Quite a long chapter. And we go back to the core of Harry Potter, with the main intrigue. And where Harry faces a lot of uncertainties in various domains.

HARRY XXXIII

The room was large, and from the looks of it, it might have been comfortable and warm once. But today, it was cold, in an advanced state of decay, as if the ceiling and walls were about to collapse on its occupants who were barely visible thanks to the light of the fire dancing in the hearth. One was a very old man, holding on his feet with a cane. The other one was way younger, in the thirties, with blond hair and pale skin. Unlike the old man, who remained standing, the young one was kneeling in front of a large armchair, his eyes looking down to the floor, in a submissive posture. The third man had to be very small, for he was hidden by the large chairback.

"I apologize for making you wait, my Lord," the young man said.

"Keep your apologies for when they are necessary, Barty" a cold, high-pitched voice came from the armchair. "Is everything still going according to plan?"

"Yes, my Lord. Everything is arranged."

"And can we be sure that the boy will be where we need him?"

"I will make sure he is," the young man said. Despite not seeing his face, it was obvious from his tone that he was excited.

"I have no doubt about it. For if you fail, you know the consequences."

"Yes, my Lord. I will not fail you."

"I don't doubt your resolve, nor your abilities. However, I cannot afford to lose another servant. I already lost Wormtail. I cannot take the risk of losing you as well."

"My Lord, forgive me, but do you think of me so low that you would compare me to him?"

A moment of silence went on. And the hidden man laughed.

"No. No, you are right, Barty. You are a hundred times more resourceful and talented than Wormtail ever was. But don't take it as too much a compliment. Wormtail was nothing. It doesn't take much to surpass him. And I must be sure that you will not be discovered before the time comes."

"No one suspects anything. Not even Karkaroff or Snape…"

"Don't mention their names! Traitors! This is who they all are."

"Yes, my Lord," the man replied wholeheartedly. "They are traitors. If you allow me, I will be the instrument of your revenge…"

"No, Barty. You must remain hidden for now. We only have a month left. And then, we will unleash on this world a fury like no one ever witnessed."

"I will be honored to stand by your side when it happens, my Lord."

"You will, Barty. If no one discovers you by this time. So remain in the shadows until the time comes. Make no folly."

"Yes, my Lord."

"You may rise."

The young man stood up. "Is there anything I can do to help you, my Lord, before I leave?"

"No, Barty. I don't need you. Frank is taking good care of me."

The young man looked at the old one, who didn't seem to have noticed the others were talking about him. His eyes were empty, as if he was blind. The young man looked at him in disdain and disgust. "I'm not comfortable with a Muggle…" He said the last word almost in a spit. "… taking care of you, my Lord."

"This Muggle has proved useful for the last few months, Barty. And once his usefulness is completed, I'll get rid of him."

"I could still get someone better to take care of you, my Lord. A wizard, at the very least."

"To feed me? To milk Nagini? I would rather leave such menial tasks to the people of this kind."

"Still, my Lord… A Muggle… Taking care of you…" Disgust was even more plain in the young man's voice. "It makes me want to throw up."

"You are a good servant, Barty. But you must remain where you are the most useful. And where you are the most useful is the place I decide, and it's not here."

"Of course, my Lord. Still, if I you allowed me…"

"We will discuss this matter no further tonight. Anyway, this is not for long anymore. In a month, all of this will be over."

It seemed the young man named Barty understood that it would be useless to press the subject any further. He bowed.

"As you wish, my Lord."

"Now, leave. It wouldn't be good if someone noticed your absence."

The young man approved without saying a word and walked away from the room. Once he was outside, a loud crack was heard, and the old man, standing still, expressionless, remained alone with whoever, or whatever was in that armchair.

"So, this is us alone, Frank. Again," the cold voice said. The old man said nothing. He didn't even move an inch.

"I know you're still there, Frank. You might be a Muggle, and Muggles are stupid by nature, but you are not blind. I think you may even have guessed who I am by now. You served the families who inhabited this house for a very long time, after all. But you didn't serve my family for a very long time. You barely had time to return from the war and to be hired that I killed them."

Another cold laugh.

"All the inhabitants of this little town. They all thought it was you. Many still believe it was you. The fools. Well, Frank, I must say… After digging into your mind, after seeing each and every moment of your miserable and pathetic life… I must say that I am not without sympathy. You fought bravely in the war. You gave up everything you had to serve a higher purpose, to serve a master. If you had been a wizard, I might have been very happy to have you in the ranks of my army. What a great soldier you would have made. In some way, Barty might hate you, but you are not so much different. Both of you sacrificed a lot to serve a master. A master who didn't reward you accordingly to your sacrifices."

A silence settled for a time. The old man named Frank still remained unmoved.

"But there is still one thing why Barty hates you. Why he is disgusted by you. And on that, I can only agree with him. You are a Muggle."

Again, a heavy silence. You could hear the wind against the walls outside the house.

"Muggles are weak. Insignificant. Unworthy. To think that some of your offspring even managed to get their hands on magic… It is disgustful. And that wizards do everything to remain hidden from you, are afraid of you, when you should be afraid of us. Don't you agree, Frank?"

Frank didn't say a word again. He said nothing. He did nothing. He remained there, standing, unmoving, unflinching, without expression.

"Perhaps I should remind why you are nothing in the face of us. Come here, Frank."

For the first time, the old man moved. He walked quietly and stopped right in front of the armchair.

"It is time for another lesson. Crucio!"

For the first time, a sound came out of Frank's throat. And for the first time as well, his body had a reaction.

He screamed. He screamed. He screamed in a way Harry would never have imagined an old man could scream.

And he squirmed. He fell to the floor as he screamed, and his body contorted in an almost inhuman way.

"Harry! Harry!"

He woke up, his breathing heavily, his hand over his face. Over his forehead, more precisely. His scar was still hurting, burning. He must have screamed for Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus were all gathered around his bed, all in their pyjamas. Dean and Seamus looked half-asleep, but all of them looked worried as they looked down on him.

"What happened to you, mate?" Ron asked.

"You were screaming as if you received the Cruciatus Curse," Neville said, his face blank. He didn't know how close to the truth he was.

"I…" His scar still burned. He removed his hands from his forehead to make it seem as if everything was normal. "I just… made a bad dream."

"Well, that must have been a hell of a nightmare," Seamus said.

"Yeah," Dean added. "You screamed so loud that I almost hit the ceiling of my bed by waking up."

"Sorry," Harry said, closing his eyes for a moment to fight the pain in his scar.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked, concerned.

"Yes. I'm fine," he lied. "It was only a nightmare. Sorry to have woken you up. All of you."

"Well, you should," Seamus said, though he sounded more tired and bothered than actually angry.

"Okay, everyone. Back to bed," Dean declared. He was the first one to obey his own order.

"Neville, Ron, I'm fine. I swear. I'm sorry," Harry told them, and the two boys slowly returned to their beds.

Soon, Harry was back into his bed as well, and he heard the other boys snoring. Harry tried to fall asleep, but he couldn't. His scar kept bothering him. It wasn't as painful as when he woke up. The pain slowly receded, but it was still there, and Harry had to make a huge effort to not scratch it. He stopped forcing himself not to do it when he thought Ron and the others were asleep again.

As hours went on, it morphed into a tingle. This tingle persisted through the whole night, and Harry couldn't find a way to get back to sleep. It wasn't much the tingle that bothered him, but the dream he just made that occupied his mind. It had looked so real. He couldn't stop thinking about it. And he couldn't stop thinking that maybe, somewhere, right as Harry was lying into his bed, safe at Hogwarts, an old Muggle man by the name of Frank was tortured by Voldemort, only because he was a Muggle.

It was disturbing to Harry. He had been a witness for a very long time of segregation and racism in the Wizarding World. While Black, Asian, Indigenous, Muslims, other minorities, and even women were victim of racism among Muggles, the wizards had no lesson to give them. Various beings, half-breeds, Muggle-born, and even Muggle themselves were often victims of racism in the Wizarding World. Often, it would take the shape of words and insults, of disgusted expressions. But sometimes, it could go farther. Harry still remembered very clearly his second year, when the Basilisk petrified many of his schoolmates, including, Hermione, Justin, and one of Cho's teammates on her Quidditch team. He remembered how Malfoy and other Pure-bloods relished at seeing people getting hurt only because of how they were born. And what he saw that night, this dream, this nightmare, was just as horrible, if not even worse.

But more than everything, Harry got the distinct impression that this nightmare was real. However, this dream also didn't make any sense. Voldemort was in the dream. Harry recognized his voice. But he didn't see him. And yet, the man in the room, the young one, was always looking at the same place, at the armchair, as if Voldemort was in it. But Voldemort had no body. He couldn't have one. He said so himself.

I can only have form when I share someone else's body.

Was it possible that Voldemort occupied someone else's body in that dream? A body so small that it was impossible to see from behind in this armchair?

And then there were those two other men with him in the room. Who was this Frank? Voldemort talked to him as if they knew each other. And the young man he kept calling Barty? Harry knew someone who was called this way, but it couldn't be him. That man had been way too young, and way too different from Bartemius Crouch. Was it someone else going by the name of Bartemius, with the same diminutive? Who was he then? And what were they talking about? What would happen in a month? What were they preparing? Why did this Barty have to remain hidden?

Questions filled Harry's mind through the rest of the night. As a result, he must not have looked very well in the morning when he walked down the common room to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Are you well, Harry?" Hermione asked him as he filled his bowl with porridge.

"Yes." He yawned at the same time, betraying himself.

"Don't tell me you couldn't sleep at all after that nightmare," Ron said.

"What nightmare?" Hermione asked.

"He woke us all in the middle of the night, screaming like a Banshee." Ron then turned to Harry. "So, are you going to tell us what it was about?"

Harry sighed. He felt that he would need an extended night of sleep. Still, he told his dream in detail to Ron and Hermione. Neither seemed to know what to say or think when he was done telling them.

"So… you dreamed of You-Know-Who?" Ron asked.

"This isn't the first time, Harry. Isn't it?" Hermione asked, sounding worried.

"No. It's not the first time," he conceded while drinking some pumpkin juice.

Harry indeed made dreams of Voldemort from time to time. It was rare. Sometimes, he didn't realize these dreams were about Voldemort until much later. Like a dream he made at the beginning of his first year, when Quirrell's turban strangled him. But more often, the dream concerned his parents. Harry had this kind of dreams before he arrived at Hogwarts. Often, he only heard the cold, humorless laughter of Lord Voldemort, or saw the green light that ended his father's days. He had seen early this year the spell that got his father killed. But since the time he met the Dementors last year, these dreams had become more neat, more precise. He heard his mother screaming. He heard explosions. He heard his father, the only time he ever heard his voice, screaming to his mother to run away with Harry, right before Voldemort murdered him.

But there was something different about this dream. It didn't seem like a buried memory of his past, a traumatizing experience resurfacing to haunt him, or any normal dream. This one had looked… real. And although it happened in the past that his scar bothered him when he woke up from a nightmare about Voldemort, it never pained him in this way.

"Perhaps it's only the stress. With the third task approaching," Hermione suggested.

"Yes. Probably," Harry said. It had to be that. But a part of him kept whispering that it was something more.

They didn't discuss it further during breakfast. However, as they headed for their first lesson of the day and Ron began discussing with Dean and Seamus, Hermione whispered to Harry.

"Your scar… It was really hurting a lot when you woke up?"

"Yes," he whispered back.

"Maybe you should talk to Dumbledore, Harry."

"You really think that Dumbledore has time to hear that I woke up from a bad dream with a scar tingling?"

"I don't think it would be the best use of time," Ron said. He had overheard their whispers. "Look, it's not the first time that your scar is hurting you. It happened in the past."

"Yes, but normally, it was when You-Know-Who was around," Hermione noticed.

"So what? Do you think that You-Know-Who could be around? Is your scar hurting right now?" Ron asked Harry.

"No. I'm tired from a sleepless night, but nothing more," Harry replied, yawning again.

"Well… Maybe that kind of scars burn from time to time without reason," Ron suggested.

"Still, I think it would be better if you told Dumbledore, Harry," Hermione insisted.

"He's not going to tell Dumbledore each time his scar hurts."

"Considering…"

"Okay, you two. Calm down," Harry interrupted. "I won't go and see Dumbledore. Not right now. Let's see how the day goes. If my scar itches again, I'll go and see him."

He said so as they walked into the first classroom of their day. And for the rest of the day, his scar didn't make its presence known by any other way than visually. Sometimes, Harry would caress it, but he didn't get any sensation from it. At the end of the day, he decided he didn't have enough reason to bother Dumbledore with a scar that randomly troubled him.

They were very close to the final exams of the year. Harry was exempted from taking them as a champion of Hogwarts. However, they still had homework to do, so schoolwork was not over for him yet. Actually, it felt like he was very far from being done. They had tons to do. Harry sometimes suspected teachers to bury him under homework in part to compensate his absence at exams. But perhaps the real reason why he felt flooded by work was his training in prevision for the third task. After he learned what the last task would be, Harry had written about it to his godfather, who advised him about a few spells to master, so he would be ready for anything he could face by the end of June. Harry was encouraged in this by Professor Moody, and Ron and Hermione enthusiastically joined their efforts, helping him. Harry was somewhat bothered by that, worried they would neglect studying for the final exams, which they had to go through contrarily to him. But his best friends didn't care and helped him prepare nonetheless. This evening, however, they didn't have time to train Harry. Ron had an important homework in Divination to give tomorrow. As for Hermione, she said she had to dig deep into Arithmancy. Harry, on his side, planned to complete his homework in Ancient Runes. So they took different directions after dinner. Ron remained behind in the common room. He said that anyway, with Divination, nothing in the library would help him. This was where Harry and Hermione headed. However, Harry soon realized that Hermione's whole mind was on her homework today. They first settled at the same table, but Hermione kept going to the shelves, looking for one book or another, and soon she moved her working material with her and left Harry alone to complete his own work.

Harry was busy translating a series of mixed runes of Viking and Celtic origins when someone hailed him in a muffled voice. He raised his head, and his heart was almost caught into his throat by surprise when he saw Susan smiling at him as she was heading to another table with Hannah. Harry didn't blame her for not sitting next to him. If she was with Hannah, it was unlikely for Susan's best friend to want to sit next to him. He returned her smile and went back to work.

However, Harry found it difficult to focus again on his runes. Susan and Hannah unfortunately sat down at a table in his field of view. And it was hard to focus when both were in front of him. Hannah was not much of a problem. She had her back turned on him, probably on purpose. But the way Susan was positioned, it was almost impossible for her to not look towards Hannah without looking in Harry's direction as well. As a result, Harry had the feeling of always being under her gaze. Maybe it was only his imagination, for Susan was often leaning towards her own homework when he looked at her, but she sometimes noticed him, and smiled in his direction. It only made things worse, getting his attention even farther away from Ancient Runes.

To not arrange anything, Hannah left the library after some time, while Susan remained behind. She moved to sit next to Harry.

"Hannah went to sleep early," Susan explained as she settled down.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to focus on his homework, and failing again.

"Are you fine, Harry?" she then asked.

"Uh? Yes, I am," he replied.

"Okay," Susan simply said, and she went to work on her side as well.

Unlike Hannah, Susan was not very talkative. She didn't talk for the sake of talking. That was a thing Harry usually liked about her. Right now, however, he wished he had been anywhere but next to her. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I think I'll head back to my common room. I feel a little tired me too," he said. And he began to pack his things.

"Are you really alright, Harry?" Susan asked.

"Yes, I am," he replied, placing another book in his bag.

"You looked strange today. You're sure?"

"I just… didn't sleep very well last night." This was true. He wasn't lying to her for sure. At least, about this.

"The third task?"

He looked back at her. Her eyes showed worry. "Yes. I'm… a little worried, yes."

"I'm sure everything will be alright, Harry."

He was touched that she tried to reassure him, even though he knew that she worried for him. A worry he wasn't sure that he deserved.

"Yes, I'm sure me too," he said.

Harry was lying on that, and he was afraid that she would know it. Ever since the beginning of the year, Susan had not liked it that Harry was participating to the Triwizard Tournament. Not because she thought he was stealing Cedric's glory, but because she was actually worried for him. And Susan knew by now that Harry never wanted and didn't enjoy being one of the champions. At least, he didn't enjoy it for the most part.

Thinking about the Tournament and the dream he made last night, something came up to Harry's mind, and that led to him asking a question to Susan, a question that looked totally out of context.

"Do you know Bartemius Crouch, Susan?"

Susan indeed looked surprised by the question. "Mr Crouch? I know who he is, yes."

"I mean… Do you know him personally?"

"No."

"Oh. I thought… since he and your aunt are colleagues…"

"My aunt generally keeps me far from her job. She doesn't really like to expose me or my parents to the spotlights. She doesn't enjoy them very much either herself."

"I don't blame her." He thought about how Rita Skeeter caused him problems over the whole year. It was a chance that Susan never found herself in one of her articles.

"No, I guess you don't," sounding understanding. "I met him perhaps once or twice though. He is a rather distant man. Even cold. I don't believe he noticed me when our paths crossed. I guess he didn't think a child was interesting enough to deserve his attention."

"I wish some people thought that of me sometimes," Harry commented gloomily.

Susan smiled sadly, with the same empathic expression. "I guess. I had my own share of celebrity these last few months, and I still don't know how you stand it. It's… very bothering."

Bothering was the least you could say about it. That was another thing Harry loved about Susan. She didn't care about his celebrity, and she was even with him despite it. She didn't like to attract attention, and yet she remained with him. Again, he didn't feel like he deserved it lately.

"Why are you asking about Crouch?"

Harry had to come up with an explanation very quickly. He didn't want to share his nightmare with Susan. So he told a half-truth. "Nothing. It's just… I've come upon him quite a few times lately."

"I guess this is not surprising. He's one of the judges of the Triwizard Tournament."

"No, it's not that. I came upon him… very recently, on multiple occasions… Here, at Hogwarts. A few times."

It wasn't entirely untrue. Harry had indeed noticed the small point of Bartemius Crouch wandering in the castle on the Marauder's Map on several occasions lately. He hadn't come across the man, but Crouch definitely spent a lot of time in Hogwarts. Harry even surprised him with Moody in his office on a few occasions. He didn't get the chance to ask Moody about it yet.

"Maybe he was there to see Dumbledore."

"In the dungeons?" he wondered, quite skeptical.

He didn't know why he shared these pieces of information with Susan. He told Ron and Hermione about that, but neither of them found it odd. But especially after his dream of last night, Harry got the nagging impression that something was off with Mr Crouch.

Susan seemed to be thinking about this for a moment.

"In the dungeons?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. He felt like he shouldn't tell her. And yet he did.

"Maybe he's watching Snape."

Harry frowned. "Snape?" He didn't get it. "Why would Crouch watch over Snape?" Of all the potential explanations for Crouch's presence into the castle, even late at night, this looked like a very illogical one.

"He wouldn't watch over him. But I think he might be spying on him."

"But… why?"

"Maybe he wants to catch him."

"Catch him?"

She nodded. "Yes. He couldn't do it ten years ago, so maybe he hopes that he can arrest him now."

"Why would Crouch want to arrest Snape?"

Susan looked at him with an incredulous expression. "Harry, you don't know? Crouch was heading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before."

"Yes, I know. But what does it have…" And then it dawned. "Oh, wait. I get it. He led the trials of Death Eaters when Voldemort fell…" Susan shivered at the mention of the name, but Harry continued. "But Snape wasn't condemned."

"No. Despite Mr Crouch's and my aunt's efforts. They tried to send him to Azkaban."

"Really?" Harry asked, almost surprised.

"Yes. And they tried hard. My aunt was working for Mr Crouch back then. She helped him on many of the trials at the time. She collected lots of information and proofs against many Death Eaters. Including Snape. She could have had him convicted."

"Why didn't they?" But Harry already knew the answer.

"Because of Dumbledore. He took Snape's defence, told everyone he turned his back on You-Know-Who before the end of the war and that he put his life in danger by spying on him. My aunt and Crouch tried very hard to prosecute Snape. They were hoping that if they couldn't condemn him, they could force him to make a deal, give them information on You-Know-Who and his other supporters. Snape wasn't rich. He had no friends, and he didn't come from an influential family of wizards. They saw him as an easy target. But Dumbledore protected him, and after the war, his popularity had reached higher levels than ever since he fought You-Know-Who like no one else. So the Wizengamot decided to not hold any charge against him."

"So Dumbledore really protected him?" Harry said, unbelieving.

"Yes." He heard disbelief, and even disgust in Susan's voice. "I still don't get why. My parents and my aunt say that Dumbledore must have his reasons for protecting Snape but… Well, anyway, he got away. And I know that Crouch was very displeased with that. He had gone very hard after Snape. When he failed to press charges and the Wizengamot sided with Dumbledore, it was a huge blow for him. He was furious. I must say that I understand him. With what happened to his son not long before."

Harry had just finished packing his material into his bag when he stopped dead in his movement to place it on his shoulders.

"His son?"

"Yes. What? You don't know that either, Harry?" Susan looked very surprised in front of Harry's own surprise. "The son of Mr Crouch was a Death Eater?"

"WHAT!?"

He made the horrible mistake of shouting. The horrible mistake of shouting in the library. And Madam Pince was right behind him. Within two minutes, he and Susan were thrown out without ceremony by the librarian, who used very well chosen words to describe how disrespectful they were of the library's rules.

"She could have let you stay," Harry told Susan once the door slammed shut behind them. "It wasn't you who shouted."

"I think I may have spoken a little too loud myself," Susan pointed out. Maybe. Harry had not really noticed, with everything he just learned.

"The son of Mr Crouch… is a Death Eater?" he asked her.

"He was. He was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban after the war. I thought you knew."

"No. I had no idea."

Harry had heard stories about the Death Eaters, and even read about them. He knew who in Hogwarts was a relative to a Death Eater, most of them being in Slytherin, without any surprise. But he never heard about Crouch's son being a Death Eater.

"Was Mr Crouch also… a Death Eater?" He knew that some people in the Ministry supported Voldemort. There had been spies inside their ranks, and also employees who abandoned the Ministry to join Voldemort's ranks.

"Oh, no. Not at all," Susan assured. "Quite the opposite. Bartemius Crouch built his entire career on fighting You-Know-Who and his supporters. He became Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when You-Know-Who was at the height of his power. It was Harold Minchum, who was Minister of Magic back then, who named him at the position. They were both hard-liners when it came to the war. Mr Crouch was merciless with Death Eaters and anyone who supported You-Know-Who. He gave more powers to Aurors while he was in office. They were instructed to kill Death Eaters instead of capturing them alive. He even sent people to Azkaban without trial during the war."

"I know." That, Harry indeed knew it too well. "My godfather Sirius was sent to Azkaban without trial because of him."

"Yes. I recall reading about it," Susan confirmed. "When the war ended and trials were re-established, Crouch was without pity during the process though. My aunt assisted him in most trials, including that of his son. The proofs were simply too strong. It was even Mr Crouch himself who recommended that he received a life sentence. He was sent there along with the Lestranges."

"The Lestranges?" Harry knew this name. Sirius told him about her, his cousin who Voldemort's fanatic. "Hey, wait. Are you talking about Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"She was one of them. She, her husband and her brother-in-law, along with Bartemius Crouch Junior, they were all sent to Azkaban together for the same crime after the war was over. It was a shock. No one would have thought that Crouch's son could be a supporter of You-Know-Who, even less that he could do something so horrible."

Harry barely heard what Susan said next. His mind was reeling. Bartemius Crouch Junior. This was the name of Mr Crouch's son. His son had the same name as his father. And in his dream, Voldemort called the young man by the same nickname as many people called the father.

While Susan explained how Crouch Junior was condemned and how it ruined the career of his father, eventually leading to the election of Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic and the promotion of her aunt to lead the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry's mind was juggling with possibilities, including about the name he saw on the Marauder's Map. Could he be sure that it was Mr Crouch? If that was the father and the son had the same name… But how would the son have made it into Hogwarts? And wasn't he at Azkaban?

"You are sure that he is in Azkaban? The son of Mr Crouch?" he asked her.

Susan interrupted her explanations to answer him. "Well, yes, he is. He's buried there."

Harry was confused. "Buried?"

"He died. Nearly a year after he was sentenced. He was buried on the island."

Harry was taken aback. Bartemius Crouch Junior was dead? But then… Was his dream only a dream then? How could he have dreamed about someone who was dead?

"Are you alright, Harry?" his girlfriend asked him, concerned.

He shook his head. "Yes. I am. I just… I think I may have… seen a picture of him… I mean, Crouch Junior… I think I heard about him before now…"

"It's possible. You know, there's a huge book that talks about him. The Great Trials of the Wizarding World. An entire chapter is about the trials of the Death Eaters after the war, and the one of Lestranges and Crouch occupy a huge place in it. If you ever want to consult it…"

The rest of the evening went in a blur for Harry. He accompanied Susan back to her common room after that, barely hearing what she said to him first. After a moment, she stopped talking since he didn't reply to her, and they wished each other a good night before she walked into her own common room. Harry headed in the other direction and went to the Gryffindor Tower. There, he went into the dormitory right away, picked the Marauder's Map and opened it right away.

To his surprise, Harry found what he searched for in Moody's office. There, Alastor Moody and Bartemius Crouch stood, unmoving. Harry first found it strange. What was a Death Eater doing with Moody? Knowing Moody, he would certainly kill him if he came face to face with a supporter of Voldemort. For a moment, he panicked at the idea that a Death Eater might have captured Moody and be keeping him in his office.

But soon, Harry realized it made no sense. Susan told him that Crouch Junior was dead. And how could he have walked into the castle. Furthermore, this wasn't the first time he saw the name of Bartemius Crouch along with Professor Moody in his office. He had spotted them together a few times already since the year started, and especially lately. He thought about another thing Susan told him, that Crouch might be trying to arrest Snape. Moody was a former Auror. What if he and Crouch were working together to arrest, or at least spy on Snape? And maybe on Karkaroff too? The Headmaster of Durmstrang seemed to spend a lot of time with Snape lately.

That made a lot more sense. Still, Harry couldn't get his dream out of his mind. He felt that this dream was real. And yet, Barty Crouch Junior was dead. Or was he? Maybe he should ask Moody about that. He thought about heading to see him right away, but thought better finally. It was late, and asking him something like that while Mr Crouch was there was probably not the best thing to do. They had a lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow. Harry could ask him at the end of the class. After all, Moody supported him since the beginning of the year, giving him the idea of facing the Hungarian Horntail with his Firebolt, and encouraging him to learn jinxes and countercurses for the final task. Maybe he could tell Harry what was going on.

Harry tried to work a little for the rest of the evening, but his brain was still boiling. When he went to bed, he had not made much progress in runes. And when he went to bed, he couldn't help but think about all this.

Despite this, when he fell asleep, he didn't make a dream about Voldemort or Crouch or anything related. Instead, he dreamed that he was playing a game of Quidditch. He was chasing after the Golden Snitch. It always got away from him, and his opponent, a Seeker without face, always seemed two steps ahead of him. And then, suddenly, Harry was next to the Snitch and caught it. He was then surrounded by his comrades. Wood, Roger, Heidi, Cedric, Fred, George, Angelina, Randolph, Katie, Ron, Hermione, Neville. Then he found himself kissing his girlfriend. When he broke out the kiss and looked in her eyes, he realized he was holding Cho in his arms.

Harry woke up in the morning, having more sleep in the body than the previous night, but just as troubled by the dream he made this time. He didn't talk much during breakfast, and he couldn't refrain himself from spotting Cho at the Ravenclaw table when he walked into the Great Hall.

While he ate his toasts, Harry found himself thinking about something Ron told him last week.

It was right after his friend broke up in a very public way with Hannah Abbot. Early in the evening, after dinner, while Hermione was gone to the library to progress in homework, Harry was walking with Ron back to the common room. His friend was in a dark mood, to say the least.

"You want to play a chess game?" Harry offered, trying to cheer him up a little. Ron had always been very good at that game.

"Yeah, why not. But if you think you can beat me at it for my breakup, you're really a fool. You'll need to find something else if you want to punish me," Ron had retorted. Harry was surprised by his words.

"Why would I want to punish you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, for breaking up with the best friend of your girlfriend, I guess," Ron shouted.

Harry felt very uncomfortable. He didn't think Ron would take his suggestion so badly. He had done this in the hopes of making him feel better. But before he could reply to Ron, his friend continued.

"By the way, how much longer is it going to last?"

"What is going to last?"

"Come on, Harry. You know what I'm talking about." Before Harry's puzzled expression, he finally told him. "That thing with Susan Bones… How long is the comedy going to last?"

Harry was speechless at his friend's words.

"Don't play the guy not understanding. I saw how you look at Cho. You still have a crush on her." On that, Ron had then sighed deeply. "Look, take the advice from a friend who has some experience in the domain. If you try to forget about this girl by spending time with another, I can assure you one thing, it's not going to work. So you better get rid of your substitute before it gets worse."

Harry had not talked to Ron again that evening. However, his words had remained with him over the week that just went on. Those words made Harry uncomfortable, and they made him want to avoid his girlfriend just as much as they made him want to spend time with her. And the dream he had last night… along with other dreams he had before and after Ron's outburst… along with his heart jolting when he came across Cho… It made him feel bad.

He looked to the Hufflepuff table, where Susan was sitting next to Hannah, their backs turned on him. He looked at her red hair, which she arranged into a single plait today. He was still not sure whether he preferred her hair like this or falling free behind her back. He loved it either way.

But was he really in love with Susan? Somehow, doubt had crept into his mind recently. After the second task, his relationship with Susan improved significantly. He didn't feel uncomfortable or weird anymore when he held her hand or kissed her, even in public. He enjoyed his time spent with her. And he liked Susan. He liked her very much. And that was the problem.

Harry had been wondering at the beginning of their relationship whether he truly was in love with Susan. And this question remained in the back of his mind, nagging at him. Ron's comment after his breakup with Hannah had made this feeling omnipresent. The way Ron and Hannah broke up also made him fear that things could end in a similar way between him and Susan. She had not been as close a friend as Ron or Hermione, but since his second year, Harry got to know her pretty well, and he didn't want things to go wrong between them.

But what made Harry question his feelings the most was how he felt whenever he came across Cho or Cedric, or both of them since the two seldom went somewhere without the other one. In his mind, a feeling of frustration and jealousy appeared as soon as he saw them together. And the jolt he felt whenever he saw Cho was still there. Harry told himself that it would disappear with time, but after the dream he made last night… He knew that Cho was no longer available. She was dating Cedric, and from the looks of it, everything went very well between them. But still, it seemed like he couldn't get her out of his mind.

Harry looked at Susan's back again. He liked her and being with her, but if he wasn't in love with her… He felt horrible for fooling her. At the same time… He didn't know. He wasn't sure of his own feelings for his girlfriend. He almost hated Ron for saying such things. Couldn't things be easier? Couldn't he simply be in love with one girl and be sure of it? For a moment, he thought about how simpler things would have been if he had invited Cho to the Yule Ball sooner and she had accepted. But he felt terrible right away for thinking such a thing. He wouldn't have started to date Susan then. Maybe it would have been better. He wouldn't be asking himself all those questions now if he didn't go to the ball with her. And again, he felt guilty for thinking this.

"Harry, you haven't finished yet?"

He was taken out of his reveries by Hermione's voice. He realized that he barely took one or two bites of his toasts.

"You're going to be late for Care of Magical Creatures."

Resigning himself, Harry dropped his barely started toast and followed Ron and Hermione outside on an empty stomach. The good side was that Hermione's reference to their lessons brought Harry's mind to something way more important. They had Defence Against the Dark Arts this afternoon, and he would have the opportunity to ask Professor Moody about Bartemius Crouch.

The morning was mostly uneventful. At lunch, however, Harry dodged Ron and Hermione to take a turn by the library. He went to search the book on trials Susan told him about yesterday. He found it relatively quickly, went to the table of contents, and found the chapter on the trials of Death Eaters. What he found was beyond his hopes. And also beyond his surprise.

He went through the pages of the chapter, simply hoping to find a mention of the trial of the Lestranges. Sirius had told him about it. But it wasn't a mere mention of the trial he found. Entire pages were dedicated to it. These included pictures of the four Death Eaters who were sentenced to life on this day. And he met the face of the man called Barty who he saw in his nightmare. He was younger on the photo, but it was him, without any doubt.

Harry was stunned. He had nearly come to the conclusion that his dream was only a dream after all. But how could he dream about a man who he never met and never saw until today? Harry read the whole section on the trial, which held more surprises for him. The first was when he read the crime Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, along with Bartemius Crouch Junior, were accused of. The abduction and torture of the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, and conspiracy to bring Voldemort back to life.

Harry knew that Neville's parents were Aurors. His mother told him so. But she also told him that they died during the war against Voldemort. But that wasn't what was being told in this book. This happened after the war was over. And strangely, the accused were not charged with murder, only with abduction and torture. Reading further, Harry found that, according to this book, Frank and Alice Longbottom were sent to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where they would be treated for mental injuries resulting from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse.

The details of the case were horrible. Neville's parents had been tortured for days. This book was written five years ago, and according to the text, the Longbottoms were still hospitalized at St Mungo. Were they still there today? Most likely. That would explain why Neville lived with his grandmother. And also why he never spoke about his parents. And why he had such a reaction when Moody showed them the Cruciatus Curse at the beginning of the year. All of this made sense now.

Harry was horrified, disgusted. And the book agreed with his feelings. It explained how the wizarding community was angry at the accused, and how the Wizengamot unanimously condemned them to a life sentence in Azkaban without hesitation, at the proposition of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement from the time, Bartemius Crouch. And it also informed the reader that three of the condemned people were still alive, serving their sentence in jail. Only one, Bartemius Crouch Junior, died a year after his incarceration, in 1982. His body was buried on the island.

Harry didn't get it. Why did he see Barty Crouch Junior in dream, when he never even saw a picture of him before today, when he was supposed to be dead? That didn't make any sense. Despite his stomach who protested, Harry went on to make further search for the rest of lunch time, until he was forced to leave for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked as he sat down with him.

"I've been busy," Harry replied.

"Busy with what?"

Before Harry could explain, Moody walked into the classroom, and everyone went silent.

The class looked long to Harry. There was something he wanted to ask Moody, and he couldn't wait the end of the lesson to talk to him. When the bell finally rang at the end of the day, Harry lingered behind, getting rid of Ron by telling him he would see him in the Great Hall. When everyone was gone, and only Harry and Moody remained in the classroom, Moody got ahead.

"What do you want, Potter?" Harry stared at him, surprised, as he slipped his last book into his bag. "Don't give me that face, Potter. It's obvious you stayed behind on purpose."

"Eeehhhh… Well…" He was taken aback and struggled to find his words. "Well, I was wondering, Professor Moody, if you could tell me why Mr Crouch is spending so much time at Hogwarts."

Both his eyes stared at Harry, which rarely happened. "Mr Crouch is coming to the castle because of the Triwizard Tournament, Potter, just like Bagman, Karkaroff and Maxime."

"No, professor. Sorry, but that's not what I'm talking about. I want to know why he always seems to be wandering in the corridors, in the dungeons, and even meeting you in your office."

Moody kept staring at him. Harry then supposed he had to wonder how he could know that.

"I have a map, professor. It shows everything and everyone in Hogwarts. I look at it sometimes, and I noticed that Mr Crouch was often in the castle, even outside of the competitions."

Moody frowned then. "You have a map… showing everyone in the castle?"

"Yes, and on the grounds too. So… I just wanted to know why Mr Crouch is spending so much time at Hogwarts."

Moody didn't move for a time. Then he asked. "Where is this map?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't expect this question. "It's in my dormitory, in the Gryffindor Tower."

"Go and bring it here. I would like to take a look at it."

Harry didn't expect that, but he guessed that Moody had to be curious. After all, his office was full of instruments to detect threats.

"Okay," Harry replied.

"Come to see me in my office with it."

Harry left the classroom and went directly to the Gryffindor Tower instead of the Great Hall, like he previously told Ron he would do. He left his bag in the dormitory and hid the Marauder's Map into his pocket, then headed for Moody's office. When he knocked on his door, Moody told him to enter in his usual gruff voice.

Moody was waiting for him behind his desk, surrounded by the Secrecy Sensor, Foe-Glass, the trunk and the Sneakoscope like the previous times Harry came here. It was very different from when Remus was their teacher. Back then, there was also a magical creature they were about to study somewhere in the place.

"You have it?" Moody asked him.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Show me." A little reluctantly, Harry pulled the parchment out of his pocket and showed it to Moody.

The former Auror looked quite fascinated by the worn-out piece of paper. It was blank right now, but it didn't seem to reduce his interest.

"How does it work?" his professor then asked him.

Harry explained to him how to activate the map and how to make it disappear.

"Merlin's beard," the former Auror whispered. "This is some map, Potter." He was holding it in front of his eyes, hidden from Harry's gaze. His normal eye was piercing through the map while the blue electric one was moving crazy. He then pointed his wand at it. "Mischief managed." He laid it back on his desk. "How did you get your hands on this map?"

"It belonged to my father," Harry said, not saying that Fred and George gave it to him. "He's one of the people who made it. Along with my godfather, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, who was our professor last year, and Peter Pettigrew. They made it when they were students at Hogwarts."

Moody looked even more fascinated. "Impressive. Children made this. I knew your father. And I know Black and Lupin and Pettigrew, of course. They are all powerful wizards, except Pettigrew. But this… They surprise me." He refocused his attention from the map to Harry. "What did you see on this map, Potter? Exactly."

"I saw Mr Crouch wandering across the castle several times. From the dungeons to the seventh floor. I saw that he met you often too."

"He did."

Harry's attention climbed at these words. Finally, he would know why Crouch was spending time at Hogwarts. Moody raised his wand, and for an instant, Harry feared he would cast a curse on him, but he only heard the lock of the door behind him.

"Now, Potter, listen to me. You are a very curious boy. Sometimes too much for your own good. So let me ask you. Who do you think put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Moody looked deadly serious as he asked this. So Harry replied sincerely.

"Voldemort."

This was the answer that came to his mind. Moody didn't seem surprised or to reject it right away. "Why?" he only asked.

"I don't know. I know… I know he cannot have put my name himself but… I think he may have a hand in that… I don't think someone put my name only so Hogwarts could have a second champion. I think you were right. I think someone wanted to put me in danger."

"Anyone with an ounce of logic would know it, Potter. I'm glad to see that you have it. But why precisely do you think that it is the Dark Lord who is behind all this?"

"Well… There's everything that happened over the last year… Pettigrew's evasion… The Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup… The Dark Mark… I get the feeling that he's growing more powerful… And…"

He hesitated to continue.

"Resume, Potter." Moody seemed really interested in what he had to say. Harry was surprised. Aside from Dumbledore, he didn't know many people who would have listened to such theories.

"I'm wondering if it is Karkaroff who put my name into the Goblet of Fire."

He told Moody about the discussions he surprised between Karkaroff and Snape, and the Headmaster of Durmstrang seemed to show something on his forearm to Snape.

"I know it's not much. I didn't see what was on his forearm, but… I think he was showing Snape his Dark Mark. I saw that Pettigrew had one at the same place at his trial."

"And you are right, Potter," Moddy replied. "All Death Eaters, the closest servants to the Dark Lord, have the symbol of the Dark Mark on their left forearm." Moody removed his sleeve to show Harry this very specific forearm. His own, of course, was normal if you ignored the many scars and burns that populated it. He put his sleeve back into place. "So you believe that Karkaroff did this? That he put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"Maybe. I mean, I don't see who else could have done this." He thought about Snape, but his mind was conflicted on this, between Dumbledore's reassurance that he trusted Snape and his own personal hate of the man. "Though…" There was someone else he thought about. But it seemed even less likely than Snape. Still, Harry decided to test the waters. "Professor, what do you know about Bartemius Crouch Junior?"

On this, both eyes of the professor stared at Harry.

"What about him?"

"He was a Death Eater, wasn't he?"

Moody nodded. "He was."

"And… He's dead? I mean, he's really dead?"

For a long time, Moody observed him very closely.

"Why do you ask such a question, Potter?"

"Because… I made a dream."

It may be foolish, but Harry told Moody about the dream he made, about the discussion between who he thought was Barty Crouch Junior and Voldemort. Again, Moody listened to him attentively.

"But he's dead, right? That dream… It cannot be real?"

This was a question. A part of Harry's mind still held to the possibility that it wasn't only Mr Crouch that he saw on the map. What if it was his son that Harry saw sometimes? What if Mr Crouch was chasing his still living son in Hogwarts, as crazy as this may sound?

"Bartemius Crouch Junior is dead, Harry Potter. That, I can tell you," Moody declared. "I went to Azkaban a few times, and his grave is there. He was buried on the island."

"Yes," Harry replied. "I know it was stupid to think, but…"

"Never say that!" Moody grumbled, making Harry jump in his chair. "Never ignore your instinct, Potter. It's one of the things that kept you alive so far. Aurors have died because they thought something was stupid or impossible. Nothing is stupid or impossible. Unlikely, improbable, rare, it can be. Impossible, never. But Crouch Junior is dead. Whatever you saw in this dream of yours, however real it might have looked, I'm afraid this was only a dream."

Harry felt both relieved and disappointed at the same time. He really got the impression that this dream had something real.

"But for the rest, your instinct is not that wrong," Moody resumed. "Now, I order you to not repeat what I'm going to tell you. Not even your best friends. Not if you want your mother to live. Is that understood?"

This mention made Harry snap. "My mother? What does she have to do with all of this?"

"Why do you think you haven't been able to contact her for months?"

Harry remained there thinking. His mother only told him that she would be… In fact, she never told him why exactly she would be out of reach.

"What happened to her?" he asked, panicking.

"Nothing, Potter. But she is chasing the people responsible for the events at the Quidditch World Cup and the murder that took place around it. That's why you couldn't contact her up to now. She cannot be in contact with anyone while she's chasing these people, so they would not see her coming. And the people she's after… We suspect they have something to do with the Triwizard Tournament as well."

"Really? But… How did they manage…"

"We're not sure. It is possible that they have an agent, an accomplice inside Hogwarts. This is why we have been monitoring you, Potter, and many other people around you. And we're also keeping an eye on everyone we suspect to have any link with the Dark Lord. That's why Crouch has been coming here so often. He's working with us on this."

"So… Dumbledore is still searching who put my name in the Goblet?" Harry asked, feeling less panicked.

"Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic, both. But Dumbledore is searching quietly, without causing waves. So is the Ministry, but secretly. Officially, the investigation in the matter was closed. Crouch is coming here regularly to take news. And much like me, he doesn't trust some people at Hogwarts."

"Who?" Harry asked.

On that, Moody smiled. "Listen to me, Potter. We might be close to finding something. The people who arranged your participation to the Triwizard Tournament are very clever. They managed to do it without bringing the attention on them. But it's impossible to remain hidden forever. One day or another, people must reveal themselves. Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you after your name got out of that Goblet, and that's what I did. But he and the Ministry also asked me to discover who made you participate to the Tournament. And I'm close right now."

"So… you know who did this?"

"I'm not sure yet. I still have a few suspects, but I believe I will have an answer very soon. The third task should bring us clues that will be enough to identify the culprit if I'm right."

"What? You think they might do something during the task?"

"Potter, whoever put your name wanted you no good. You survived the first two tasks. Not only you survived them, but you also made through them at the top. If the goal is to kill you, whoever did this will want to make sure you die in the third task. I've been checking on the Triwizard Cup, the maze and everything that might have the slightest importance in the third task to make sure no one can tamper them. And Dumbledore and the other teachers take it very seriously as well. You will be safe during the third task, but I will also use the opportunity to catch the culprit. As for you, the thing you should worry about is getting through that last task. Then it will be over."

If Moody wanted to reassure Harry, he failed. "So I just need to look over my shoulder the whole time," he said derisively.

"I see you learned well," Moody commented. Harry wondered if he understood the irony in his tone. "Be prepared for the third task, Potter. I'll be prepared to stop the person behind all this. But I must ask you two favors."

"Yes?" Harry asked. What kind of favors could Moody ask of him.

"First, don't talk about this to anybody. Not to your comrades, your professors, your friends, not even your girlfriend." His gaze told he wasn't joking. "All of this must remain secret. The people behind your participation to the Tournament must not hear that I am chasing them. You could even endanger your mother and her mission by talking about this to anybody."

"Okay. I will keep it a secret," Harry promised. He wished he could have talked about it to Ron and Hermione, but if his mother could be endangered by all that, he guessed that he could keep it a secret. "And what is the second favor?"

Moody then seized the Marauder's Map and waved it in front of Harry. "Can I borrow this? It would help me a lot in my research."

"Oh." Harry looked at the torn parchment. He was very attached to it, like he was to the Invisibility Cloak. At the same time, his own mother used it last year to track Pettigrew. Moody had been one of her instructors during her training, and she held him in high esteem. He guessed that he couldn't refuse.

"Yeah. Okay," he said again.

"Good boy. Now, time to leave, Potter. You still have a third task to prepare."

Harry nodded, stood up and made to leave.

"Potter," Moody growled as he reached the door. "Remember. Constant vigilance. And not a word about all this."

"Yes, professor."

Harry left. He went to the Great Hall, where he joined Ron and Hermione whose dinner was almost finished.

"You've been taking your time," Ron commented.

"Sorry," Harry said as he hurriedly grabbed a piece of steak.

"What were you doing?"

"Discussing with Moody. He… had some advice to give me for the Triwizard Tournament." It wasn't entirely false.

"He shouldn't be advising you that much," Hermione said. "Teachers are not supposed to help the champions."

"You really believe that Karkaroff is not helping Krum?" Ron asked, though this wasn't really a question.

"I'm quite sure Madame Maxime is helping Fleur," Harry said, to try and defuse the situation.

"Not to mention Diggory. I'm sure that he's getting lots of help."

"Look, Hermione. Anyway, you have both been helping me for the first and second task. And you're helping me for the third. Maybe too much. Imagine what your mother will do if you fail at an exam, Ron."

By his expression, it was clear that Ron had no desire to experience such a reaction from Mrs Weasley.

"I'll help you, Ron," Hermione said. "And anyway, making sure you get out of the third task alive is more important."

"No," Ron countered. "What's important is that he wins. And you will, Harry."

Harry didn't answer. It was true, a part of him still dreamed of winning the Tournament. He now viewed it as a distinct possibility, considering the results of the previous tasks. At the same time, he was indeed worried that someone might try something against him during the task. Moody was right. If someone wanted him to die, Harry had thwarted his plans so far. No one seemed to have sabotaged the first and second task. But if someone wanted him dead, he could indeed decide to take matters into hands and attempt something more drastic and direct.

After dinner, he, Ron and Hermione went to the Transfiguration classroom. McGonagall had accepted to let them use her classroom to train Harry after they harassed her about it. There, he shared his worries with Ron and Hermione. Moody told Harry to keep his search on the person who put his name in the Goblet a secret, but Harry thought it might not apply to the possibility that someone might put his life in danger during the third task. So he told Ron and Hermione about this theory of Moody.

"This is quite possible," Hermione said after Harry was done explaining them. "After all, whoever did this might think he could kill you and make it look like an accident linked to the Tournament."

"How could he do that?" Ron asked. "I mean, this is going to take place at the pitch. The whole school will be looking at Harry."

"There are many ways to kill someone in front of hundreds of people and still make it look like an accident." She turned to Harry. "Remember you first game of Quidditch. Or when Dobby tricked the Bludger two years ago."

Harry couldn't argue against Hermione's logic. "Bagman told us the hedges would be about six metres tall. There's lots of room to not be seen. And he spoke about magical beasts to fight and spells to be broken. Do you think it would be hard to hide one among all of these?"

"Well, the good news is that Moody and all the others are taking it very seriously and doing everything they can to ensure the third task will be safe."

"They also tried to make sure no one under seventeen would participate to the Tournament, and look where we are," Ron noticed.

"I know," Hermione said, exasperated. "We cannot rely entirely on the teachers and Dumbledore or the Ministry. But that only means Harry must be prepared for anything he might face in that maze. So, why don't we practice that Stunning Spell again?"

They went on to practice. As Harry tried to cast it on both Ron and Hermione one after the other, he thought that indeed, this was the best way to prepare facing whatever was waiting for him in that maze, whether it was planned by the judges or not. He had to master as many spells and countercurses as he could. And that's what he worked to do all night.

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Next chapter: someone comes back