The Impostor

In the end, Harry had taken up Moody's offer and attended his N.E.W.T. classes, and while they were much more advanced than the fourth years, he didn't learn anything new.

Although he had to admit, sharing a class with Cedric was quite fun.

The older Hufflepuff appreciated good humour, and Harry managed to cast a spell his way more than once during their sole lesson. It had been tricky managing that behind Moody's magical eye, which seemed to watch the whole room, but Harry could see the blasted swirling ball even while the man had his back to them.

It was also entertaining attending classes with the older Gryffindors. Although he wasn't particularly close to any of them, it was an enlightening experience seeing how they behaved in class.

Then, of course, there was the other reason Harry had accepted Moody's offer… the true reason.

During the two lessons he had attended, he had spent as much time as he could spying on the old sot.

'It has to do something with that flask of his. Whenever he drinks from that, the illusory magic surrounding him acts up,' Harry thought to himself as his eyes followed the professor's movements around the classroom.

Something wasn't right, and Harry knew only one potion that could alter a person's appearance.

'Well, there's also the one-time Animagi potions, but seeing as Moody is still human, it couldn't be that.'

And that meant Professor Alastor Moody was drinking Polyjuice Potion, and quite frequently at that. At least once every hour, like clockwork, the professor would take a swig from his hip flask.

The implications of this discovery were both concerning and intriguing—someone was impersonating the real Alastor Moody since it would make no sense for the man to drink a potion that altered his appearance to that of himself.

And the impostor was doing so right under Dumbledore's nose, Moody's thought-to-be best friend.

'It wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore let someone dangerous into the castle,' Harry mused darkly, remembering Quirrell and his passenger. 'The questions are: what does this impostor want? Is Dumbledore in on it? And at last, who is it?'

Harry didn't know the answers to any of these questions, but as soon as the lesson finished, he'd find out.

He wasn't about to let people's schemes ruin his life again, and he was sure that whomever the person in front of him was had something planned for him.

'After all, nothing happens in Hogwarts that doesn't involve bloody Harry Potter,' Harry thought bitterly, tired of the universe making a joke of him.

Wherever he was, it was a fact that he was at the centre of every conspiracy and plot that unfolded within a hundred miles of him.

'Well, at least this time, I caught on early enough to do something about it.'

As the bell rang, dismissing the class, Harry lingered, meticulously packing his belongings with deliberate slowness, his heart quickening with each passing second.

Moody—no, the impostor—was at the desk, shuffling through parchment, seemingly oblivious. But Harry knew better.

"Something on your mind, Potter?" Moody grunted suddenly, his magical eye spinning to pin Harry in place.

"Actually, sir," Harry began carefully, keeping his tone respectfully curious, "I've been meaning to ask you about your proposal. I don't think I gained anything from the two lessons I just attended."

Moody snorted. "Gained anything? I know you are much better than your schoolmates, Potter. I just wanted us both to see how much better that is. Constant vigilance means observing everything around you," he said and swivelled his magical eye meaningfully.

"I agree, sir. There was also something else. That flask you keep— is it a potion or something? You drink it like clockwork."

Moody paused, the briefest hint of suspicion flickering across his scarred features before he schooled them into a grimace. "Auror business, Potter. Old wounds. You wouldn't understand."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Moody's. "I'm just curious because, well, your magical signature shifts when you drink it."

Moody's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And what exactly would you know about magical signatures, Potter? That's advanced magic—far beyond your years."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's like you said, I'm ahead of my peers… Professor Dumbledore mentioned it once. I've been studying it since. It's fascinating, actually," he lied.

"Fascinating," Moody repeated, his tone biting, his good eye fixing Harry with an intensity that belied casual interest. "Careful, Potter. Curiosity isn't always healthy."

"That's true," Harry agreed smoothly, his pulse quickening, excitement and caution warring within him. "But isn't vigilance all about recognising threats? Even hidden ones?"

'Come on, old man, or whoever you are. Get the hint,' Harry thought, his hand twitching for his wand.

Moody stood straighter, his hands gripping the edge of his desk tightly.

The magical eye seemed almost frantic, rolling in its socket. Harry sensed the underlying panic, carefully concealed beneath practised bravado.

"Why don't you speak plainly, Potter?" Moody snapped impatiently. "You're dancing around something. Out with it."

Harry met the challenge with a smirk. "Polyjuice Potion is quite difficult to maintain, isn't it, sir? Constant doses every hour, the strain of keeping the façade up... Must be tiring."

Moody's visible eye flashed dangerously. "Bold claim, Potter. Dangerous, too, if unfounded."

"Oh, it's founded," Harry replied coolly, allowing his own eyes to glint with calculated resolve.

"Who are you, really?" he demanded quietly, holding Moody's gaze steadily. "What do you want at Hogwarts?"

Moody stopped mere feet away, his voice dropping dangerously low. "You're playing with fire, Potter."

Harry smiled coldly, a surprising surge of confidence filling him. "I'm used to it."

Moody ran his tongue over his lips in a quick, twitchy motion. "Be careful you don't get burned."

Before Harry could say anything else, the other man summoned his wand and cast a spell at him.

Surprise flickered across fake Moody's eyes when his spell ricocheted off empty air and back at him.

He barely managed to dodge the sickly purple flash before straightening up with a snarl on his twisted face. "You're full of surprises, aren't you, Potter?"

His wand remained trained on Harry, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Where did you learn that spell?" the impostor demanded, but Harry had lost all interest in the conversation.

'I wonder which spell he means. The mirror spell that I've altered, or Mortis Anathema. I suppose both are concerning. But he should have known about the mirror—'

Harry's stream of thoughts was cut short as he felt the magic from the other man swirling.

He knew what would come before the impostor cast it. 'Is he serious?'

The fake Moody shifted his weight, readying for another attack, but Harry was faster.

"CRUCIO," the impostor bellowed as a flock of ravens erupted from Harry's wand, diving straight for his face.

The Unforgivable hit one of the many creatures harmlessly, dispersing it into puffs of feathers.

Moody's eyes burned with cold fury as he raised his wand again and vanished the birds.

By then, it was too late—Harry wasn't about to let the fight drag on.

'Bombarda Diabolica!' Harry thought, unleashing a blazing blue sphere that devoured all of the impostor's counterattacks and then shattered through Moody's hastily erected shields.

He was thrown backwards, crashing into his desk with a sickening thud.

Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead as he lay there, but it was nothing compared to the horrible burns on his whole body.

Harry watched dispassionately as his fire cancelled the Polyjuice's magic, and it began to wear off, revealing the impostor's true features.

Now in control of Salazar's spell, he waved his hand and extinguished the cursed flames with practised ease, making sure none of the blue fire would spread through the castle.

The old Auror's magical eye rolled uselessly on the floor, its enchantments broken by the power of Harry's spell.

The scarred face melted away, replaced by pale skin and straw-coloured hair.

"Who the fuck are you?" Harry asked the unconscious man who lay before him.

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Chapter 96: The Impostor

Chapter 97: Friends

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Chapter 105: Voldemort's soul