Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Chapter 69: Imposters

---

On Boxing Day, I gather in the sleeping dragon room with the Storm Army circle. Luna decided to stick around after the Yule Ball rather than go home again.

"So, this is that reporter that kept writing nasty things about you guys?" Sirius says.

"The same," I say. "Storm Army, secure the room. Stand ready."

"Ready," echo the others.

I open the cork on the bottle, and the beetle flies out, buzzes around the room, trying to find a way out. But there's no escape. We've erected a solid wall of barriers around the room that not even an insect can get through.

"Give it up, Rita," I say. "We know who you are, and we know your secret. You might as well transform now and explain yourself."

The beetle tries to escape for a few more seconds, and then lights in the center of the floor and shifts form. "Harry!" Rita says. "Are you upset about those articles I wrote? I merely wanted to get the truth out--"

"Expelliarmus!" Neville says, snatching Rita's wand out of the air.

"Shove it, Rita," I say. "It would not bother me if you had only reported the truth, no matter how dark and ugly it might be. You exaggerated, bad enough. You lied, worse yet. But the damning point was that you brought my friends into it."

"And lied about that, too," Draco adds. "My relationship with my father is my own business, but there was absolutely no call in writing that I was abused as a child!"

"Yes, my condolences for your unfortunate upbringing," Rita says smoothly.

"My father did not abuse me!" Draco growls.

"I would not have expected you to be so upset about it, given how estranged you've been from him of late," Rita says.

"He's still my father," Draco says.

"And Draco's not the only one with a grievance," Hermione says. "You wrote about how the Stormseeker has been toying with my heart. And that I lied about being descended from Ravenclaw. And that I cheat in my classes."

"And my Gran went spare when she saw what you wrote about me," Neville says.

"And, as if being an escaped murderer wasn't bad enough," Sirius says, "you wrote that I was having an illicit affair with Remus Lupin. And that we had orgies with James and Lily. Come on, woman, respect the dead at least!"

Rita stares over at Sirius, only then realizing he's there. "Sirius Black! You children are hiding a convicted murderer?"

"Not convicted," Sirius says. "They never gave me a trial. Why would they bother? I was obviously guilty, right?"

"So, let's see," I say, glaring at her dangerously. "What shall we do with you?"

"Look, you know my secret," Rita says. "That could ruin me... I won't write anything bad about any of you ever again. I'll retract my statements. I'll print nothing but what you want me to print!"

"That would be a tempting offer, provided I cared any longer," I say. "What do the rest of you think?" I look to my friends.

"No mercy," Draco says.

"No forgiveness," Sirius adds.

"Please, you can't do this to me," Rita says. "Don't hurt me!"

"We really should just blackmail her," Hermione says. "Having a voice in the press would be useful."

"I don't trust her, though," Neville says, glaring at her. "You made my grandmother cry. You wrote nasty things about my parents. That's over the line. Way, way over the line. And don't even say that you were just exposing the truth."

"Rita, do you deny that you went after these people because they were my friends?" I say. "Because you wanted to make me and everyone associated with me look bad? I'd think that if you attacked everyone, someone would have taken offense to your writing long ago and shut you down by now."

"The people have to know the truth!" Rita says. "You're shaping up to be the next Dark Lord, and these are your new generation of Death Eaters!"

"Not a chance," Neville says. "I'd never go after anyone who didn't deserve it."

"Killing her might be problematic, though," Blaise says. "Maybe if we used some way to ensure her cooperation..."

"No," Draco says. "I say we kill her."

"Why don't we take turns?" I say. "Let's each of us cast whatever spell we want on her."

"Let's," Sirius agrees.

No one in the room is feeling merciful enough to pass up the opportunity to hex Rita Skeeter. I take my turn last, and when it comes around to me, Draco looks at me and says, "You've been learning the Unforgivables, right? Why don't you throw a Crucio at her?"

Neville pales and looks at me in a touch of alarm.

I shake my head. "No," I say. "I don't think she deserves that."

"Why not?" Draco says. "If she doesn't, then who does?"

"Only someone who has cast it on others, for fun," I say darkly. Neville looks immensely grateful at me. "No, I don't approve of needlessly torturing people. Let's end this now." I point my wand at Rita and focus cold hatred, desire to kill... "Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light strikes Rita Skeeter, and she falls limp. It's an incredible rush, the most amazing feeling! And I thought that killing vermin felt good.

"So," I say quietly. "Do any of you think I should go to Azkaban?"

"Not on your life," Sirius says.

I look down at the corpse as Draco goes to look through her possessions. Should I be feeling some sort of remorse or guilt here? There's nothing but the buzz of dark magic. Was there another way? Certainly. I didn't have to kill her. That was entirely my own choice. And I chose to end her life. This may not really be a good thing, but I can't say this was a mistake, either. I think I'm more disturbed by the fact that I felt nothing for killing her, even enjoyed doing it, than the fact that a woman is now dead because of me.

---

That night, I take a nightmare-filled nap beforehand just as insurance against anything going really wrong somehow. Paranoia, I suppose. In my experience, though, I cannot be too paranoid. Constant vigilance, as Moody would say. Well after everyone else has gone to bed, I sneak out with the invisibility cloak to find the prefects' bathroom.

I pull out the Marauder's Map and peer over it to see where I'm going. There's not a lot of movement on the map at the moment, but as I scan over the map, I notice one dot poking around Snape's potion ingredient storage. Bartemius Crouch? Why in the Abyss is Crouch sneaking around Snape's storage in the middle of the night? Weird, weird, weird.

I finally locate the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor and make my way up there. I let myself in by muttering, "Pine fresh." The place is surprisingly large and opulent, with a large image of a mermaid, sleeping. Prefects are treated like royalty here? Maybe I should have gone for being a model student so I could be a prefect myself, instead of making myself off to be a rebel that delves into darkness overly much.

Best take advantage of it while I can, though. I strip down and draw myself a bath, and slide into the bubbly water. I've entirely forgotten about the egg again for a few minutes as I just relax in the soothing water. I do, however, slowly become aware that I'm not exactly alone in the bathroom.

"Myrtle?" I say with a touch of surprise.

"Hello, Stormseeker," Myrtle says brightly.

"Are you watching me bathe?" I ask.

"Oh, I watched the other boy do it too," Myrtle says. "And the other prefects sometimes. And I also watch you taking a shower sometimes."

"Myrtle, I'm a married man," I protest.

"Like you really care about that all that much," Myrtle says.

"Myrtle!"

"So, are you going to try to figure out the bit with the egg, or just fall asleep in the water?" Myrtle asks.

"Oh, right, that," I say, reaching over to grab the egg. I open it up, and it emits a horrible screeching sound. "Well, that's less than useful..."

Maybe he meant for me to open it under the water. As relaxing as it might be, there's not much other point to having this much water around, I suppose. This time, instead of a cacophony, the egg emits the sound of beautiful singing.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

So, what, is this supposed to be some clue to the second task? I'll have an hour to find something, from the sounds of it. But who in the Abyss is it talking about that's singing? And underwater, unless I miss my guess. Mermaids?

"Ugh," I mutter, washing out my eyes. "I'm going to be spending the next two months learning something to help me around underwater, won't I."

"Well, that's quicker than the other boy," Myrtle says. "By the time he figured it out, almost all the bubbles were gone."

Who would have thought that Myrtle had a habit of peeping on naked boys? Whatever. I spend a bit more time relaxing, and don't really care if a ghost girl is watching me. I could definitely use this sort of break every now and then. If it weren't for the Dream Sweets, I think I might have gone insane by now.

I get out of the bath, dry off, get dressed again, all the while thoroughly ignoring the fact that Myrtle might be watching me. I'm going to very pointedly not care if she's watching me shower, either. Don't care, don't care, really don't care.

I bring out the map and look it over again. I don't think I care to be inadvertently ambushed by Crouch while wandering around the halls. Sure enough, there are dots moving about. Crouch again, and Snape. I imagine that Snape has noticed someone broke into his potion stores. Curiosity gets the better of me, and, hidden by my cloak, I sneak off in the direction where Crouch's dot is located.

The two dots are next to one another by the time I get close, and I hear voices. "Someone broke into my office, and it wasn't a bloody poltergeist!" Snape is saying. "There's no way anyone but a wizard could have gotten inside."

The person he's talking to is not Crouch. "Who would want to break into your office?" Moody is telling him.

Why is Moody marked on the map with the name Bartemius Crouch? The map doesn't lie, however. It seems I'm not the only imposter in the castle. For an instant, 'Moody' looks straight at me, and it dawns on me that that eye of his might be able to actually detect me. Crap.

My heart pounds. I back away, climbing backwards up the stairs. Not thinking about what I'm doing, my foot gets trapped in a trick step. Jarred by the suddenness of it, the map slips out of my hands and flutters down the stairs. I'm such an idiot -- I just skipped it on the way down! I think this warrants an upgrade from a "crap" to an outright "shit". Maybe even a "fuck". I try desperately not to panic. No good. Panicking now.

"What is this?" Snape says, snatching for the piece of parchment.

I make begging motions in the general direction of Moody/Crouch. "That's mine," he says. "I dropped it. Give it here." He grabs it from Snape.

"Very well," Snape says. "Come help me search for the intruder. It was probably a student out of bed, swiping potion ingredients."

"Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?" the man who looks like Moody says.

"You already searched my office thoroughly," Snape says disgustedly.

"Auror's privelege," says Crouch. "Dumbledore trusts you. But there are some spots that never come off, if you know what I mean."

Snape grabs his forearm and glares at Crouch.

Crouch just laughs. "Go to bed, Snape."

"I have as much right to prowl the school at night as you do," Snape says sourly, but he does ultimately turn and head away.

Once Snape is out of earshot, Crouch approaches me. "Nice cloak, Potter," he says quietly. "What's this parchment?"

"It's a map of Hogwarts," I reply, removing my cloak.

Crouch takes a closer look at the parchment. "Merlin's beard, this is quite the map, Potter." He pauses for a moment, peers at the map some more, and says, "Or should I say, Lexen Chelseer?"

I grunt. "It seems that neither of us is who we appear to be."

"So it would appear," Crouch says. "This might explain a few things." He points his wand at me. "Tell me, Chelseer. Where is the real Harry Potter?"

"Dead," I reply, looking down his wand tensely.

"Hogwash," Crouch says. "Polyjuice doesn't work on the dead."

"I'm not using Polyjuice," I say. "I just happened to look similar to him. He died as a child -- nobody had really seen him. The Harry Potter that went to Hogwarts has always been me."

"And the scar?" Crouch asks.

"Dumbledore made it," I say. "And, I assume, did whatever trickery was necessary to cover everything else up." There's no sense in lying about it when I've already been backed into a corner like this.

"All to cover up the fact that the real Boy-Who-Lived is dead..." Crouch muses. "Dumbledore is more wily than I gave him credit for. I find it hard to believe that he'd willingly support a dark wizard like you, though."

"He didn't know," I say. "Neither did I, really, at that point. So, what's it going to be, Barty Crouch? Are you going to kill me where I stand?" I look at him calmly. I have no chance to run, and he's discovered my secret. I don't know whether I can trust this man or not. Dying here and now might well be for the best.

"I would have expected you would be begging for mercy," Crouch comments.

"I'd be perfectly willing to keep your secret if you will keep mine," I say.

"You've found me out," Crouch says. "And you aren't really Harry Potter. Tell me, Chelseer. Who's side are you really on?"

"My own," I reply.

"You don't support Dumbledore?" Crouch asks.

"Abyss, no," I say.

"Would you still oppose Lord Voldemort, however?" Crouch asks.

"You better believe it," I say. "I'm not evil, and I have no love for that madman. Dark wizard or no, I'll still fight him with everything I've got."

"I see," Crouch says. "Very well. Goodbye, Chelseer."

Before I can say a word of protest, pain rips through my chest. My head is spinning. Darkness takes me in moments.

---

I wake in my bed in the Slytherin dorm. What in the Abyss just happened? Crouch just cursed me to death! Did he not believe me? Or was that entirely the wrong thing to say in the first place? Oh, Abyss, does this mean that he's actually working for the Dark Lord?

Shaking a little, I stumble into the restroom and wash my face. I have no need to visit the prefects' bathroom any longer. I already have my clue, such as it is. But I find this revelation to be vastly more important than the silly tournament. There's a Death Eater posing as an ex-Auror, teaching students right under Dumbledore's nose!

"Still awake, Stormseeker?" Draco asks from the doorway.

"Moody is Crouch," I say flatly.

"Huh?" Draco says, stepping up next to me.

"The man who looks like Mad-Eye Moody is actually Bartemius Crouch," I say.

"Are you sure?" Draco asks.

"Absolutely," I say. I pull out the map and show it to him, and point to the dot marked Bartemius Crouch on the map.

"How can that be?" Draco wonders. "He'd have to be using Polyjuice or something."

"Probably," I say. "Maybe that's why I spotted him sneaking into Snape's potion storage."

Polyjuice doesn't work on the dead, Crouch said. I peer at the map some more and look to the Defense office. There's a dot in there labeled Alastor Moody. So the real Moody is alive, being held prisoner in his own office? That's horrible.

"But... why?" Draco says. "This makes no sense."

"He's a Death Eater," I say.

"No way," Draco says. "Barty Crouch was always a staunch opponent of dark wizards. He even sent his own son to Azkaban for it!"

"He's been teaching me Unforgivables," I point out. "And didn't seem at all put out by the fact that I'm a dark wizard. And he killed me when I proclaimed that I would oppose the Dark Lord."

"That's... pretty convincing evidence, yeah," Draco says. "Hmm, come to think, his son was also named Bartemius Crouch, Junior."

"The map doesn't specify any seniors or juniors," I muse. "Do you suppose he could be the Barty Crouch who went to Azkaban, then?"

"That would make more sense," Draco says. "But how is it that nobody has noticed?"

"He must be playing a sufficiently convincing impression of Moody," I say.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Draco asks.

"I don't know yet," I say. "I think right now, I just want to sleep."

I'll deal with this in the morning. I head back to bed, pop a Dream Sweet in my mouth, and go to sleep.

---

I wake in the morning. On the one hand, I have two months to prepare for an underwater task when I can't even swim. On the other hand, I have to figure out what I'm going to do about Barty Crouch, the Death Eater. At least he doesn't know about my secret. I have the advantage of information here.

Should I confront him about it? I can't imagine anything good coming from it. I could tell Dumbledore, but I'm not overly fond of Dumbledore at the moment, and that might tip my hand and cause me to lose whatever advantage I have. So, for the moment, I ultimately decide to do nothing and leave Crouch well enough alone. Whatever he might be planning obviously hasn't come into play yet.

Still, poor Moody. I'd really like to find a way to help him. But I don't know what to do. Crouch is powerful. I have no illusions about being able to defeat him on my own. I might be able to bring him down with the help of Storm Army, but I'd rather not see any of my friends get hurt or killed in the process.

At breakfast, I ask, "Hey, Hermione. Do you happen to know of any spells that could help someone move and breathe underwater?"

"Is this for the second task?" Hermione asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"I don't know that I'm supposed to help you with that, but after seeing what they had you do for the first task, I'd rather not have you get killed because I refused to help or something," Hermione says.

"I think cheating at a tournament is the least of my concerns at the moment," I say wryly.

"Hmm, for breathing, you could use a Bubble-Head Charm," Hermione says. "And movement? Couldn't you just swim?"

"I don't know how to swim," I admit.

"That might be problematic," Hermione says. "Maybe a Propulsion Charm or something..."

"Ugh," I say. "Two months to learn two charms? I don't suppose you know if any curses that might do the same things?"

"You might find a curse that can help propel you through the water," Hermione says. "But I don't know that there would be any replacement for the Bubble-Head Charm."

"Alright," I say. "I'll see about learning the Bubble-Head Charm first, and look into whether or not there are any curses that might do what I want."

"When are you going to start teaching us those other curses?" Hermione asks.

"Whenever you guys are up to it," I say.

That, of course, leads to me being roped into spending the remainder of the holiday break teaching the Imperius Curse to my friends. At least that one doesn't require actually killing or hurting anything.

"And if you want to learn the Killing Curse, you're going to need to find something to kill," I tell them after one session. "Someone bring in a box of bugs or something."

"We should totally practice on Hagrid's bloody skrewts," Draco suggests.

"I would dearly love to," I say dryly. "Though I daresay he'd notice."

"Pity."

---

With the new term comes my next 'detention' with the imposter. I can't avoid him any longer. Why did I fail to notice sooner that there was something odd about a slightly eccentric former Auror teaching Unforgivable Curses to a student? Not to mention the way he behaved sometimes. In hindsight, I think it was pretty foolishly obvious, but I think I was too caught up in the feeling of using dark magic to pay attention or care.

"Come in, Potter," Moody says. "Have a seat." When I do so, he waves his wand absently to ensure our privacy. "So, Potter, are you ready for this?"

Am I ready? What kind of a question is that? I'm nervous as a boy with bees in his hat, not the least of which because I know this is not Moody. I keep reminding myself that, despite whatever he looks like, this is Barty Crouch Probably Junior.

"Something you want to say, Potter?" Moody -- no, Crouch -- says.

"Let's do this," I say quickly, to distract myself if nothing else. "What do I need to do?"

"Have you ever seen the Cruciatus Curse in action, Potter?" Moody/Crouch asks. "Besides my own demonstration in class."

I remember the terrible agony Quirrell put me through. Like every nerve in my body was on fire. I remember wanting to die, hoping that I would die, to put an end to the torment, but I did not die. But that never happened. That didn't happen in this timeline. "No, sir," I whisper.

"Truly?" Crouch asks. "You can't fool me, boy. You might try to hide it, but I saw the look on your face. So I'm going to ask you again."

"Yes, sir," I reply quietly.

"Where was that?"

"The Dark Lord," I murmur.

"He put you under the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Yes, sir," I say.

Crouch's face twitches and he looks thoughtful for a moment. "Potter," he says. "Why is it that you call him the Dark Lord?"

"Because 'You-Know-Who' sounds stupid, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' is excessively pretentious, and 'Lord Voldemort' tends to make people upset," I reply. And if I called him Tom, he'd probably kill me, but I don't mention that part.

"Calling him the Dark Lord makes it sound like you support him, though," Crouch says.

So it comes to this. He's putting me on the spot. I need to stay calm. I can't let anything else slip. I am the eye of the storm. Don't let him see my emotions. Don't let him notice how nervous I am. Nervous? No, very close to terrified.

"Answer me, Potter," Crouch says.

"Just teach me the spell," I mutter.

"Is that what you really want?" Crouch asks. "Perhaps you need another demonstration. Crucio!"

Heart-wrenching agony rips through my body. I find myself screaming involuntarily. Everything hurts. I feel like my body must be tearing itself apart. Make it stop. Please make it stop. Make it stop!

It stops. I don't know if I managed to say that last aloud or what. I slump in the chair, still twitching, still aching, but at least the worst of it is over.

"So, that was what you wanted, wasn't it?" Crouch asks.

How can I even think of learning a spell like this? Why would I ever believe this is an acceptable thing to cast on another living being? Did I completely take leave my senses and any sort of principles I might have ever had?

"Feel like answering my question now, Potter?"

I don't want to answer. Either way I'm damned. Nothing good will come of opposing the Dark Lord, and nothing good will come of supporting him. Why am I even here? How can I fight people like this? There's so much more I need to learn. I feel so weak, so helpless.

"Or would you like another demonstration?"

"No," I whisper. "No, Crouch, don't hurt me..."

He peers at me with his glass eye. "What did you call me?"

Crap. A slip of the tongue. I'm doomed. "Barty. Crouch. Junior," I murmur thickly. "I know who you are."

"How long have you known?" Crouch asks. "And how did you find out?"

"A while," I say vaguely.

"How did you find out?"

I don't want to say. If he finds out about the map, he could look at it and find out who I really am. And that could lead to him killing me again, or worse. Think fast. But I can't think of any lie that would be remotely plausible.

"Do I need to threaten you with the Cruciatus Curse again?"

I sigh. No help for it. I'm not going to wind up like Neville's parents over something like this. I pull out the map from my bag of holding, tap my wand to it, and say, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Crouch takes the map from me and looks it over. "Ah... I see, this is quite some map. And it shows the real names of everyone in the castle?"

"Yes, sir," I murmur.

"Lexen Chelseer?" Crouch says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," I repeat.

"You are not Harry Potter?" Crouch asks. "Where is the real Harry Potter, then?"

I don't really care to go into this again. "I obviously didn't want you to find out about this," I say. "I'm just a guy who happened to look like Harry Potter, that Dumbledore used to cover up his own mistakes."

"I see," Crouch says. "So... which side is it that you are actually on, then?"

"None of them," I say. "My own."

"You do not seek to oppose the Dark Lord?" Crouch asks.

"Do you think I'd be crazy enough to tell you if I were?" I say. "I do know who you work for, and I'm not about to tell you anything that's going to get me killed."

Crouch snorts in amusement. "At least you're not as foolish as those who would spit defiance in the Dark Lord's face even when looking at certain death."

"Huh, maybe I was a bad Gryffindor after all," I say. "I'm not always a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation." I shrug. Not that self-preservation, as such, really means much to me. Actually, thinking sensibly, dying here would probably be the smart thing. I've blown my cover again, after all. I should be provoking him into killing me.

"The Dark Lord rewards well those who serve him, however," Crouch says.

"I have no interest in doing so," I say firmly.

"No?" Crouch says. "Not even for the sake of any arcane knowledge you desire?"

Tempting. Very tempting. I hesitate. But only for a moment. I think of Neville's parents. I think of what the Dark Lord's supporters would do to Hermione, or Rispy. I think of how Myrtle was killed. I think of what I was forced to do to those I care about while under the Imperius Curse...

"No," I state. "I cannot support the Dark Lord."

"Very well," Crouch says, and points his wand at me. "Obliviate."

---

I'm getting undressed to go to bed after a session of curse practice with Professor Moody. I can't actually really cast the Cruciatus Curse yet, unfortunately. I think I'm going to need to work past a pretty heavy mental block to get this to work.

Sifting through my bag for my Dream Sweets, I notice a couple things. First is that the Marauder's Map appears to be missing. Second? The Remembrall Draco gave me turns black at my touch. I've been Obliviated? Crap.

"Draco," I say, then call more loudly, "Draco!"

"What is-- oh," Draco says, eyes widening when he sees the ball in my hand.

"Draco, do you have any idea how I might have gotten Obliviated in the last while?" I say. I'm not certain when I last touched the Remembrall, but I can't think it would have been too long ago.

"You just came back from 'detention' with our Defense teacher," Draco says. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," I say.

"Then he probably did it," Draco says. "He's actually Barty Crouch, Junior, a Death Eater in disguise."

I stare at him. "He's what?"

Draco nods. "And seeing as you're the one who told you that... yeah, I'd say that's hitting the bullseye."

"Shit," I murmur. All the trouble I went to trying to avoid being Obliviated by Lockhart, and then I'm caught with this out of the blue.

I can't go to bed yet. I get dressed again, pull on my invisibility cloak, and head for the Defense office. He probably took the map from me in hopes of making sure I didn't discover his name again.

The door is locked. I take off my cloak and knock. Moody opens the door and peers out at me. "Potter?" Moody says. "What are you doing back here? It's after curfew."

"We need to talk," I say. "May I enter?"

"Come in, then," Moody says, stepping aside. He closes the door behind me, and gives a wave of his wand to keep the conversation between us.

"You Obliviated me," I say, giving him a hard look.

"Ah, you found out awfully quick," Moody says.

"You think I would be foolish enough not to leave insurance?" I say. "Constant vigilance, isn't that what Moody always says?"

"I'll be sure to be more thorough the next time," Crouch says.

"I would appreciate it if you would leave my mind alone," I say with forced calm. "Please restore my memories."

"I made you a generous offer, and you refused," Crouch says. "But it seems my precautions were insufficient."

"If I'd known you were going to Obliviate me, I might have reconsidered," I retort.

"Fine, why don't we see what you think of it now, then?" Crouch says.

He taps my forehead with his wand and mutters some words I don't quite catch. Suddenly, my memories of what really happened this evening come rushing back. Including being a victim of the Cruciatus Curse again. I could have done without that.

"And if I'm not satisfied with your answer this time, I'm going to make sure to do a much more thorough job of it," Crouch says. "I will stamp out anyone or anything that could possibly lead you to the truth."

"I'll agree to whatever you want," I say.

Crouch stares at me. "I don't get it. Being threatened with torture cows you only so far. Being tempted with knowledge and power takes you only to a point. But being threatened with Obliviation makes you agree to anything?"

"I don't like Obliviation," I say. "It's second only to the Dementor's Kiss on my list of things I don't want to happen to me."

"You're a very strange person," Crouch says, shaking his head. "Why are you so afraid of Obliviation? If it's done right, you'd never even know the difference. You could live out the rest of your life blissfully unaware of the truth."

"I value truth more than bliss," I say flatly.

"Enough that you fearlessly come up to me and demand your memories to be restored, even knowing what you do," Crouch says.

Fearlessly? Hardly. Just that my anger overwhelmed my actions to the point where I could forget about how terrified I was. And now a Death Eater knows my secret, and I really just ought to die and start today all over again. What a mess.

"I would rather be killed than Obliviated," I say. "At least that's an honest death."

Crouch grunts. "Strange boy. I know you're not really Harry Potter, but the Dark Lord will not turn away a loyal servant, regardless, I'm certain."

I don't think I can do this. I can't serve him. I can't actually serve him. Not over this. Not when I still have the option of fixing this.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do that, Barty Crouch Junior," I say quietly. "Goodbye." I'm sorry, my friends. This is for the best.

Crouch gapes at me as I focus upon my Time Magic. I will myself to be younger. I shrink away, rapidly growing too small for my robes. And then, in moments, I am no more.

---

I wake in the Slytherin dorm. Saturday morning again. Still tired. I poke my head out of the curtains and see my friends getting dressed for the day.

"I've had a hell of a day," I say. "I'm going to sleep all day."

"Alright, Stormseeker," Draco says.

I close my curtains again, pop another Dream Sweet, and go back to sleep.

---

When I wake again, it's shortly before dinner time. I have 'detention' with Moody/Crouch after dinner. I'm not looking forward to this. I need to avoid being Obliviated, avoid having my secret discovered, and avoid being killed. Not necessarily in that order.

"What happened today, Stormseeker?" Draco asks.

"Killed myself," I say. "I'm sorry."

"I think we're the wrong 'us' to be apologizing to," Blaise says.

"I'm sure you wouldn't have done that without good reason," Hermione says.

"I blew my cover," I reply. "The bloody Death Eater found me out. He was threatening me with horrible things to try to force me to serve the Dark Lord."

"I don't think anyone could blame you for that, Stormseeker," Neville says quietly.

"I'm really not looking forward to tonight's detention," I murmur.

I don't know what I'm going to do. I finish up eating, hardly tasting anything, failing to relax even in the slightest. I'm all wound up inside, ready to explode.

"So, are you ready for this?" Moody asks me in his office after dinner.

Do I really want to learn the Cruciatus Curse that badly? All my mind can answer is a resounding no. If I do this, I'll be forcing myself to overcome mental blocks. Overcome such stopping points as mercy, pity, compassion, love. I might be able to do this, but I don't think that I really want to or ought to.

"No, sir," I admit softly. "I don't think I can do this."

"I see," Moody says. "Maybe you're not cut out to be a real dark wizard after all. That's probably just as well. Then I might not have to kill you."

"The other two spells could be very useful," I say. "But I just don't see how I can justify torturing someone. I don't think I could bring myself to do that."

"You're a good person, Potter," Moody says. "Take what I've taught you in good grace. But if you ever change your mind, I'll be here."

"Thank you, sir," I say softly. I'm trying to keep my voice level, my face neutral. Anything to hide just how terrified I am at the moment. I want to get out of here, now, and never come back. I don't want to be alone with this imposter again if I can possibly help it.

I could attack him now. I could ambush him, catch him by surprise, and free Moody. Sure, I might get killed, but there's a chance that I could succeed. I don't trust to luck, however. I don't trust to wild chances. I'd rather be more certain of my odds before throwing caution to the wind like that. Sorry, Moody.

I stand up and leave the room without another word.