How could the plan have failed? He'd had it all lined up. He asked her when she was alone, waiting for the perfect point to come up in conversation and Bam! It failed. She was going with someone else. There were by now only three days until the ball, but still. Never mind. Draco sat through breakfast chewing the same bit of toast over and over again when the paper arrived. Temporarily removed from his own little world of self-pity, he opened the paper and started to read, sticking a sausage in his mouth. That wasn't a very nice article about Harry, was it? Didn't even seem like him a tall. Who was it by? Ahh, Rita Skeeter, ignorable pap then. Page three had an in depth discussion of the upcoming state opening of the Wizengamot which carried on for the next few pages, reviews of legislation that was thought to be going to be introduced, thoughts on the effects it would have, comments on the procedure. All banal stuff. Draco stuck a slice of sausage in his mouth and turned the page. The puzzle section, he would come back to that later, celebrity gossip, dating pages. Draco skipped passed these and stopped at the obituaries. He scanned through the list of names, no-one he knew. Good. Then Draco turned the page. There was another obituary, a full page one, with a picture of the recently deceased filling the central quarter of the page. Draco looked at the paper in a mix of shock and sadness. Staring back at him was his own mother.

The Prophet is sad to report the death of Narcissa Malfoy in childbed last Tuesday night neither she nor the unborn girl survived. She will be remembered as much for her luxurious parties as for her contributions to various charitable organisations...

Draco stopped reading. His chest felt like someone had ripped some of his insides out. Dead? No, surely it was all some cruel joke. But Draco knew it couldn't have been. He reread the article. This time some of it sank in. She'd died in childbed? She'd been pregnant? He'd lost a sister he'd never known and a mother all in one night.

Harry and Ron walked in to the great hall and headed over to Draco, as per usual, who folded up the paper and did his best to hide his sadness from his friends. He succeeded in doing this, after all, he was long practised at hiding his true feelings behind an impassive mask. Sadness filled every inch of Draco's body and nothing could cheer him. The night of the Yule Ball came, and when Draco came to it, he couldn't go. They didn't want a morose lump like him at a happy event like that. Coming back from the library just in time to have missed everyone leaving for the ball, Draco headed upstairs to his bed and laid face down upon it. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the long stoppered-up tears from flowing. Seconds were like hours as the sadness flowed in bitter streams from Draco's body. Slowly the tears stopped coming and Draco, exhausted by his sorrows, fell fast asleep.

The evening spent in the company of just himself may have done Draco some good, but he was still not inwardly much more cheerful. His exterior was as bright and cheerful as it ever was and no-one had noticed how he really felt. This was good news in Draco's books, for feeling sad was a sign of weakness and if there was one thing Draco could not stand in himself it was imperfection. Just because one could not possibly obtain perfection was no reason not to aim for it and Draco was going to be strong. The best way to do that was to throw himself into something whole-heartedly. Hermione's SPEW. No, he didn't really believe in that, the elves didn't want freeing, and until they did it was an unkindness to do so. A more worthwhile use of his time would be preparing Harry for the second task. With this new resolve, Draco headed down for breakfast. It already tasted better than it had for the last few days, and when Hermione joined him, he even forced himself to give her a small smile.

'Hi Draco.'

'Morning Hermione.'

'I didn't see you at the Ball last night.'

'You wouldn't have done.' Draco replied coolly.

'It wasn't because I said no, was it?'

'No, It wasn't Hermione. You don't read the obituaries in the Prophet, do you?'

'No.'

'Thought not.'

'Why do you ask?'

'Oh, no particular reason, just trying to fill in a few details on my general picture of you. How was last night?'

'Ok, I suppose. Viktor was wonderful, but Ron was such a child about it.' Draco smirked.

'Well, I suppose those of us who aren't only children do tend to grow up more slowly.'

'Perhaps. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Draco; I don't think I've ever asked.'

'No. I'm an only child too. But enough of me, what happened last night?'

Hermione explained about all of the beautiful decorations, the bowls of punch, the entertainment, the dancing. It all sounded as if it might have been nice, just like one of his mother's parties. An echo of sadness flashed across his face at that thought, but Hermione didn't seem to have noticed- she was still going on about the ice sculptures when Draco started to listen again.

'Sounds great.' Draco said when she had finished. 'See you in the library later?'

'Alright.'

Draco got up to leave and after a quick stop-off in the dorm to pick up his things, he hurried to the library. Once there he sat down and began to work. He had already finished all of his homework for the week so he had begun to research the egg. Everyone had heard the terrible screeching sound it had made when the egg had been opened, but what could it be? Perhaps it was a simple clue, scrambled up a bit, played too fast, perhaps. Maybe there was some other code working on it. That was where to look then, translation spells. When Draco reached the section on translation spells he pulled out the biggest book he could find, and returning to his cosy corner, started to read. The book yielded a few useful hints, and by the time it had started to get dark Draco was nearly half way through. It was fully dark by the time Hermione arrived in the library at six O'clock.

'There you are, Draco. I just want to say I'm so, so sorry.'

'What about?'

'The death of your mother. Your comment about obituaries at breakfast hooked my curiosity. And I've been looking over recent papers since.'

'There's no need to be sorry. It wasn't you who killed her after all.'

'It didn't say anyone killed her in the paper.'

'Well, it wouldn't would it, but he killed her nonetheless. With me gone he just had to have an heir and she died trying to do it.'

'Oh, Draco.' Hermione said sympathetically, giving him a big hug. Draco shrugged her off vigorously.

'You don't think I need sympathy, do you? Because I don't. I don't want anything from anyone.' Draco went back to his book before adding one final comment.

'Oh, you haven't told anyone about it, have you, Hermione?'

'Not yet.'

'Keep it that way.'

Hermione walked out, trying to remember that her friend was upset and probably didn't mean to be as aggressive as he was being.

Draco turned back to the book and carried on reading. What was this? A language identification charm. It was, frankly, horrible. Two inverse wrist rolls and a Parsley flick. That was going to be nasty. Not to mention that the charm itself wasn't in any normal language. The book said it was in Babylonian. There was no way Draco was going to do that. Pity, because it seemed like it might have been the best way of doing things otherwise.

The best way of doing things came from a different angle altogether- Harry managed to solve the mystery when Cedric Diggory, paying him back for a heads up about the dragon, advised him to listen to it underwater. Then all of a sudden, the challenge was no longer to work out what the egg was saying, but how to allow Harry to breathe underwater for an hour.

'Well, you could transfigure yourself into a fish or something.'

'Yeah, but then how am I supposed to get back to being me again? Besides, isn't it really hard to become an animagus?'

'Your Dad managed it, so did Sirius, you could always ask him.'

'Yeah, but I'd still like to have something else up my sleeves.'

'Don't blame you. Holding your breath isn't exactly an option, is it?'

'Not really.' Harry said with a wry smile on his face.

'Well, I suppose we'll just have to do some more work on it.'

'Yeah. I'll start by talking to Hermione and bringing her up to speed.'

'Righty-ho. I'll hit the library. See you later.'

In the library Draco started looking up what was needed to breathe underwater. It turned out not to be an area of magic that was particularly well studied, or at least not well publicised. By the time that Professor McGonagall turned up to ask for a word with Ron and Hermione, and to send Harry to bed, they must have gotten through at least half of the library. Draco was sent packing too, but returned under the cover of Harry's invisibility cloak to carry on reading. Perhaps the next book would contain the answer. It didn't, nor did the next, but Draco kept on reading, well into the small hours of the morning. Finally, he had the answer. That would do it. All he needed to do now was to tell Harry. But it couldn't hurt for him to have a quick nap, could it?

Draco awoke with a start, wondering why he was so stiff. Ah, yes. He'd been in the library all night doing the research which he still needed to give to Harry. That could be problematic. Draco rushed downstairs to the Great Hall. Breakfast was over. Damn. Well, everyone must be watching the task then. Draco began to run towards the lake, picking up speed as he hurtled down the grassy slope to where several vast bathing stands had been constructed by way of stands for the spectators. The champions would be on the bottom. Draco's lungs were by now beginning to burn and the bloody taste of adrenaline was filling his mouth. Draco arrived and looked frantically about. There was Harry! He ran over to him and whispered the solution in his ear. Harry nodded and looked over at the clock.

'Five minutes to go. Glad you turned up when you did. Fancy getting grabbing a seat in the stand? Sirius is up in this one somewhere.'

'Will do. Good luck.'

'Thanks.'

And with that Draco left to go and find his cousin.

'Wotcha Sirius.' Draco said when he found him.

'Draco.' Sirius replied curtly. The clock chimed eleven and the task began. Harry jumped in with the rest of the champions and began his descent. For forty minutes they could see nothing. Sirius just sat there fidgeting, he was clearly nervous. The clock struck twelve and none of the champions had yet returned. How would they fare in the crushing depths? With a noisy splash the surface of the water broke and a mop of black hair stuck up through it. Harry was back! And Ron! No wonder he hadn't seen him, Ron must have been Harry's thing of value. It would explain why he hadn't been watching. Perhaps Hermione was down there to, but why? Of course, Krum! She must be Krum's hostage. Time wore on and slowly all of the champions returned. All of those who had been in the lake were wrapped in hot towels before being led out to watch the awarding of the points, which were issued in the order of arrival back at the platform. Harry got full marks, Krum came second, Diggory third and Delacour fourth. Draco yawned. Perhaps he hadn't got as much sleep last night as he thought he had. Well, there was only one thing to do, say well done to Harry and then head off to bed. He headed down the platform back to the ground. Where had Harry gotten to? There he was, walking into the Forbidden forest with Krum? Something wasn't right there. Draco followed them in with his wand at the ready. It turned out they were just having a conversation. Draco relaxed nothing to worry about here. What was that? A rustling in the undergrowth gave way to the figure of Barty Crouch Senior. Draco's eyes narrowed. The last time they'd met Crouch had tried to arrest him. This time he seemed less concerned about this and more concerned about getting to Harry. Draco pulled his wand out again and advanced into the clearing.

'My fault, all my fault. Must talk to Dumbledore.' Crouch was saying to Harry.

Draco waved a hand at Harry who raised his own in reply.

'Come on, Viktor; let's get him up to the castle. We should be able to manage.' Draco said.

'Alright.'

Before long they were back up at the castle. They took Crouch straight to Professor McGonagall, whose transfiguration classroom was the closest.

'Sorry to bother you, Professor,' Harry began, 'but we've got a big problem.'

'What is it Potter?' asked McGonagall, irritated to be disturbed.

'It's Mr Crouch, Professor. We found him in the forest rambling on. He wanted to speak to Dumbledore. He said something's really gone wrong.'

'Ok, Potter. You know where the Headmaster's office is, take Mr Crouch there and I'll let you in, in a moment.'

They set off with McGonagall in tow.

'Bartemius, are you alright?' She asked.

'Dumbledore. Must talk to Dumbledore. It's my fault. I shouldn't have done it. Dumbledore needs to know.'

McGonagall wasn't sure what to say and took Crouch up to Dumbledore. Draco, Harry and Krum followed her up.

'Vow! I have never seen a room like this.' Krum said, upon stepping into the room for the first time.

'Barty!' Dumbledore exclaimed when he stepped out from the back of the office. 'Ho-w the devil are you?'

'Albus. I've made a terrible mistake. My son is here.'

'Here? Didn't he die?'

'No. My wife was ill and on the verge of death. It pains me to say so but when she asked me to free her son and put her in his place, I agreed. I kept him at home under the Imperius curse. At the world cup, he broke free. I met up with him in a disguise later on and he placed me under the same curse, perhaps in revenge for years of keeping him prisoner in his own home. I was kept prisoner myself but I've broken free and I've come to find you. He's disguised as Alastor Moody, Albus.'

A stunned silence fell across the room. Moody, an imposter? Surely not. Dumbledore seemed uncertain about what to believe, but Draco had whipped out his notebook and was rifling through it. Of course. It was so clear now.

'Well, Barty, I believe that you will need to see Madame Pomfrey, you've clearly been working too hard.'

'No. I'm fine. Moody's not Moody. He's my son. He's a death eater.'

'Really, Barty.'

'No, Sir,' interrupted Draco, 'I've been keeping this notebook since the beginning of the year. It's nearly full of the odd stuff Professor Moody has been doing.' He handed the pad of paper over and Dumbledore spent some time studying it.

'Very well. I think we had best pay. Hm hm. "Alastor" a visit. Can you spare any more of your time Minerva?' '

'Of course.'

'Ve're coming too.' Krum said, keen to pursue this affair to its end.

'Very well, I suppose the more people the better when dealing with a man like Crouch Junior.' Dumbledore said. 'But you'd better stay here, Barty.'

They left the room and were back down in the corridor when Dumbeldore wondered how they would find the fake Moody. Unwilling to give up his secret, but aware that it was their only hope of finding a Death Eater, Harry handed over the Marauder's Map.

'What's this bit of parchment going to do?'

'I solemnly swear I am up t no good.' Harry said. A maze of fine ink lines spread over the parchment.

'Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs present the Marauder's Map.' Read McGonagall. 'Just when we'd thought we'd seen the last of those four, they pop up again.'

Harry opened the map out and began to hunt for the name of Barty Crouch. One they found immediately, standing in the office right behind them. The other seemed to be in Moody's office, along with Alastor Moody himself.

'Well, you could knock me down with a feather.' Said Dumbledore. 'If that isn't some of the neatest magic I've seen in years. Well, he appears to be there, so let's get going.'

Dumbledore advanced at the head of the group, wand drawn and ready. The others had by now done the same. Heads turned in the corridors as the armed posse stalked through the winding passages of Hogwarts, ever approaching their target.

The door was locked, so Dumbledore pointed his wand at it and muttered something under his breath. Instantly the centuries old door crumbled into a pile of ash. There hadn't even been a fire. Inside the fake Moody was sitting in his chair and the sudden noise of his door being destroyed had made him go for his wand. He hadn't reached it by the time that Dumbledore had immobilised him with one smooth swoop of his wand.

'Well now we need to wait and see if it's Alastor or not.'

'I suppose so, Albus. Should I ask Severus to bring some veritaserum?'

'Why ever not? Yes, I think that should be a very good idea.'

McGonagall left and soon returned with Severus Snape following on behind her.

'So, what appears to be the matter, Professor Dumbledore?' Snape asked, noticing the presence of Harry, Krum and Draco.

'A small matter of an imposter filling the role of our defence teacher, Severus.' Dumbledore replied.

'Hence the veritaserum?'

'Hence the veritaseum.'

Snape issued the dose to the imposter and stepped back.

'So, Who are you?' Dumbledore began the interrogation.

'Bartemius Crouch.' Dumbledore nodded at the response.

'And what are you doing here?'

'I am here to serve my master.'

'Voldemort?'

'Yes.'

'What was your plan?'

'To bring my Lord back to his full strength.'

'How did you mean to do this?'

'By means of the Triwizard tournament.'

'How, precisely?'

'I was going to kidnap him during the third task and take him to the Dark Lord.'

'I see. Where is the real Alastor Moody?'

'In this room.'

The interrogation had clearly taken longer than they thought, for as the school bells chimed the hour, Crouch reached for his hip flask but Snape was there beforehe had a chance to grab it. Opening the flask, Snape wafted a hand over the stopper and gently sniffed the heady vapours that were coming out of the receptacle.

'Polyjuice potion. I have no doubt about it. It may also serve to explain all of the ingredients that have been disappearing from my private stores this year. Turns out it wasn't Potter and his friends after all.' Said Snape, sounding very disappointed.

Slowly the figure of Alastor Moody began to change, the once heavily scarred skin began to become smooth and his nose lengthened. The fake leg fell off , only to be replaced by a real one and the infamous made-eye flew off to be caught in an excellent diving catch by Draco.

'I trust that you and Minerva will be able to take care of our guest while the rest of us search for Alastor, Severus? I am sure Mr Filch will be more than glad to lend you his shackles and the rest, he does make a point of keeping them continually serviceable.'

'Of course, Headmaster.'

'Well boys, I am sure you agree that we need to find our Defence Professor so I would be grateful if you would lend a hand to find him.'

'Vell, the only place ve have not looked is the trunk.' Krum said, after a quick search yielded no sign of Moody

'Yes, quite so, Viktor.' Dumbledore agreed.

Examining the trunk soon revealed it had a false bottom, which covered a cavernous pit, at the bottom of which was the figure of a man.

'Alastor, is that you? Are you alright?'

'I'm stuck at the bottom of my own suitcase, Albus, what do you think?' A voice replied from the bottom. The man at the bottom was soon gotten out and soon the original Mad-eye was explaining how he had gotten into such a sticky situation. Despite wanting a week or two in the hospital wing, Moody was keen to finish what he had agreed to begin and take on the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.