e, Potter. I was sure
Cedric would want to repay you for telling him about the dragons, and so he did.
But even then,
Potter, even then you seemed likely to fail. I was watching all the time ... all those
hours in the library. Didn't you realize that the book you needed was in your
dormitory all along? I planted it there early on, I gave it to the Longbottom boy,
don't you remember? Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. It would have
told you all you needed to know about gillyweed. I expected you to ask everyone
and anyone you could for help. Longbottom would have told you in an instant. But
you did not. . . you did not. . . . You have a streak of pride and independence that
might have ruined all.
"So what could I do? Feed you information from another innocent source. You
told me at the Yule Ball a house-elf called Dobby had given you a Christmas
present. I called the elf to the staffroom to collect some robes for cleaning. I staged
a loud conversation with Professor McGonagall about the hostages who had been
taken, and whether Potter would think to use gillyweed. And your little elf friend
ran straight to Snape's office and then hurried to find you..."
Moodys wand was still pointing directly at Harry's heart. Over his shoulder, foggy
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shapes were moving in the Foe-Glass on the wall.
"You were so long in that lake, Potter, I thought you had drowned. But luckily,
Dumbledore took your idiocy for nobility, and marked you high for it. I breathed
again.
"You had an easier time of it than you should have in that maze tonight, of
course," said Moody. "I was patrolling around it, able to see through the outer
hedges, able to curse many obstacles out of your way. I Stunned Fleur Delacour as
she passed. I put the Imperius Curse on Krum, so that he would finish Diggory and
leave your path to the cup clear."
Harry stared at Moody. He just didn't see how this could be. ... Dumbledore's
friend, the famous Auror. . . the one who had caught so many Death Eaters ... It
made no sense ... no sense at all. ...
The foggy shapes in the Foe-Glass were sharpening, had become more distinct.
Harry could see the outlines of three people over Moody's shoulder, moving closer
and closer. But Moody wasn't watching them. His magical eye was upon Harry.
"The Dark Lord didn't manage to kill you. Potter, and he so wanted to," whispered
Moody. "Imagine how he will reward me when he finds I have done it for him. I
gave you to him - the thing he needed above all to regenerate - and then I killed
you for him. I will be honored beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest,
his closest supporter . . . closer than a son. ..."
Moody's normal eye was bulging, the magical eye fixed upon Harry. The door was
barred, and Harry knew he would never reach his own wand in time. . . .
"The Dark Lord and I," said Moody, and he looked completely insane now,
towering over Harry, leering down at him, "have much in common. Both of us, for
instance, had very disappointing fathers . . . very disappointing indeed. Both of us
suffered the indignity, Harry, of being named after those fathers. And both of us
had the pleasure . . . the very great pleasure ... of killing our fathers to ensure the
continued rise of the Dark Order!"
"You're mad," Harry said - he couldn't stop himself- "you're mad!"
"Mad, am I?" said Moody, his voice rising uncontrollably. "We'll see! We'll see
who's mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back,
Harry Potter, you did not conquer him - and now - I conquer you!"
Moody raised his wand, he opened his mouth; Harry plunged his own hand into
his robes -
"Stupefy!" There was a blinding flash of red light, and with a great splintering and
crashing, the door of Moody's office was blasted apart -
Moody was thrown backward onto the office floor. Harry, still staring at the place
where Moody's face had been, saw Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and
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Professor McGonagall looking back at him out of the Foe-Glass. He looked
around and saw the three of them standing in the doorway, Dumbledore in front,
his wand outstretched.
At that moment, Harry fully understood for the first time why people said
Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. The look upon
Dumbledore's face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody
was more terrible than Harry could have ever imagined. There was no benign
smile upon Dumbledore's face, no twinkle in the eyes behind the spectacles. There
was cold fury in every line of the ancient face; a sense of power radiated from
Dumbledore as though he were giving off burning heat.
He stepped into the office, placed a foot underneath Moodys unconscious body,
and kicked him over onto his back, so that his face was visible. Snape followed
him, looking into the Foe-Glass, where his own face was still visible, glaring into
the room. Professor McGonagall went straight to Harry.
"Come along, Potter," she whispered. The thin line of her mouth was twitching as
though she was about to cry. "Come along . . . hospital wing ..."
"No," said Dumbledore sharply.
"Dumbledore, he ought to - look at him - he's been through enough tonight -"
"He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand," said Dumbledore curtly.
"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there
be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered
tonight, and why,"
"Moody," Harry said. He was still in a state of complete disbelief. "How can it
have been Moody?"
"This is not Alastor Moody," said Dumbledore quietly. "You have never known
Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after
what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew - and I followed."
Dumbledore bent down over Moody's limp form and put a hand inside his robes.
He pulled out Moody's hip flask and a set of keys on a ring. Then he turned to
Professors McGonagall and Snape.
"Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go
down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go
down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the
pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly,
then come back here."
If either Snape or McGonagall found these instructions peculiar, they hid their
confusion. Both turned at once and left the office. Dumbledore walked over to the
trunk with seven locks, fitted the first key in the lock, and opened it. It contained a
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mass of spell-books. Dumbledore closed the trunk, placed a second key in the
second lock, and opened the trunk again. The spellbooks had vanished; this time it
contained an assortment of broken Sneako-scopes, some parchment and quills, and
what looked like a silvery Invisibility Cloak. Harry watched, astounded, as
Dumbledore placed the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth keys in their respective locks,
reopening the trunk each time, and revealing different contents each time. Then he
placed the seventh key in the lock, threw open the lid, and Harry let out a cry of
amazement.
He was looking down into a kind of pit, an underground room, and lying on the
floor some ten feet below, apparently fast asleep, thin and starved in appearance,
was the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was gone, the socket that should
have held the magical eye looked empty beneath its lid, and chunks of his grizzled
hair were missing. Harry stared, thunderstruck, between the sleeping Moody in the
trunk and the unconscious Moody lying on the floor of the office.
Dumbledore climbed into the trunk, lowered himself, and fell lightly onto the floor
beside the sleeping Moody. He bent over him.
"Stunned - controlled by the Imperius Curse - very weak," he said. "Of course,
they would have needed to keep him alive. Harry, throw down the imposter's cloak
- he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no
immediate danger."
Harry did as he was told; Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak, tucked it
around him, and clambered out of the trunk again. Then he picked up the hip flask
that stood upon the desk, unscrewed it, and turned it over. A thick glutinous liquid
splattered onto the office floor.
"Polyjuice Potion, Harry," said Dumbledore. "You see the simplicity of it, and the
brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known
for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he
could continue making the potion. You see his hair ..." Dumbledore looked down
on the Moody in the trunk. "The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see
where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody
might have forgotten to take it as frequendy as he should have done ... on the hour
. . . every hour. . . . We shall see."
Dumbledore pulled out the chair at the desk and sat down upon it, his eyes fixed
upon the unconscious Moody on the floor. Harry stared at him too. Minutes passed
in silence... .
Then, before Harry's very eyes, the face of the man on the floor began to change.
The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth; the mangled nose
became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair was
withdrawing into the scalp and turning the color of straw. Suddenly, with a loud
clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place; next moment,
the magical eyeball had popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it; it
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rolled away across the floor and continued to swivel in every direction.
Harry saw a man lying before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of
fair hair. He knew who he was. He had seen him in Dumbledore's Pensieve, had
watched him being led away from court by the dementors, trying to convince Mr.
Crouch that he was innocent. . . but h