The excitement over the Triwizard Tournament was still thick in the air, and while at breakfast Harry found himself the subject of more than a few glances from nearby tables. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the toast he was buttering, when Colin Creevey came bounding up to their table, his face lit with excitement.

"Harry!" Colin called, holding out a small piece of parchment. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this."

Harry blinked and took the note, curiosity sparking in his chest. "Er, thanks, Colin."

Colin gave an enormous smile.

"He said you would understand. Oh, and he told me to tell you he likes Sherbert lemon?"

Colin beamed, clearly hoping for some more details, but when Harry didn't offer any, he shrugged and hurried off, leaving Harry holding the folded parchment. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Ron and Hermione before unfolding the note.

Harry,
I believe you have something that belongs to me.
Meet me at 6 o'clock in my study.

—Albus Dumbledore

Harry frowned, reading it over again. "I think he's talking about the sword and the Sorting Hat," he muttered. He had kept both since the first task, but only now did it occur to him that Dumbledore might want them back.

"What's it say?" Ron asked, his mouth half-full of sausage.

Harry handed the note over. "He wants me to meet him in his office tonight."

"Probably," Hermione said, nodding. "You've had it for days now. I imagine he noticed."

"Yeah, but why didn't he just come by the common room or send someone to pick it up?" Ron asked, glancing between Harry and the note. "He could've had McGonagall ask for it during class or something."

Harry shrugged, feeling a knot of unease settle in his stomach. "Maybe there's more to it. You don't think I'm in trouble, do you? I mean... I didn't do anything wrong, did I?"

"Well you stole the sorting hat," Hermione replied, though her brow furrowed in thought. "Well, I suppose Ginny did. But he usually doesn't mind too much about such things. Maybe he wants to talk to you about something else. The tournament, perhaps?"

"Could be," Harry said, glancing around the hall again, noticing the way students kept casting admiring glances his way. "But... I don't know. Everyone's been acting weird since the first task."

"Not weird, mate," Ron corrected, grinning. "Ecstatic. You decapitated a dragon. No one's done anything like that before!"

Harry smiled, a little sheepish but secretly enjoying the attention. The school had been buzzing about it for days. For once, the looks and whispers weren't about something bad he had done. In fact, it felt pretty good hearing the admiration. He still wasn't sure how to feel about all the praise, but it was better than the usual gossip that surrounded him.

"Still," Hermione said, a bit more seriously, "Dumbledore doesn't send notes like this unless there's something important. Maybe he wants to check in after the task? He might be concerned."

Before Harry could respond, Ron leaned in. "Did you hear about Krum? Got sent to St. Mungo's."

Harry's eyes widened. "St. Mungo's? Really?"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed, lowering his voice. "Hagrid was talking about it this morning. Krum's not coming back anytime soon."

"I'm not surprised," Hermione said quietly. "I mean, did you see what happened? He was rigid after that blast of dragon fire. Honestly, I'm shocked he even made it out alive."

Ron grimaced. "The way they lifted him off.. Looked like a statue.. blimey."

Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He knew how close he had come to serious injury himself— what if he Ginny hadn't slipped him the Sorting Hat at the last minute? He shoved the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it.

"Apparently Durmstrang is getting another shot at it," Ron said. "Durmstrang's going to have another go with the Goblet tonight, see if it picks a new champion."

Harry frowned. "A second champion? Feels like they're bending the rules a bit."

Ron snorted. "Karkaroff's probably bending Dumbledore's ear about it. Won't let Durmstrang go down without a fight."

The day passed slowly after that. Between classes, students stopped Harry in the corridors to congratulate him or make some comment about how unbelievable his performance during the task had been. He tried to keep his head down, but he found himself smiling more often than not. As much as he tried to downplay it, the praise felt... good. It wasn't often people were happy to see him succeed.

Still, there was the looming question of Dumbledore's meeting. The note had left Harry uneasy, and as the day wore on, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than just returning the sword.

During lunch, there was a small buzz around the absence of Professor Moody. Defense Against the Dark Arts had been canceled, which was rare, and nobody seemed to know where he was.

"Moody's missing now, too?" Harry muttered as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. "That's strange."

"Maybe he's busy with something for Dumbledore," Hermione suggested. "Auror business, perhaps?"

"Or," Ron said darkly, "he's hunting down whoever put your name in the Goblet."

Harry felt a chill at that, but before he could respond, a group of third years stopped by to congratulate him again on his win. As much as he hated the idea of someone trying to sabotage him, the cheers and admiration from his fellow students distracted him just enough to push the darker thoughts aside.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Harry's mind was still swirling with questions. What did Dumbledore really want? Was it just about the sword, or was there something more? The excitement and praise had helped ease his nerves throughout the day, but now, as he made his way toward the headmaster's office, the weight of the note felt heavier in his pocket.

Finally, Harry found himself standing before the stone gargoyle. He reached into his robes, pulling out the crumpled note one last time, his thumb brushing over the neat signature at the bottom.

The stone gargoyle taunted Harry for a long time when Harry had no password to produce for it, until it eventually sighed deeply, and asked him if perhaps the headmaster maybe mentioned some sort of confectionary items he is currently fond of. Harry remembered the enigmatic thing Colin had said to him earlier.

"Um, sherpa lemons?"

The statue sighed deeply again, muttered close enough, and moved to the side.

Harry climbed the staircase and knocked on the door to the headmaster's office. A painting behind Harry that he hadn't noticed before spoke to him in a kind voice,

"You can go in, he's not there, but he asked me to tell you to go right on in, dear."

"Oh, okay."

Harry pushed open the door and entered the strange office of the headmaster. Apart from the strange noises from various instruments around the office, the office was deserted. Harry put the sword of Gryffindor down on the headmasters' desk, along with the sorting hat, for the second time in his life. And just like last time, he was covered in blood and muck.

"Where'd you get that, boy?"

Harry looked up. One of the paintings of the headmasters had spoken. The painting cleared its throat and repeated the question.

"I'd rather not say."

"Good lad, wouldn't want to get the little redhead in any trouble would you."

The painting gave a good-natured chuckle. Harry blinked.

"If you knew, they why- "

"How'd your first task go?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

The portrait huffed

"You are indeed. What of the beast?"

"Dead. Cut its head off."

"Very good, lad."

The door to Dumbledore's study opened, and the headmaster entered.

"Congratulations, Harry. That was very well executed."

"Thank you, sir."

"And thank you for returning the sorting hat, our first years of next terms start will be immensely grateful. Though something tells me our dear sorting hat has been criminally underutilized for a very long time."

"Well, it's great for producing weapons, professor."

"Not for just anyone, I'm afraid."

"Sir?"

"Well, take me for instance. For as many hours I have spent with that hat, it never produced so much as a toothpick for me. Now, of course I was not sorted into Gryffindor, as you were, so it might of course be the case that it truly only answers to, well, Gryffindor students."

"Sir, were you in any danger when you tried?"

Dumbledore paused for a long time. A small smile crept upon his face.

"Sometimes, my dear boy, and it is very rare, I feel truly stupid. No, I wasn't. I'll have to add that particular circumstance to the equation at my earliest convenience."

Dumbledore, took a seat behind his desk, looked up with a serene smile. "Ah, Harry," he said, gesturing for him to sit. "Thank you for coming."

Harry nodded, feeling a flutter of nerves as he placed the sword of Gryffindor and the slightly crumpled Sorting Hat on Dumbledores desk.

Dumbledore smiled kindly as he accepted them. "Do let Miss Weasley know next time all she needs do is knock?"

Harry froze for a second. He felt his face grow warm.

Dumbledore watched him in silence for a moment before leaning forward slightly, his gaze gentle. "Ginevra Weasley gave you the Hat before the task, did she not?"

Harry swallowed hard, his heart sinking. Dumbledore already knew.

"And as for Miss Delacour," Dumbledore continued, his voice soft, "I am well aware that she had a hand in you entering the Tournament, though I suspect she did not realize she was entering a minor. You show quite the talent for having witches around you do your bidding."

Harry's stomach twisted with guilt.

"If you're going to punish anyone—"

Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping him. "Harry," he said gently, "neither Miss Weasley nor Miss Delacour are in any trouble. In fact, I find it admirable that your first concern is for their wellbeing, rather than your own. It speaks to your loyalty, your protectiveness."

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. He had been certain he was going to face consequences for what had happened, and that Ginny—who had taken a huge risk by stealing the Hat for him—would be in even bigger trouble. But Dumbledore didn't seem remotely upset.

"You should know," Dumbledore continued, his voice calm, "that I am not in the habit of punishing those who act out of friendship and bravery. Ginevra saw an opportunity to help you, and she took it. Miss Delacour was... misled, yes, but you acted in the heat of the moment, under pressures that few your age can comprehend. No harm has been done."

Harry shifted in his seat, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. "I just... I didn't think everything would turn out like it did. I was just trying to get through the task. I didn't mean to drag anyone else into it."

Dumbledore's smile softened, and he placed the sword of Gryffindor back on his desk, the gleaming blade catching the light. "You have shouldered many burdens, Harry. More than most. But you must learn to forgive yourself for those things that are beyond your control. You did what you felt was necessary, and now we move forward."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, nodding slowly. He was glad that Ginny wouldn't be facing any trouble, but the conversation with Dumbledore had left him feeling exposed, as if the headmaster had seen straight through every defense Harry had tried to put up.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair again, folding his hands in his lap.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then slowly began speaking. "I... I know there were two notes, Professor. My name came out twice. So really, I didn't do anything all that bad, did I? My name was going to come out either way."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Quite an observation, Harry. Indeed, your name would have emerged from the Goblet regardless of your actions with Miss Delacour. Your second entry in the Tournament was the result of someone else's dangerous intentions, I'm afraid."

Harry frowned. "Do you know who it was?"

Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but Harry sensed a shift in the air. "What I can tell you, Harry, is that the magic binding the Goblet of Fire is ancient and powerful. To interfere with its workings, to place a name—well, such an act carries consequences."

Harry's curiosity deepened. "Consequences? You mean, for the person who entered my name? What exactly happens to them?" Harry asked. "Do you know?"

Dumbledore watched him for a moment. Harry's mind was still racing with questions, but one thought suddenly came to the forefront.

"Professor... where's Professor Moody? Defense Against the Dark Arts was cancelled today, and no one's seen him."

Dumbledore's expression shifted, becoming serious. Dumbledore hesitated, then leaned forward, his voice lower and more deliberate.

"Continue, Harry."

"Was it professor Moody?" Harry didn't quite believe his own words as he said them.

"What I am about to tell you, Harry, is not for anyone else's ears. It must remain strictly between us."

Harry nodded quickly, leaning in closer, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"The man you know as Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said quietly, "is not, in fact, Alastor Moody."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"The real Alastor Moody was taken some time ago," Dumbledore explained. "An impostor took his place, a death eater. This impostor has been posing as Moody since the start of term, but I have been aware of the deception for some time and kept an eye on him."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "How?"

Dumbledore's gaze was steady. "There are... certain ways that Alastor and I confirm our identities when we meet. Secret signals, if you will. I needed time, Harry. Time to understand what he was planning, and to ensure that the real Moody was safe, and where he was. I was afraid a confrontation could mean the certain death of Alastor Moody"

Harry's mind was spinning. "So... where's Moody now?"

"Rescued," Dumbledore said simply. "He is recovering and will return to his post on Monday. The impostor, meanwhile, is... facing the consequences of his actions."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Yes. The magical contract has begun to unravel for him. He will not survive much longer. We are doing what we can to prolong and reverse what can be reversed."

Harry swallowed hard. "What happens now?"

"For now," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair, "we wait. Moody will return, and this matter will soon be resolved. But you must tell no one, Harry. Not even Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley."

Harry nodded slowly, still reeling from the revelation. "I won't."

Dumbledore smiled kindly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've done well, Harry. We will speak again soon. Until then, I suggest you get some rest. There is much still to come."

With that, Dumbledore dismissed him, and Harry left the office, his mind spinning with everything he had just learned.