Moodys face twisted into a smile. “Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye—”

“Dumbledore happens to trust me,” said Snape through clenched teeth. “I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!”

“Course Dumbledore trusts you,” growled Moody. “Hes a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me—I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?”

Snape suddenly did something very strange. He seized his left forearm convulsively with his right hand, as though something on it had hurt him.

Moody laughed. “Get back to bed, Snape.”

“You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!” Snape hissed, letting go of his arm as though angry with himself. “I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!”

“Prowl away,” said Moody, but his voice was full of menace. “I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time... You've dropped something, by the way...”

With a stab of horror. Harry saw Moody point at the Marauders Map, still lying on the staircase six steps below him. As Snape and Filch both turned to look at it, Harry threw caution to the winds; he raised his arms under the cloak and waved furiously at Moody to attract his attention, mouthing “It's mine! Mine!”

Snape had reached out for it, a horrible expression of dawning comprehension on his face—

“Accio Parchment!”

The map flew up into the air, slipped through Snapes outstretched fingers, and soared down the stairs into Moodys hand.

“My mistake,” Moody said calmly. “It's mine—must've dropped it earlier—”

But Snape's black eyes were darting from the egg in Filch's arms to the map in Moodys hand, and Harry could tell he was putting two and two together, as only Snape could...

“Potter,” he said quietly.

“What's that?” said Moody calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.

“Potter!” Snape snarled, and he actually turned his head and stared right at the place where Harry was, as though he could suddenly see him. “That egg is Potters egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognize it! Potter is here! Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!”

Snape stretched out his hands like a blind man and began to move up the stairs; Harry could have sworn his over-large nostrils were dilating, trying to sniff Harry out—trapped. Harry leaned backward, trying to avoid Snapes fingertips, but any moment now—

“There's nothing there, Snape!” barked Moody, “but I'll be happy to tell the headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Harry Potter!”

“Meaning what?” Snape turned again to look at Moody, his hands still outstretched, inches from Harry's chest.

“Meaning that Dumbledore's very interested to know who's got it in for that boy!” said Moody, limping nearer still to the foot of the stairs. “And so am I, Snape... very interested...” The torchlight flickered across his mangled face, so that the scars, and the chunk missing from

his nose, looked deeper and darker than ever.

Snape was looking down at Moody, and Harry couldn't see the expression on his face. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. Then Snape slowly lowered his hands.

“I merely thought,” said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, “that if Potter was wandering around after hours again ...it's an unfortunate habit of his ...he should be stopped. For—for his own safety.”

“Ah, I see,” said Moody softly. “Got Potter's best interests at heart, have you?”

There was a pause. Snape and Moody were still staring at each other, Mrs. Norris gave a loud meow, still peering around Filch's legs, looking for the source of Harry's bubble-bath smell.

“I think I will go back to bed,” Snape said curtly.

“Best idea you've had all night,” said Moody. “Now, Filch, if you'll just give me that egg-”

“No!” said Filch, clutching the egg as though it were his firstborn son. “Professor Moody, this is evidence of Peeves' treachery!”

“It's the property of the champion he stole it from,” said Moody. Hand it over, now.”

Snape swept downstairs and passed Moody without another word. Filch made a chirruping noise to Mrs. Norris, who stared blankly at Harry for a few more seconds before turning and following her master. Still breathing very fast. Harry heard Snape walking away down the corridor; Filch handed Moody the egg and disappeared from view too, muttering to Mrs. Norris. “Never mind. my sweet... we'll see Dumbledore in the morning ...tell him what Peeves was up to...”

A door slammed. Harry was left staring down at Moody, who placed his staff on the bottommost stair and started to climb laboriously toward him, a dull clunk on every other step.

“Close shave. Potter,” he muttered.

“Yeah ...I—er ...thanks,” said Harry weakly.

“What is this thing?” said Moody, drawing the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and unfolding it.

“Map of Hogwarts,” said Harry, hoping Moody was going to pull him out of the staircase soon; his leg was really hurting him.

“Merlins beard,” Moody whispered, staring at the map, his magical eye going haywire. “This... this is some map. Potter!”

“Yeah, its... quite useful,” Harry said. His eyes were starting to water from the pain. “Er—Professor Moody, d'you think you could help me—?”

“What? Oh! Yes... yes, of course...”

Moody took hold of Harrys arms and pulled; Harrys leg came free of the trick step, and he climbed onto the one above it. Moody was still gazing at the map.

“Potter ...” he said slowly, “you didn't happen, by any chance, to see who broke into Snapes office, did you? On this map, I mean?”

“Er... yeah, I did...” Harry admitted. “It was Mr. Crouch.”

Moodys magical eye whizzed over the entire surface of the map. He looked suddenly alarmed.

“Crouch?” he said. “You're—you're sure. Potter?”

“Positive,” said Harry.

“Well, he's not here anymore,” said Moody, his eye still whizzing over the map. “Crouch... that's very—very interesting...”

He said nothing for almost a minute, still staring at the map. Harry could tell that this news meant something to Moody and very much wanted to know what it was. He wondered whether he dared ask. Moody scared him slightly... yet Moody had just helped him avoid an awful lot of trouble...

“Er ...Professor Moody... why d'you reckon Mr. Crouch wanted to look around Snapes office?”

Moodys magical eye left the map and fixed, quivering, upon Harry. It was a penetrating glare, and Harry had the impression that Moody was sizing him up, wondering whether to answer or not, or how much to tell him.

“Put it this way. Potter,” Moody muttered finally, “they say old Mad-Eye's obsessed with catching Dark wizards... but I'm nothing—nothing—compared to Barty Crouch.”

He continued to stare at the map. Harry was burning to know more.

“Professor Moody?” he said again. “D'you think... could this have anything to do with... maybe Mr. Crouch thinks there's something going on...”

“Like what?” said Moody sharply.

Harry wondered how much he dare say. He didn't want Moody to guess that he had a source of information outside Hogwarts; that might lead to tricky questions about Sirius.

“I don't know,” Harry muttered, “odd stuffs been happening lately, hasn't it? It's been in the Daily Prophet... the Dark Mark at the World Cup, and the Death Eaters and everything...”

Both of Moody's mismatched eyes widened.

“You're a sharp boy. Potter,” he said. His magical eye roved back to the Marauder's Map. “Crouch could be thinking along those lines,” he said slowly. “Very possible... there have been some funny rumors flying around lately—helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It's making a lot of people nervous, I reckon.” A grim smile twisted his lopsided mouth. “Oh if there's one thing I hate,” he muttered, more to himself than to Harry, and his magical eye was fixed on the left-hand corner of the map, “its a Death Eater who walked free...”

Harry stared at him. Could Moody possibly mean what Harry thought he meant?

“And now I want to ask you a question. Potter,” said Moody in a more businesslike tone.

Harrys heart sank; he had thought this was coming. Moody was going to ask where he had got this map, which was a very dubious magical object—and the story of how it had fallen into his hands incriminated not only him, but his own father, Fred and George Weasley, and Professor Lupin, their last Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Moody waved the map in front of Harry, who braced himself—

“Can I borrow this?”

“Oh!” said Harry.

He was very fond of his map, but on the other hand, he was extremely relieved that Moody wasn't asking where he'd got it, and there was no doubt that he owed Moody a favor.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good boy,” growled Moody. “I can make good use of this... this might be exactly what I've been looking for... Right, bed, Potter, come on, now...”

They climbed to the top of the stairs together, Moody still examining the map as though it was a treasure the like of which he had never seen before. They walked in silence to the door of Moody's office, where he stopped and looked up at Harry.

“You ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter?”

“No,” said Harry, taken aback.

“You want to consider it,” said Moody, nodding and looking at Harry thoughtfully. “Yes, indeed ...and incidentally ...I'm guessing you werent Just taking that egg for a walk tonight?”

“Er—no,” said Harry, grinning. “I've been working out the clue.”

Moody winked at him, his magical eye going haywire again. “Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas, Potter... See you in the morning...”

He went back into his office, staring down at the Marauders Map again, and closed the door behind him.

Harry walked slowly back to Gryffindor Tower, lost in thought about Snape, and Crouch, and what it all meant... Why was Crouch pretending to be ill, if he could manage to get to Hogwarts when he wanted to? What did he think Snape was concealing in his office?

And Moody thought he. Harry, ought to be an Auror! Interesting idea... but somehow. Harry thought, as he got quietly into his four-poster ten minutes later, the egg and the cloak now safely back in his trunk, he thought he'd like to check how scarred the rest of them were before he chose it as a career.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE SECOND TASK

You said you'd already worked out that egg clue!” said Hermione indignantly.

“Keep your voice down!” said Harry crossly. “I just need to—sort of fine-tune it, all right?”

He, Ron, and Hermione were sitting at the very back of the Charms class with a table to themselves. They were supposed to be practicing the opposite of the Summoning Charm today—the Banishing Charm. Owing to the potential for nasty accidents when objects kept flying across the room. Professor Flitwick had given each student a stack of cushions on which to practice, the theory being that these wouldn't hurt anyone if they went off target. It was a good theory, but it wasn't working very well. Neville's aim was so poor that he kept accidentally sending much heavier things flying across the room—Professor Flitwick, for instance.

“Just forget the egg for a minute, all right?” Harry hissed as Professor Flitwick went whizzing resignedly past them, landing on top of a large cabinet. “I'm trying to tell you about Snape and Moody...”

This class was an ideal cover for a private conversation, as everyone was having far too much fun to pay them any attention. Harry had been recounting his adventures of the previous night in whispered installments for the last half hour.

“Snape said Moodys searched his office as well?” Ron whispered, his eyes alight with interest as he Banished a cushion with a sweep of his wand (it soared into the air and knocked Parvati's hat off). “What... d'you reckon Moody's here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?”

“Well, I dunno if that's what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he's definitely doing it,” said Harry, waving his wand without paying much attention, so that his cushion did an odd sort of belly flop off the desk. “Moody said Dumbledore only lets Snape stay here because he's giving him a second chance or something...”

“What?” said Ron, his eyes widening, his next cushion spinning high into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier, and dropping heavily onto Flitwick's desk. “Harry... maybe Moody thinks Snape put your name in the Goblet of Fire!”

“Oh Ron,” said Hermione, shaking her head sceptically, “we thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before, and it turned out he was saving Harry's life, remember?”

She Banished a cushion and it flew across the room and landed in the box they were all supposed to be aiming at. Harry looked at Hermione, thinking... it was true that Snape had saved his life once, but the odd thing was, Snape definitely loathed him, just as he'd loathed Harry s father when they had been at school together. Snape loved taking points from Harry, and had certainly never missed an opportunity to give him punishments, or even to suggest that he should be suspended from the school.

“I don't care what Moody says,” Hermione went on. “Dumbledore's not stupid. He was right to trust Hagrid and Professor Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn't have given them jobs, so why shouldn't he be right about Snape, even if Snape is a bit—”

“evil,” said Ron promptly. “Come on, Hermione, why are all these Dark wizard catchers searching his office, then?”

“Why has Mr. Crouch been pretending to be ill?” said Hermione, ignoring Ron. “Its a bit funny, isn't it, that he cant manage to come to the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to?”

“You just don't like Crouch because of that elf, Winky,” said Ron, sending a cushion soaring into the window.

Title: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Author: J.K.Rîwling
Viewed 333967 times

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