk past Harry and clap him on the shoulders, ruffle his hair and leave their mildly invested encouragement. "You got this, Potter."
"Good luck, kid."
"Try not to die, yeah? I've got ten galleons riding on you today."
Harry was getting better at not twitching madly when people did that to him these days, so he merely rocked a little under the force of their back slaps and waved a hand in thanks.
Hermione was more scandalised. "Are people…is someone running a betting ring, Harry?"
Fred and George, on his right, froze.
Harry tried to look innocent himself. "I guess so? That was certainly implied, wasn't it."
From the huffing sounds Hermione was emitting, she was practically spitting fire with fury and indignance. "People are…but you could be in danger, Harry. I mean…we don't even know what you could be facing here. Are they…I hope they're just betting on…on what the task will be. And not, you know…danger or injury or the, the competition itself."
He could feel the stern look Hermione sent his way even though the blindfold was still protecting his eyes. "…I suppose?"
She stood up, the wooden bench beneath her squeaking back is the force of her legs. "I need to tell Professor McGonagall straight away."
Harry twitched.
She huffed. "This can't stand. There are lives on the line here. And besides, you're underage. I'm sure this is illegal."
Fred and George were still very quiet and still. Harry opened his mouth.
Uh. "Wait. Ah…Look. There's no guarantee that the betting pool is being run by students. If it's an out-of-school thing then McGonagall won't be able to do a thing. And...um...besides, it's pretty normal for wizards to bet on sporting events. Did you hear about the bets that were running during the Quidditch World Cup? I think it's, uh, cultural."
Hermione scoffed, but didn't walk off.
Harry kept talking fast. "I think it would be a rather rude – ah, I'm not judging you, but hear me out – if a muggle-born from a different culture – it's not racism if it's true, Hermione; just one example: our schooling before Hogwarts was really different to the wizarding alternative – just comes in and starts spouting off about how wizarding traditions are inappropriate. If the international wizards overhear it, there'll be all sorts of opinion pieces in foreign media, and, er…"
Hermione snorted this time, and Harry almost heard her roll her eyes.
He sighed. It came out a little heavier than he had planned. "I'm just saying, I think it might go down really badly, and I don't really want any more drama on today of all days anyway."
"But, Harry…this is your li—health, we're talking about here. Surely you don't want people betting on, on – I don't know – how badly you'll be hurt, or how long it'll take till 'first blood'," she spat the words out resentfully, her voice bitter and small in the raucous hall. "Aren't you, I mean… Don't y—?"
Harry shrugged. "I figure I'll stay out of it all today and not make waves, Hermione. I appreciate your efforts, I really do. Just…today of all days, I don't want any unnecessary drama."
"…I see." Slowly, reluctantly, she sat back down again.
There was a silence as a subdued Hermione picked up her own breakfast again and, from the sounds of her angrily clinking cutlery and emphatic chewing, set about demolishing it with a very frustrated air.
Harry knew better than to push his luck. "Well then. I'll…uh…just go and find myself a nice quiet spot to, um. Prepare. Get my head in the right place."
"Mediate?" George suggested, and Harry nodded emphatically.
"Oh, yes. Great idea. I think, outside the castle will be good. Getting away from the crowds and all. Tell Crookshanks and Crow I'll be fine on my own for a bit, yeah?"
George muttered a response. Hermione chewed louder.
"Uh…You guys want to walk me to the Entrance Hall, maybe? Fred? George?" Harry suggested.
All three of them did their best to leave the Gryffindor table as quietly and humbly as possible, lest they catch Hermione's attention again. The sound of the Hall seemed to dip for a little, before a series of heated voices and raised questions began again, faster and louder than before. Harry felt the back of his neck heat up under the uncountable gazes.
Ten steps away from the Gryffindor table, Hermione well beyond earshot and the background hubbub muffling individual voices, George leaned over to mutter in Harry's ear.
"Odds on your winning are one in twelve," he murmured in Harry's ear. "Odds on your surviving are one in four. We've managed to get your money in at just the right time, so if you win then you'll get some really good gold back."
"Brill," Harry nodded.
Fred clapped a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder as they walked through the doors to the Entrance Hall and the light on Harry's skin seemed to change. "I hope you're going to be as good as you say, Harry. George and I have put our whole savings on you this time."
"I got it," Harry nodded. "I'm in it to win, after all."
He almost leapt out of his skin when a stern Scottish brogue inserted itself smoothly into conversation with him, and it was only Fred and George's equivalent squeaks of surprise and shock that stopped Harry from swearing at Professor McGonagall herself.
"Glad to hear it, Mr Potter."
"Cripes!"
"Blimey, Professor. Didn't see you there!"
"Give a man some warning, won't ya?"
Harry could almost hear her thin-lipped smile before his Head of House ushered his companions away. "A moment, Mister Potter."
Harry blinked. This hadn't happened last timeline. In fact, a few things were going differently now, he realised with a jolt and he hoped with sudden panic that that task was still what he expected.
"Uh. Yes?" He shook his head. "What? Sorry, professor. I'm a little scatterbrained today. What can I do for you?"
He heard a thin note of anxiety in her voice. "I hope you are feeling prepared for your First Task this afternoon?"
"Hrm? Oh, yeah. Probably," Harry acknowledged. Her anxiety seemed to bleed into his, and he felt his nerves start jittering in a way he'd been hoping to avoid. "You?"
"I find myself as well as can be expected," his teacher spoke dryly. "I must have a word with you in private, Mr Potter. Bonjour," she added, not to Harry. "I mean, out of earshot but not sight, if you don't mind."
He felt a firm grip clasp his elbow and he was led into a slightly quieter corner of the Entrance Hall. Even blind, he could feel the weight of stares resting on him as the foreign students pattered through to breakfast from their relevant accommodations.
"We have no time," McGonagall spoke again as soon as they were positioned in a nice, shadowy corner. "I'm afraid I have no advice to give, Potter. Hogwarts must be open and above board in this competition, but I'm afraid you must give me your timely trinket."
His Time-Turner? He felt his voice shoot up, uncontrolled. "My what? Sorry, I thought I heard you say–"
Her tone softened. "External aids are not permitted in the Tasks, Potter. Off your neck now. Hand it over in a little ball, if you would. No need to go around showing people what you've got."
Damn. Harry had been hoping to use that today.
His right hand moved reluctantly up to his neckline. "Do I have to…?"
It was almost a whine. Almost.
"This is not a request, Mr Potter. This is one way in which Hogwarts must fulfil the requirements of innumerable international meetings and negotiations and compromises. Come now, don't dilly-dally."
With extreme reluctance, Harry's hands slowly slipped under the cloth at his neck and grasped for the long, golden chain that had hung around his neck for months and months.
He found the chain with no trouble, resting in its place against his neck and warm from his body heat. Very slowly, Harry bent his head forward to slip the Time-Turner up and out from its place around his neck.
He tried to make his movements subtle: no need to wave the little golden hourglass in the air if he could, so it was barely clear of his collar before Harry collected the whole trinket into the palm of his hand and passed it reluctantly over towards his teacher.
"I can have it back though, right?"
"Not before this evening, I'm afraid."
A jolt ran down Harry's spine. He'd been saying it a lot these few years, but he had plans dammit.
"Aw, please?" he tried. "It's not like I'm going to cheat with illegal time-tr—." He stopped.
There was so much wrong with that statement that not even he could force himself to finish the sentence. And Gryffindors had obstinacy in spades.
"Oh."
"That is indeed what I must be seen to prevent," Professor McGonagall added kindly. "You'll have your trinket back tonight, Mr Potter. And you'll have temptation away and out of sight." Her tone shifted. "Now be off with you. I have only excused you from classes today in order for you to practice your sight and find your way around any last, lingering obstacles that may be uniquely in your way."
Harry's shoulders drooped even as he shot her a tired grin. "Thanks, professor. I guess…I'll see you at lunch then?"
"Off you trot."
So Harry turned to head outside.
After that unexpected surprise, Harry couldn't say he spent a calm morning alone but he certainly did his best to make himself unperturbable.
It was still nippy outside, and the grass was damp with dew when he wandered out of the castle in his Invisibility Cloak and found a spot on the grounds. It was in the middle of nowhere, more or less: the key points were that it was in the Forbidden Forest. He found a seat in a place where the ground had been protected from the dew; it was heavily shadowed and the wind was nippy but the ground beneath him was dry enough. The castle was well out of sight: the shrubby edges of the forest were a few minutes behind him and the trees began to promise the massive trunks and humungous, towering foliage that developed further into the forest depths.
While the castle was out of sight, though, its magical aura was still impossible to miss, glowing brilliant and hot, even as the colours radiated and shone and glared like looking into the sun itself.
Harry found he could look at it now. Briefly. For about a second.
Having removed his blindfold as soon as the castle was behind him, Harry settled himself in his sheltered little spot on the forest floor and arrange himself, back to the tree trunk, to his liking. His Cloak he kept on, of course, because who knew what kind of students or reporters (or bugs) or Ministry officials might be wandering around feeling nosey?
His Marauders' Map mark II, the one he'd been improving now for months, lay open on his crossed legs so he could keep track of where everybody was and what was going on. He took a moment to stare back at the Hogwarts glare again. Blinked. After the spots in his own eyes had gone away, he tried once more.
And, having proven to himself that he could do it – that he wouldn't go blind in the case of taking a single glimpse in the wrong direction this afternoon – Harry settled back in his seat and…found himself distracted by the hustle and bustle by the dragon enclosure that was set up at the end of the clearing, looking far larger and more intimidating than he previous glimpses in the dark had suggested.
For a while, Harry just sat and breathed, slipping into that familiar, meditative trance and calming his heart rate without even noticing. The dragon steam hissed absently in the cool morning chill, and they tugged the great chains that held them down and stared, unblinkingly, into the forest in a foreboding but generally sedentary way.
Harry found himself just watching, cataloguing how they moved, how they breathed, whether they lay around the nest or on it. As he settled into stillness, the small, morning noises from the forest started up around him again: leaves rustled, trees creaked, insects chirped, and moths flapped…but there was a noticeable absence of birds or small mammals.
Harry knew viscerally why. At one point, and Harry didn't think he did anything – maybe a heavier breath than usual? – he was frozen in place by the sudden serpentine twist as one of the huge beasts felt his presence and sent a chilling glare Harry's way. His heart stuttered, adrenaline surged: no wonder most animals had fled. That was bloody terrifying.
But after a long, long moment of inspection and frozen waiting, the dragon dismissed Harry, and after a long time, his heart slowed and the forest returned to an uneasy peace.
The temperature began to rise as the sun chased away the dew. Complex scents floated past him on the breeze: baked beans, bacon and eggs, ham, toast, the scent of strong coffee…
As the time came for first period to begin, a whole raft of dragon keepers scurried out of the forest. Dressed in dark leathers of black and brown and shining, oiled protective gear, they began moving around the little clearing with far more confidence than Harry thought that they should really have.
The dragons were grumpy, probably at the disturbance to their routine, Harry thought. He could almost make out all four dragons from where he sat. The Chinese Fireball was almost fully visible between the scattered trees, and arranged just beyond it were the Swedish Short Snout and the Welsh Green, almost invisible in the forest except for the glowing of its half-open maw.
The red one on the closest side to him was longer and leaner than Harry remembered it being and somehow he seemed to see it more clearly over time. Perhaps his tiny human brain, at first, was so overwhelmed by the dragons' power that he was somehow blinded to its appearance.
But now he could see it: he could see its long neck and shining scales from where he sat, invisible, and it was curled up defensively with a snarl on its lips.
Its long, serpentine tail and all four limbs curled protectively over its nest and its huge yellow eyes watched the dragon keepers – ooh, there was Charlie, by the looks of his hair – suspiciously as they darted around with their wands and their muscles working hard.
Harry twitched. The dragon keepers were doing something. He leant forward, as if it would help him to see better.
The wizard-who-was-probably-Charlie paused just out of dragon-reach of the red Fireball and was soon joined by a tall, dark-skinned witch who stepped up to join him. They seemed like they were talking, there was some fancy wand-flare that Harry could see blossoming at the ends of both their wands, but he didn't know what spells they were: he couldn't recognise them by their spell-light yet, although that was something he was aiming for eventually.
They finished speaking and…fixed up their robes? Ah, checked that all their protections were good to go, Harry figured, and then first Charlie and then the witch stepped forward, wands aloft with a little flourish, and walked to either side of the huge dragon.
It drew its forelegs back, trumpeted a low warning, and Harry's eyes grew round as the smoke from its nostrils grew visibly darker as the dragon keepers split up to walk on either side of it.
The Fireball whipped its tail once, twice, as Charlie and the witch separated further, coming at it from two different directions – a pincer, his brain informed him helpfully – and Harry could see its eyes rolling, long ears twitching as it tried to keep both interlopers in view.
Harry swallowed hard as he realised how nerve-wracking it was to watch a wizard you know approaching something as awesome as a dragon. His heart rate was up again, pumping hard just below his jawline, and he found his wand-hand clenched so tight about his wand that his nails were starting to draw blood on his palms.
"Episkey," Harry muttered, barely paying attention, his eyes still glued to the dragon he could see best.
Then the witch stepped into better view, and Harry realised that she was levitating a huge, dead carcass of some massive cow-like beast. Charlie was out of view now on the other side of the red beast, and Harry couldn't tell what he was doing: he just knew that Mrs Weasley had no idea her son was spending his time like this while he worked.
He focused his eyes again. Other wizards were still running around the area in general. He saw another cow-thing floating off towards the Welsh Green, and Harry spared a moment to be thankful that at least the dragons were going to be well fed and sated by the time four stupid teenagers clambered into their nest.
Harry supposed even the Ministry of Magic had to get some things right eventually, even out of sheer coincidence. Or perhaps it was just that the dumb dragon keepers ended up dead.
In the distance, under the dappled light of the morning sun and the speckled shade of the forest trees, people kept scurrying.
He wanted to avert his gaze when the dragon finally extended its neck – longer than he'd thought; he'd have to expect that in the task later – and snapped brutishly at the carcass that was going to feed it.
Harry felt chills in his spine and his arms again. Tiny goosebumps reminded Harry that in front of a dragon, he was just prey.
Although...'brutishly' wasn't quite the right word. Sure, it was huge and intimidating and somewhat monstrous, but the accuracy of that snap, the extension of the neck, the jaw that snapped and grabbed and withdrew just-so were all precisely judged. Almost delicately so.
With a cold shiver down his spine, Harry suddenly realised why Charlie thought dragons were the most beautiful creatures on the planet.
Harry blinked again, realising his eyes were dry, and found himself withdrawing from the strange focus he'd had on the dragons. He shifted slightly, his left leg was getting numb, and spent a quick moment checking the Map for anything he should know.
Nothing much, but it was Charlie after all, Harry realised. And the map didn't show the presence of dragons at all. Any more than it did Crookshanks. Huh.
The sun kept rising, and soon – or later, Harry was losing track of linear time right now – another group of witches and wizards rocked up. In between the occasional visiting teacher – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang all – and the lonely reporter or two who snapped a few photos, tried for a few interviews and were then chased off, there was a small horde of…well. They were definitely a group of something; 'organised' though, they were not.
This new lot of witches and wizards were more colourfully dressed than any of the other people Harry had seen that morning: sweeping robes of purples and oranges; huge, tall hats with feathers and yellow shawls and at least one wizard wearing a full-on, traditional great kilt with a noble-looking tartan. They seemed to think well of themselves, Harry decided with a silent grimace. Ministry workers most likely, with that attitude.
And with them, there came a lot of arguing: a tiny man in a pale blue robe was running around shrieking orders at people. The reporters and teacher staff fell back unhappily, but did what they were told. Not everyone did.
Some of the dragon keepers argued back. Others seemed happy to leave him to be eaten if he drifted too close to the dragons.
He was too stupid to realise the danger he would put himself in, Harry decided, after the third dragon keeper had to yank the wizard in blue backwards by his collar when he stepped too close to a dragon's nest; but at least three of the dragon keepers were happy to let him die, judging by their exasperated shoulder shrugs and the hand gestures they made behind his back.
It was probably 10 o'clock by the time Harry figured out what this new lot of wizards were doing. All of a sudden, a whole bunch of these useless-seeming people came together and now, out came their wands and some chanting and incredible glowing sigils that seemed to get deeper the more Harry looked at them. In a beautiful, coordinated effort – Harry didn't think he'd seen spellcasting like this before – the spectator stands were created out of thin air, and the arena that had previously been missing began to take shape.
In his shadowy, sheltered spot underneath his chosen tree, Harry watched in awe as spell-lights grew and flowed and met each other. Huge cages made of light became the framework that turned into the stands, and suddenly the screechy little man seemed to turn into a conductor. With a wave of his wand, the players in his orchestra shaped the lights, and a rhythm began to develop. Wave upon wave of light shapes and fresh colours blossomed and died before Harry's eyes.
Like fireworks, in a way, he thought. Harry sat there in open-mouthed wonder as the light show continued, building up into a crescendo and then calmed and stilled and boom: the stands were now sturdy.
Realising that his feet has lost their feeling, Harry shuffled a little in place.
He watched for long moments as the chaos returned: the beautiful pattern of spellcasters at work seemed to divide into scrappy groups of two or three and Harry thought that the spectacle was over.
But there was one more addition.
Just before the sun hit midday, and the shadows grew as short as they would; just as Harry began gathering himself to return to the castle for lunch and the Champions' instructions, the Aurors came.
They tested, they prodded, they safety-checked everything. And Harry had just gotten bored with the whole process when a small-scale flurry burst out, and 'Professor Moody' was Stunned into unconsciousness, taken out in one hit.
"Huh," Harry thought, his eyebrows shooting up. "Actual Ministry competence? That was unexpected."