CHAPTER 5: CAUTION IN THE SHADOWS

The evening wore on, and the students began to drift out of the Great Hall, eager to settle into their dormitories. Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed toward Gryffindor Tower, their conversation inevitably turning to their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Do you think he'll be as intense in class?" Ron asked, looking somewhat apprehensive.

"From what I've heard, he's not one for wasting time," Hermione said thoughtfully. "We might be in for a very different kind of Defense Against the Dark Arts experience this year."

Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of anticipation and unease. Moody's reputation for being unyielding and thorough was well-known, and given the gravity of their previous encounters with the Dark Arts, Harry was both relieved and slightly anxious about what lay ahead.

The Great Hall erupted into a cacophony of excited and shocked voices. The announcement of the Triwizard Tournament had clearly caught everyone by surprise. Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, exchanged astonished looks.

"Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione said, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and concern. "But that's—"

"—a dangerous magical competition between three wizarding schools," Ron finished for her. "Yeah, I know. But I thought it was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing."

"It is," Hermione said, still staring at Dumbledore. "But I thought it was canceled permanently after the last one because of the deaths."

Harry's mind raced. The Triwizard Tournament was infamous for its perilous challenges and the tragic events that unfolded during the last one. He remembered the deaths of Cedric Diggory and the return of Voldemort with a shiver. The thought of reliving those events was daunting.

Dumbledore continued speaking, trying to calm the crowd. "The tournament is a great honor for Hogwarts, and I trust you will all rise to the occasion and demonstrate the courage and skill that has always been the hallmark of this school. However, I must remind you that the tournament is open only to students who are seventeen years old or above. The selection of champions will be carried out by the Goblet of Fire, which will be placed in the entrance hall in due course."

Fred and George, clearly not deterred by the warning, were already discussing ways they might enter the competition in some unconventional manner. The atmosphere in the Hall was a mix of excitement, apprehension, and the inevitable curiosity that surrounded such an event.

Hermione, looking pensive, turned to Harry and Ron. "This is big. Really big. And potentially dangerous. We need to be careful."

Ron nodded. "Right. Especially with Moody around. I wonder what kind of challenges they'll have this time."

Harry felt a familiar knot in his stomach. He was aware of the stakes involved and the potential for things to go terribly wrong. Despite the excitement surrounding the event, he knew they would have to be vigilant.

As the buzz in the Great Hall continued, Harry found himself deep in thought. The presence of Mad-Eye Moody and the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament signaled that this year at Hogwarts would be anything but ordinary. He glanced at his friends, knowing that whatever came next, they would face it together, just as they always had.

"Let's get some rest," Harry said to Ron and Hermione as the feast started to wind down. "It's going to be a busy year."

Madam Pomfrey listened attentively, her expression growing more concerned as Hermione detailed Harry's behavior and the unsettling observations he made. When Hermione finished, Pomfrey turned to Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"Mr. Potter," she said, "I understand that you're feeling uneasy about the new professor and the Triwizard Tournament. However, unless you have specific symptoms or any immediate concerns about your health, it's difficult for me to determine what might be troubling you."

Harry felt a bit awkward under Pomfrey's scrutinizing gaze. He knew he couldn't reveal his suspicions outright. "I... I've just been feeling a bit off lately," he admitted. "But it's probably just the stress of returning to Hogwarts."

Pomfrey's eyes softened slightly. "Well, if you're feeling unwell or if you have any particular symptoms, do let me know. For now, I would suggest that you try to get some rest. Stress can manifest in many ways, and sometimes a good night's sleep is all that's needed."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I think that's a good idea, Harry. Just take it easy for tonight."

Ron, who had been silent during the exchange, looked between Harry and Hermione. "So, we're not going to try to figure out what's going on with Moody tonight?"

"I think it's better if we wait until we have more concrete information," Hermione said. "And besides, it's late. We should get some sleep."

Harry reluctantly agreed. As they left the hospital wing, he felt a mix of frustration and relief. He knew he had to stay alert and gather more evidence before making any accusations. For now, he had to focus on keeping his suspicions under control and not letting them interfere with his daily life at Hogwarts.

As they walked back to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione and Ron chatted about their classes and the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry, however, remained lost in thought. His mind kept drifting back to Moody—or rather, the person he suspected was Barty Crouch Jr. disguised as Moody.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry said goodnight to his friends and headed to his dormitory. As he lay in bed, he reviewed everything he had observed about the new professor. He knew he had to be cautious and strategic in his approach. With the stakes so high and the potential danger so real, he needed to make sure he had all the facts before taking any action.

Ron and Hermione exchanged relieved smiles. It was good to see Harry's mood lighten a bit, and they appreciated his understanding and patience.

"The password is 'Gillywater' this week," Ron said, pulling out the Gryffindor password for the common room from his memory. "We should probably get inside before the Fat Lady decides to lock us out."

They entered the common room, which was filled with the warm, golden glow of the fire and the comfortable chatter of other students winding down after the feast. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to their usual seats by the fireplace. As they settled in, the warmth of the room and the familiar surroundings began to soothe Harry's frazzled nerves.

"So," Ron said, breaking the silence, "what's the deal with this Triwizard Tournament? I mean, it sounds exciting and all, but with the way Dumbledore was talking, it seems like there's more to it than just some fun magical tasks."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I've read about it, of course. The tasks are meant to test the champions in different ways, but the risk of danger is very real. That's why it was discontinued after a few years. There were too many casualties."

"Yeah, and now it's back," Ron added. "Great timing, right? Just when we thought things couldn't get any crazier."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his mind still racing with the day's events. "We'll need to be careful. Especially with someone like Barty Crouch Jr. involved. If he's really impersonating Moody, there's no telling what he might do. We need to stay alert and gather as much information as we can."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "We should start by paying attention to anything unusual. I'm sure there will be clues if we know what to look for. And remember, we have to keep our suspicions to ourselves. No one else can know what we suspect until we have concrete proof."

Ron nodded. "Agreed. We don't want to end up in trouble ourselves."

As the evening progressed, Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked quietly about their plans for the year. They discussed the best ways to investigate without drawing too much attention and tried to come up with a strategy to monitor 'Moody' without arousing suspicion.

Eventually, the common room began to empty out as students headed to bed. Harry yawned, feeling the exhaustion of the day catching up with him.

"I think I'm going to head to bed," he said. "We've got a long year ahead of us, and I could use a good night's sleep."

"Same here," Ron agreed. "See you in the morning, Harry."

Hermione gave Harry a reassuring smile. "Rest up. Tomorrow's a new day, and we'll tackle whatever comes our way."

Harry made his way up the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory, his footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise quiet tower. A mixture of apprehension and determination churned within him. The year ahead was sure to be challenging, but with Ron and Hermione by his side, he felt a flicker of hope and readiness to face whatever awaited them.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he couldn't help but reflect on the earlier chaos. The ruckus over the Triwizard Tournament had been nothing short of Balderdash. Thankfully, Hermione had been attentive during the feast and had managed to learn the password to Gryffindor Tower. Harry, however, was less enthusiastic about the idea of spending his first night at Hogwarts on the cold, hard floor if he couldn't find a bed.

"Good night," Hermione called out to them with a tired but warm smile as she headed towards the girls' dormitory.

"Sleep tight, Hermione. We'll see you in the morning," Harry replied, his voice echoing slightly in the dimly lit corridor. He and Ron then turned towards the spiral staircase leading to their dormitory.

As they climbed the stairs, the sounds of the storm outside grew fainter, replaced by the soft creak of the steps beneath their feet. When they finally entered the dormitory, Neville and the others were already settled in.

"Evening, lads," Harry greeted, slipping off his shoes and stretching his tired limbs.

"Hey, Harry, Ron," Neville responded from his bed, where he was already buried under a heap of blankets. "How was the feast?"

"Eventful," Ron said with a shrug, already rummaging through his trunk for his pajamas. "Glad to be off my feet, to be honest."

Once they had changed into their pajamas and gotten comfortable in their beds, the room was filled with a serene warmth, a stark contrast to the storm that still raged outside. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting fleeting shadows across the walls.

"I might go in for it, you know," Ron said sleepily, his voice muffled by the darkness. "If George and Fred figure out how to get into the Tournament, I might just tag along."

"The Tournament?" Harry asked, turning towards Ron in surprise.

"Yeah, the Triwizard Tournament. Imagine it—a thousand galleons and all that glory!" Ron's voice was thick with excitement.

Harry's face grew serious. "Ron, it might not be as great as it sounds. People have died in that Tournament before."

Ron turned his head, his eyes meeting Harry's with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "Are you mad? Who wouldn't want that? A thousand galleons and eternal fame? It's a dream!"

"That's the problem," Harry said firmly. "I'm staying away from it. You should too. They might say it's safer now, but I'm not buying it. People have died. I don't want any part of it."

Ron didn't respond, instead turning to face the ceiling, lost in thought.

Harry sighed, knowing that Ron was unlikely to heed his warning. He had done his best to offer his advice, but ultimately, it would be Ron's decision.

Turning onto his side, Harry's mind wandered back over the events of the day. He couldn't shake the feeling that he might wake up the next morning to find that he was back to being a 92-year-old version of himself, that all of this was just a strange, bizarre dream.

It better be.

But as he recalled the sharp sting of Hermione's smacks—twice—it was clear that this was no mere dream. If it were, he wouldn't feel anything. Harry shook his head, muttering to himself, "This is not a dream. Definitely not. This is as real as it gets. Damn."

As the night wore on, the dormitory remained shrouded in a heavy silence, intermittently disturbed by the distant rumbling thunder and Ron's rhythmic snoring. The combination created a peculiar symphony, one that marked the hours of an unpredictable night.

It was a quarter past two in the morning, and Harry lay wide awake in his bed, staring at the dark, shadowed ceiling. His mind was a whirlpool of unanswered questions and unsettling thoughts. For hours, his thoughts had been a relentless barrage of inquiries that seemed to have no clear answers.

The concept of time travel was utterly alien to him. Throughout his 92 years, he had never heard of any witch or wizard achieving such a feat. Hell, he wasn't even sure if it was theoretically possible. Like Neil Armstrong, who was celebrated as the first Muggle to set foot on the moon, Harry wondered if he was now the first human—wizard or otherwise—to manage such a feat. The notion was both bewildering and extraordinary.

He hadn't intended to travel back in time. He hadn't even known it was possible. One moment, he was lying on the bed he shared with Fleur, and the next, he found himself in a train compartment, with Ron—who was supposed to be dead—and Hermione, in his 15-year-old body. It was incomprehensible. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

There had to be an explanation, something beyond his current understanding. The only conclusion he could draw was that someone—or something—had sent him back through time. But for what purpose? What task or mission was he meant to accomplish?

And why return to his fourth year at Hogwarts?

Harry recalled his fourth year with a shudder. It had been a tumultuous time filled with pain and danger. He had been unwillingly thrust into the Triwizard Tournament, a series of events that had set off a chain reaction of despair. The revelation of him being the fourth champion had led to a cascade of problems, culminating in Cedric Diggory's death and Voldemort's return. He had barely survived it once, and the thought of reliving those harrowing experiences was almost unbearable.

Sitting up in bed, Harry buried his face in his hands, feeling the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. It seemed as though the events of his past were destined to repeat themselves, a cruel twist of fate forcing him to endure the same trials once more.

But then, a spark of hope ignited in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to alter the course of events. Harry rose from his bed, his thoughts crystalizing into a resolute determination. He walked over to the nearest window, peering out into the stormy night. The wind howled and rain lashed against the glass, but Harry's focus was on the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's hut nestled nearby.

He knew Voldemort was out there, hiding in the shadows, weakened but still a threat. If he could confront him now, before his strength was fully restored, perhaps he could prevent some of the future suffering. The thought was tempting, but it was fraught with complications. Voldemort still had nearly all of his Horcruxes intact, and as long as those Horcruxes existed, the Dark Lord could not be truly defeated. Harry knew that any attempt to eliminate Voldemort would be incomplete until all of his Horcruxes were destroyed.

A plan began to form in Harry's mind, a strategy to turn the tide in his favor. If he played his cards right, if he was careful and strategic, he might be able to change the course of events and protect those he cared about, including Sirius Black.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Harry returned to his bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. He stared at the ceiling once more, his mind racing with plans and possibilities. The arrival of October would mark the beginning of his strategy. The Triwizard Tournament would be his starting point, and Barty Crouch Jr. would be his first target.

As sleep gradually overtook him, his thoughts softened, and he saw Fleur Delacour in his dreams, clad in a beautiful silvery-white dress, her serene smile lighting up the darkness.

"Good night, love," she whispered softly, her words a comforting balm to his restless soul.

Harry's last waking thought was a hopeful one. The upcoming events might hold the key to changing everything. And with that comforting thought, he finally drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep.

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