The Tenth Weasley - CH - 144

The days following the Second Task passed more peacefully than any Durmstrang or Hogwarts student could remember.

The castle no longer echoed with the frantic noise of speculation and bets; instead, there was a strange calm — the kind that comes after witnessing something extraordinary.

Harry Weasley’s name filled every whispering corridor and every folded page of the Daily Prophet.

Yet, while the school talked of Harry’s magic and power, something quieter and far more human was happening just beyond the gossip — a new friendship was being born.

The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows of the hospital wing. The scent of potion herbs and polish filled the air.

Fleur Delacour sat beside Gabrielle’s bed, gently brushing her sister’s hair. The little girl slept peacefully under Madam Pomfrey’s watchful charms.

Hermione Granger arrived carrying two steaming cups of cocoa. “You look like you could use this,” she said softly.

Fleur looked up in surprise. “For me?”

“For both of us,” Hermione said, setting one cup in front of her and sitting in the next chair. “You’ve been here all morning. You should warm up.”

Fleur hesitated, then smiled gratefully. “Merci. You are kind.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to Gabrielle’s calm breathing.

Hermione glanced at Fleur. “You know, after what you did down there… nobody’s calling you weak anymore.”

Fleur gave a small laugh, though her voice was tinged with sadness. “Weak? Non, they call me dramatic, emotional, foolish.”

Hermione frowned. “Then they’re idiots. You swam into a lake full of Grindylows to save your sister. That’s not foolish — that’s brave.”

Fleur looked down at her hands, twisting the rim of her cup. “Bravery… you speak it so easily, like it is a habit. But for me, courage comes with fear. I thought I was strong, until I saw her trapped below the water.”

Her eyes glistened. “For a moment, I did not think. I only swam. And then… they pulled me back. I thought I lost her forever.”

Hermione touched her hand gently. “You didn’t. And if it helps, I was terrified too — of drowning, of failing Harry, of not waking up again.”

They shared a small, understanding smile — two very different girls realizing that fear had made them equals.

After a quiet moment, Fleur whispered, “It is strange for me… to have a girl sit and speak with me kindly. It does not happen often.”

Hermione tilted her head. “Why not?”

Fleur hesitated. “Since I was young, I have been... noticed. The boys stare, the girls glare. They think I want to steal their attention, but I do not. It makes me lonely, even when everyone is looking.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “I think I understand. People see the outside and forget there’s more inside.”

Fleur looked surprised. “You understand too well.”

Hermione smiled gently. “Maybe because I’ve been judged for different reasons. I was always the know-it-all bookworm nobody wanted to sit with in first year.”

Fleur chuckled softly. “And now?”

“Now,” Hermione said with a wry smile, “I’m still a bookworm, but Harry insists I’m a useful one.”

Fleur laughed — an honest, musical laugh that made the nurse glance over and shake her head fondly.

When the laughter faded, Fleur’s expression softened, almost wistful.

“Harry,” she said quietly, as though the name itself carried weight. “He is... different.”

Hermione blinked. “Different?”

“Oui,” Fleur said, eyes distant. “He does not look. Not the way others do. When men see me, they see what I am — Veela, beauty, magic that clouds the mind. But he looks through it. It is… unsettling.”

Hermione tilted her head, half-teasing. “Unsettling? You make it sound terrible.”

Fleur smiled faintly. “Non. It is rare. It makes me feel like I am seen, not… displayed.”

She caught herself, shaking her head. “Do not misunderstand. I know he is yours, and I am happy for you. But part of me wonders what it is like to be someone who cannot be enchanted.”

Hermione looked down at her cup, then back up. “He doesn’t notice anyone the way people think he does. Half the time, he’s lost in his head. But you’re right — he sees people for who they are. That’s probably why we all trust him.”

Fleur nodded thoughtfully. “And that is why he frightens everyone. They cannot charm him either.”

The door opened, and Harry’s familiar silhouette appeared. His hair was messy as always, his cloak still half-wet from some misfired spell near the lake.

He smiled when he saw them. “You two talking about me again?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Only a little.”

Fleur stood gracefully. “Your Hermione is teaching me how to drink cocoa properly. I think she wins every debate.”

Harry grinned. “That’s how she got me too.”

Hermione elbowed him lightly. “Stop making it sound like a duel.”

Harry looked at Gabrielle, then at Fleur. “She’s safe now. You did good, Fleur.”

For a brief moment, none of them spoke. The golden afternoon light filled the room, warming the stone walls, softening the edges of exhaustion and fear.

Then Gabrielle stirred, blinking awake. Fleur immediately knelt beside her, whispering soft French words of comfort.

Hermione watched them and whispered to Harry, “She’s really not as arrogant as everyone says.”

Harry smiled faintly. “No one is, once you stop looking through rumors.”

That evening, when Fleur and Gabrielle left the hospital wing hand in hand, Hermione walked beside them. The two girls spoke quietly, laughing now and then, while Harry followed behind — amused, content, and a little surprised at how quickly peace could replace rivalry.

From the far side of the corridor, students whispered as they passed — Durmstrang’s Weasley, Beauxbatons’ beauty, and Hogwarts’ bookworm walking together like old friends.

But for once, none of them cared what anyone thought.

The Durmstrang ship floated silently in the moonlight, its dark hull rocking gently on the Black Lake. The air smelled faintly of pinewood, salt, and cold metal — the scent of secrecy.

Harry climbed the narrow staircase to the upper deck, the boards creaking beneath his boots. Two of Karkaroff’s trusted guards stood near the heavy door to the Highmaster’s cabin. They bowed slightly and stepped aside as Harry approached.

“Highmaster is waiting,” one said curtly.

Harry nodded, his cloak swaying behind him as he entered.

Inside, the chamber glowed with soft amber light. Silver lamps floated above a wide oak desk covered in scrolls, runes, and old parchment maps. The curtains were drawn tight. Heavy enchantments shimmered faintly on the walls — the kind that ensured no sound escaped.

It was silent. Too silent.

Karkaroff sat behind the desk, his sharp face half-hidden in shadow. His usual air of arrogance was gone. Instead, he looked tired — restless, his gloved fingers tapping nervously against a goblet of wine.

“Harry,” he said finally, motioning for him to sit. “I am glad you came quickly.”

Harry took the seat opposite him, eyes alert. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Karkaroff gave a dry laugh. “I could say the same of you, but mine is for a different reason.”

Harry leaned forward slightly. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, Karkaroff didn’t speak. The ship creaked softly around them, and the lake’s faint ripples tapped against the hull.

Finally, he exhaled, a long, uneasy breath.

“There is something wrong with Alastor Moody.”

Harry frowned. “Moody? The Defense professor?”

Karkaroff nodded slowly. “Yes. You have not spoken with him much, have you?”

“Not really,” Harry said. “I’ve seen him a few times around the castle. He seems… intense.”

“That is an understatement,” Karkaroff muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “Moody is not merely intense, my boy. He is a hunter. During the last war, his name alone made the Death Eaters tremble.”

Harry stayed quiet, letting the man talk.

“It was Moody,” Karkaroff continued, his tone darkening, “who captured me. He cornered me in a warehouse outside Vilnius, and instead of killing me — as he did many others — he offered me a deal. I give him names, information, and he will get me out instead of Azkaban.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And you took it.”

Karkaroff smiled bitterly. “Of course I did. I wanted to live. I told them everything I knew — the names of Death Eaters, their allies, their meeting places. I helped them destroy what remained of Voldemort’s network in Europe. After that, they let me go… but never truly forgave me.”

Harry folded his arms. “And now Moody’s the one acting strange?”

“Yes.” Karkaroff leaned forward. “He used to ignore me. That was fine. He despised me, but it was a familiar kind of hatred. I could live with that. But recently…”

He rubbed his temple, eyes narrowing. “Recently, he watches me. All the time. He attends every meeting, every announcement, even those where he has no reason to appear. And his eyes—”

He hesitated.

Harry tilted his head. “His eyes?”

Karkaroff’s voice dropped. “That strange magical one of his — the one that can see through walls. It lingers on me longer than before. Almost as if he’s searching for something.”

Harry frowned, remembering the stories he’d heard about Moody’s “mad eye.” “Maybe he just doesn’t trust you.”

Karkaroff shook his head sharply. “No. This is different. He is waiting for something. Watching me not as a man he hates — but as prey.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “If you think he’s under someone’s control, why not go to Dumbledore?”

Karkaroff snorted. “You think Dumbledore would listen to me? The man still looks at me as if I should be in Azkaban. No, my boy — if Moody truly is compromised, then the Headmaster will not see it until it’s too late.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you have proof?”

Karkaroff hesitated. “Only instincts — and I’ve learned to trust mine. During the last meeting of the judges, Moody’s presence was… off. His movements, his voice — even his mannerisms. The man I knew would never slouch or speak with hesitation. And when I addressed him directly, he smiled.”

Harry frowned. “That doesn’t sound strange.”

Karkaroff’s expression hardened. “Mad-Eye Moody doesn’t smile, Harry.”

For a moment, silence filled the cabin again. The firelight flickered across Karkaroff’s pale face.

He finally whispered, “I fear he may not be the same man. Something is wrong. Either he’s cursed, or… replaced.”

Harry’s eyes darkened. “Replaced?”

“It is not impossible,” Karkaroff said grimly. “Polyjuice, possession, dark transformation — I have seen it all. And if this is truly not Moody, then someone very dangerous walks inside Hogwarts under his name.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around the edge of the chair. “That’s not something we can ignore.”

Karkaroff nodded slowly. “No. Which is why I called you here. I trust no one else with this. You have a mind that sees through deception — and the power to survive what others cannot.”

Harry exhaled, his expression thoughtful but calm. “If he’s not who he says he is, I’ll find out.”

Karkaroff studied him for a long moment, then smiled faintly — not with arrogance, but with something closer to pride.

“You remind me of myself when I was young. But smarter… and far more dangerous.”

Harry smiled back. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Karkaroff stood, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Be careful, my boy. Whoever wears Moody’s face — if indeed that’s what’s happening — he is watching both of us.”

Harry met his eyes steadily. “Then we’ll watch him back.”

As Harry turned to leave, Karkaroff’s voice followed him quietly:

“There are storms in the shadows, Harry. Don’t let them pull you under.”

Harry paused at the door. “Storms don’t bother me, Highmaster. I’ve lived through worse.”

And with that, he stepped out into the cold night, the moon reflecting off the still lake — unaware that far above, a single magical eye was watching the Durmstrang ship from a castle window.