Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

The atmosphere in the classroom suddenly became tense.

Moody grinned, his expression menacing. "Mr. Potter, I thought you didn't care much for the Ministry's authority."

"You're now a professor at Hogwarts and a former Auror of the Ministry," Harry calmly tapped the desk, emphasizing Moody's identity. "These are rules you should not ignore."

"This is standard lesson material," Moody replied, his tone sharper.

"I don't think casting Unforgivable Curses on students qualifies as standard," Harry retorted firmly.

Hermione and Ron nodded in agreement.

Though some of the Gryffindors looked curious about experiencing the curses firsthand, most of them, being sensible, found the mere idea of "Unforgivable Curses" terrifying—especially Neville, who looked completely horrified.

"I am the professor, Mr. Potter. Five points from Gryffindor," Moody barked, stomping his wooden leg against the podium with a loud thud, startling the class.

"Deduct fifty points if you like," Harry said evenly, his hand dipping into the Sorting Hat on the desk. "But I won't sit by and let you cast Unforgivable Curses on students."

Moody's face darkened, his expression grave. "Are you threatening a professor?"

"Every Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has had a run-in with me," Harry replied calmly.

The class froze in shock.

True, the statement wasn't false, but saying it directly to the professor's face—on their very first lesson—seemed a bit much.

"I haven't heard Professor Dumbledore or any other faculty member mention this," Harry continued. "If you have their explicit permission, then perhaps we can discuss further. But until I hear from Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall, I won't allow it."

Moody stared at him, then stiffly nodded. "Very well."

"Mr. Potter has just demonstrated an important lesson: when unsure, never blindly agree to questionable requests."

"Five points to Gryffindor."

He waved Harry back to his seat. "Now, let's continue discussing how to deal with the dark arts."

The earlier confrontation seemed forgotten as Moody resumed teaching. Despite his earlier actions, his knowledge of the subject was undeniable. He quickly captivated the class with his expertise, even making complex magical theories engaging.

Hermione frowned, her face twisted in frustration.

Ron furrowed his brow, a deep scowl forming.

When class ended, the other students left excitedly, buzzing with enthusiasm for the lesson and the homework—an essay on the theory of dark magic and how to counteract it.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, left quickly, their expressions grim.

"Moody isn't supposed to be like this," Ron muttered, shaking his head as they walked down the corridor. "Dad always said he despised the Unforgivable Curses and dark magic. He's the reason the Auror Office didn't devolve into a pack of dark wizards."

"How could he possibly support using those spells now, let alone want to cast them on students?"

"It's as if he's teaching us dark magic!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "And what's with that awful incense? He burned it for the entire class, and he kept avoiding Harry—always keeping his distance."

She turned to Harry. "You noticed something, didn't you? You were worried he might actually harm the students."

Harry nodded but didn't say much. He led them to an abandoned classroom, pulling the Marauder's Map out of the Sorting Hat.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The map unfolded, displaying the intricate layout of Hogwarts. Hundreds of names crawled across the parchment. Harry scanned the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and smiled grimly.

"As I thought. He's not Moody."

"What?" Ron leaned in, his face almost pressed against the map. He pointed at the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. "Look, Alastor Moody—he's in his office!"

"No, look at this," Harry said, shifting his finger. In the corridor between the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and Dumbledore's office, another name was moving slowly.

"Bartemius Crouch?" Ron exclaimed.

"The Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Harry confirmed, tapping the map thoughtfully. "He could be here for the Triwizard Tournament."

"But there are too many questions."

Hermione rubbed her nose thoughtfully. "No wonder he's avoiding you. He's using Polyjuice Potion, isn't he?"

Harry nodded. "He's cautious. He must've learned I have heightened senses and avoided Snape at the feast to keep the potion's scent hidden."

"Even so, he underestimated me."

Harry's enhanced sense of smell made it impossible to miss the mixture of potion ingredients. Moody's scent was a peculiar blend of cold, metallic blood and the sharp chill of winter, overlaid with the distinct components of Polyjuice Potion: African tree snake skin, powdered bicorn horn, and saltpeter.

"So... Crouch imprisoned the real Moody and is impersonating him?" Ron asked, stunned. "But why would Mr. Crouch do such a thing? Percy always said he was brilliant and honorable."

"Percy worships him," Ron added with a sneer. "If it weren't for his son, he'd probably be Minister of Magic by now, instead of that idiot Fudge."

"Crouch isn't a saint," Harry said flatly, watching the name "Bartemius Crouch" move into Dumbledore's office and stop.

"Don't forget what Harry said—Crouch's house-elf saved the Death Eater leader," Hermione reminded. "That elf wouldn't act without a connection to Crouch."

"But Mr. Crouch doesn't have a family anymore," Ron argued. "After his son went to Azkaban, his wife died not long after, and his son didn't last long there either."

Harry said nothing, watching as "Bartemius Crouch" lingered in the office for over thirty minutes.

Once Crouch left, Harry folded the map and led them to Dumbledore's office. Using the password provided by the Sorting Hat, they gained entry.

Dumbledore greeted them with a curious smile.

"Harry, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger—what brings you here? I was just speaking with Alastor. Had you come earlier, you could've joined us."

"I must admit, I didn't anticipate him being so... intense during his lessons. He's never been—"

"Why don't you consider that he might not be Moody at all?" Harry interrupted.

Dumbledore froze, then watched as Harry unfolded the Marauder's Map and pointed to "Bartemius Crouch."

"This individual was just in your office," Harry explained, "and he's now heading toward Professor McGonagall."

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, his expression darkening as he studied the map.

"A fascinating creation, Harry," he murmured. "You've never shown me this before. Where did you get it?"

Harry's voice was clipped. "It belonged to my father."

Dumbledore looked contemplative, then nodded in understanding.

"So, Polyjuice Potion?" he asked, noticing that the name "Alastor Moody" remained unmoving in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "He avoided me and Snape, and even burned incense to mask the potion's scent."

"And failed," Dumbledore finished, stroking his beard. "Remarkable work, Harry. This map is a testament to James's ingenuity. I'd wager not even I could replicate its magic with ease."

"Now, what shall we do about him?" Harry asked coldly. "He's casting Unforgivable Curses on students. I wouldn't be surprised if he's linked to the Death Eaters."

"Or his son," Harry added.

Dumbledore's expression turned somber. "Barty Crouch Jr. is long dead, Harry. He was buried under watchful eyes outside Azkaban."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You all thought Peter Pettigrew was dead, too."

Dumbledore exhaled, then nodded gravely. "Let's proceed carefully. Thank you, Harry, for bringing this to my attention. I'll handle it."

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Powerstones?

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