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Yuletide Blessing in Disguise	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 122975 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related properties--all rights belong to Rowling. Nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
The After-Party

His heart pounding, breath quickening, Harry searched the Great Hall for Dumbledore, finally spotting him on the dancefloor with Professor Babbling when Hermione pointed them out on the Marauder’s Map. Harry stuffed the Map back into the pocket in his robes and took Hermione’s hand. As quickly as they could, they wove through the crowd, which was pogoing to one of The Cure’s bouncier ditties.
Harry goggled at Dumbledore, catching him in mid-bounce. Hermione looked equally bemused to see their headmaster cutting loose. Dumbledore halted, twinkling at his two stunned pupils.
“Harry, Miss Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Sir... er... could we speak to you in private for a minute?” Harry asked, glancing nervously at Professor Babbling.
“It’s really important!” Hermione added.
“Certainly! I always have time for my students,” said Dumbledore, taking stock of their earnest, anxious features. He gave Professor Babbling an apologetic look. “Bathsheda, if you don’t mind...”
“Of course not, Albus,” Professor Babbling reassured him. “Duty calls! Our pupils come first after all...” Babbling beamed at Hermione. “And by the way dear, that last paper on warding against Water Sprites and Demons was exceptional. Your translations were very accurate - any sailor would be lucky to have you developing rune sequences for their boats...”
“Thank you Professor Babbling,” Hermione squeaked, blushing at her high praises. “I just wish I was a bit better at the execution...”
“Nonsense dear! Your calligraphy and carving techniques are quite good - more than adequate...”
Despite feeling anxious, Harry grinned; he could tell from Hermione’s expression that ‘more than adequate’ wasn’t good enough in her mind.
“Well then,” said Dumbledore, gesturing towards the door of the anteroom, which was located behind the stage, “Shall we?”
As Harry and Hermione followed Dumbledore around the stage, Harry glanced at the amplifiers and electric guitars and synthesizers, wondering how the band managed to operate them if electrical equipment didn’t operate properly in Hogwarts. Were there Charms to make them work with magic instead? Shelving that thought to discuss with Hermione later, Harry darted through the doorway into the anteroom.
Once Dumbledore shut the door, only the muffled boom of bass and drums could be heard coming from the other side. It took his ears a moment to adjust to the relative quiet after all the noise in the Great Hall.
“I can see this is a matter of some urgency,” said Dumbledore, his features more serious, the twinkles fading. “Please, by all means, don’t be shy.”
Harry took a deep breath and began.
“Professor Dumbledore, sir, it’s Professor Moody... It’s not really him! He’s really Barty Crouch...”
“He must be using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Professor Moody,” Hermione interjected. “But we don’t know why he would do such a thing.”
“Why indeed?” said Dumbledore, stroking his long silvery beard and looking mildly skeptical. “How did you come to this conclusion?”
Harry took another deep breath and swallowed anxiously, hoping Dumbledore wouldn’t be too cross with him when he showed him the proof. His hand shaking slightly, he reached into his dress robes.
“This...” said Harry as he unfolded the Marauder’s Map and handed it to the Headmaster, “...this originally belonged to my dad, and I suppose to Sirius and Lupin too. They invented it. It proves that Moody is really Crouch. ... Look at the names of everyone in the Great Hall, and see who’s really dancing with Professor Sinistra.”
“Good Heavens!” Dumbledore exclaimed, his bushy eyebrows shooting up as his fingers lightly brushed the surface of the parchment. “This is a truly remarkable piece of magic! Your father and his friends created this during their time at Hogwarts I presume?”
“Y...Yeah,” Harry nodded, watching Dumbledore’s eyes dart across the page, scouring the floorplan of the Great Hall.
The headmaster’s eyes widened in surprise again, then narrowed in consternation.
“Ah, yes! So I see, Harry. It would appear that you are correct, and Miss Granger’s deduction is most likely correct as well. This is quite troubling... very disturbing in fact.”
“What’s going to happen now, sir? What are you going to do?”
“For the moment, we are going to enjoy the rest of the Yule Ball to the best of our ability,” said Dumbledore calmly as he folded up the Map, “and act as if nothing is wrong. I must please ask you both to say nothing, not even to your friends for right now. It would not do to raise Crouch’s suspicions that anyone might be on to him in such an open setting.”
Dumbledore then held out the Map, as if he expected Harry to take it back.
“Sir? I... I don’t understand...”
“Well, it is yours after all.” A twinkle returned to Dumbledore’s eye, though his features otherwise retained a grave demeanor.
“Really?” Harry was flabbergasted, having expected to be admonished, and have it taken away, as Lupin had done when first discovering that Harry had been using it. He glanced at Hermione who didn’t look quite as surprised as he did, and there was a strong hint of, “just-go-along-with-it,” in her expression.
“Really, Harry!” Dumbledore nodded. “I am quite serious...”
“But what if you need it?”
“I believe that you may need it far more than I do, Harry. I daresay that along with your Invisibility Cloak, this will afford you even more protection from any potential threats at Hogwarts. I suggest you keep it handy at all times.”
Harry gulped, Dumbledore’s meaning becoming all too clear to him. Hermione shot a, “see, I-told-you-so,” sort of look at Harry, and he realised that she had understood the advantages that the Map had provided him against any possible invasion of Hogwarts by Voldemort or his supporters long before he himself had - probably since Lupin had returned it to him at the end of Third Year.
“Right, okay,” said Harry slightly hoarsely, nodding, his jaw setting in resolve as he retrieved the Map from Dumbledore.
“Very good! Now, as I was saying, until the Ball is over, keep your heads down. I will invite several of the professors - including the False Moody - to the staff room for a nightcap at the Ball’s conclusion. There, we will unmask his true identity, and I would like you and Miss Granger to join us...”
This time it was Hermione who blurted out, “Really?” with a bewildered look on her face.
“Yes indeed. If my suspicions are correct - some of them quite... perplexing - then this involves Harry a great deal. It may be that Crouch is not the Crouch you believe him to be, which seems impossible on its face. ... That, I will explain later in more detail, should my suspicions prove to be true.
“For now, suffice it say that it is probable that Crouch - as Moody - placed your name in the Goblet, Harry. You deserve to know why, and to hear it from the ‘horse’s mouth,’ so to speak. And Miss Granger, as your compatriot, having stood by your side through thick and thin, is equally deserving...”

~o0o~
It was hard not to want to say anything to anyone during the remainder of the Ball. Hermione could see Harry itching to tell someone. Harry peered longingly at Ron and Neville, who were sitting with Seamus, all slouched at one of the tables with sloppy grins on their faces as they watched the band playing and gawked at the girls in their ballgowns. But even if Harry had been tempted to tell Ron and Neville, it was clear that they were too plastered to pay much attention.
Harry and Hermione tried dancing a bit more, but they were both a bit too agitated to really enjoy it, and Harry kept shooting glances at Moody, who was now dancing with Pomfrey. Hermione knew she had to do something before Harry made Moody suspicious.
“Come on Harry,” she said, dragging him away from the dancefloor.
“Er... What?”
“I know you’re anxious, Harry. I am too! But we need to try and forget about this for another hour at least.”
“Fat chance of that!” Harry snorted.
“Oh, I think we’ll find a way!” Hermione led Harry to a chair by one of the most isolated tables and plonked him in it, grinning. Then she popped the cork on an unopened bottle of champagne and filled two empty goblets to the brim.
“Cheers! Bottoms up, Harry!”
“Oh... er, alright,” said Harry, suddenly catching on. He gave her a lopsided grin in return. “Cheers Hermione!”
Two glasses of champagne later, and they were both feeling a lot more relaxed and giggly. Hermione licked her lips and pulled Harry out of his seat. Harry thought they were going to dance again, but Hermione apparently had other ideas. She led him out through the great oak front doors of the castle, and into the courtyard.
The cold air was bracing, and it was lightly snowing again, but the champagne induced tingles shooting through Hermione and Harry kept them warm. The music was loud enough to waft through the windows of the Great Hall, some of which had been cracked open to prevent overheating during the Ball. The courtyard had been decorated too, with ornamental red and white Christmas Roses.
“Hellebore,” Harry chuckled giddily as he sat down on a stone bench near the castle which hadn’t gathered too much fresh snow yet. “I just realised, Hermione - Christmas Roses are Hellebore - I recognise them from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi...”
“Very good Harry,” Hermione giggled, snuggling right up next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. “We’ll make a potioneer out of you yet...”
“Maybe so,” said Harry, looking slightly wistful as he curled an arm around Hermione. “It’s a bit like cooking really, and I’m alright at that, actually. I help Aunt Petunia cook and it’s one of the chores at the Dursleys I never really minded doing...”
“Do your aunt and uncle make you do loads of chores then?” Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“Sometimes. I don’t do everything - Aunt Petunia does a lot herself. But they don’t make Dudley do any chores at all. That probably bothers me the most... well, that and when they give me extra chores and no supper for punishments...”
Hermione wondered how often they punished Harry for him to look so thin at the beginning of school terms - and she knew his aunt and uncle had been starving him half to death last summer when they had put his cousin on a diet, because Harry had actually broken down and sent Hedwig to her and Ron with pleas for food - but she didn’t like to ask any more questions along those lines at the moment. It felt nice and peaceful cuddling Harry while watching the whorls of falling snow and she didn’t want to spoil the mood.
“Anyway,” Harry went on, chuckling again, “that’s probably why I like cooking... nicking bits of food whenever Aunt Petunia has her back turned. Still, there’s something kind of neat about mixing ingredients together and coming up with something new, and Potions is a lot like that. ... I sometimes feel that I might actually like Potions if Snape weren’t teaching it.”
Harry fell silent and Hermione hoped he wasn’t dwelling on things, but then she felt his lips pressing against her hair and she sighed happily. Harry planted several kisses atop Hermione’s head, which she tilted until his kisses met her lips. Soon they were both entwined, lost in one another as the kiss grew deeper and more impassioned.
Hermione didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, but she giggled when their lips finally parted and she saw a layer of snow frosting Harry’s hair. Harry grinned at her, and flicked a few of the curls spilling over her shoulder, sending a few snowflakes flying.
“You look like a Snow Queen.”
Hermione blushed and fluttered her eyelashes shyly. “I think I’d rather be Gerda, actually.”
“Pardon?”
“In Hans Christian Andersen’s story, The Snow Queen, Gerda is a girl who saves a boy named Kai from splinters of a troll-mirror which are lodged in his heart and eye with a kiss. She saves him with the power of her love.”
“Oh! Okay, Gerda it is then,” said Harry, smiling gently as he leaned in for another kiss. “I suppose that makes me Kai...”

~o0o~
By the time Harry and Hermione returned to the ballroom, The Cure were on their last song. When it was finished, they tarried near the staff table while the students began filing out of the Great Hall, returning to their respective common rooms. They eyed the headmaster with great curiosity when he seemed to whisper something in “Professor Moody’s” ear.
Moody nodded and grinned, then waved them over.
“Potter, Granger, how about a nightcap with me and a few professors before goin’ back to Gryffindor? Seems like Dumbledore’s feelin’ a bit generous tonight with his brandy. He’s got a bottle over three hundred years old that he’s been savin’ for the right occasion, and he reckons you two can handle a couple o’ sips without comin’ to any harm.”
“Oh, er, sure,” said Harry, feeling a bit startled by Dumbledore’s rather cunning ploy. “Er... How about you Hermione?” he asked, trying act as casual as possible, despite the fact that his heart was pounding like a jackhammer.
“Erm... alright!” Hermione squeaked, trying not to show her own trepidation.
She and Harry waited while the professors saw to the band packing up and made sure that the pupils were all off safely, and spotted the Weasley Twins approaching them through the dwindling crowd of students.
“There you are,” said George, “We’ve been looking for you two...”
“After-party in the common room is starting right now,” said Fred.
“Er... We’re actually joining a few of the professors for a... er, nightcap,” said Harry, flushing slightly.
“Oooh, a nightcap with the profs! All high and mighty aren’t we now?” sniggered Fred. Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Right, well if you want to join the rest of us plebs when you’re finished, you know where to find us,” George chortled.
Finally the hall was empty and most of the professors had trotted off to their own quarters, leaving Harry and Hermione with the headmaster, “Moody,” and Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey. If Harry weren’t anxious enough already, Snape shot him a look of loathing as they all made their way to the staff room.
The staff room was as cozy as the Gryffindor common room, with sofas and plush armchairs aplenty, and a roaring fire blazing in the hearth.
“Please, by all means, make yourselves comfortable,” said Dumbledore warmly, reaching into the liquor cabinet for an ancient, dusty looking bottle and an assortment of crystal snifters.
Harry and Hermione plopped on a sofa together, smiling nervously at the professors. McGonagall and Snape both looked a bit uncomfortable, but Flitwick beamed cheerily, and Pomfrey - usually so stern when in her own fiefdom - gave Harry and Hermione a reassuring smile.
Dumbledore lofted the bottle of brandy and blew a bit of the dust from it, his eyes twinkling.
“Dragon Barrel Brandy... nearly three hundred and fifty years old, never opened,” the headmaster stated casually. “And this seems a splendid occasion to rectify that situation. I did ask Olympe and Igor to join us as well, but apparently Olympe has hit it off with our illustrious Care of Magical Creatures professor, and Igor... well, is Igor.
“I am pleased you could join us Harry, Miss Granger,” he continued as he filled their snifters. “Normally I wouldn’t be offering such a strong libation to fourth year students, but this year is a bit different after all, and a rather special occasion, don’t you think?” Dumbledore gave them both a wink, and a canny smile which neither of them thought had anything to do with the false Moody situation.
“Oh, er... yes it is,” Hermione squeaked, turning pink.
“Er... I suppose it is,” Harry agreed, his cheeks growing hotter. Dumbledore poured each of the professors a snifter in turn, then lifted his own goblet in the air.
“If I may, I propose a toast, to a pair of the brightest young students to have graced these hallowed halls. Harry, Miss Granger, you have both truly done Hogwarts proud this year, representing the best that this school has to offer.
“Your path has been difficult Harry, and fraught with peril, each year bringing you new challenges far beyond that which most students could be expected to face, yet you have met each challenge with grace, courage, and no small amount of wit...”
Harry could see Snape struggling to contain himself, but Dumbledore seemed to be ignoring the Potion Master’s discomposure as he continued.
“...And Miss Granger, your sharp intellect, warmness of heart, and steadfastness beyond measure has stood Harry well in meeting those challenges in concert with one another. It gives an old man great pleasure to bear witness to the flowering of your partnership with Harry. I have no doubt that the both of you will have a long and happy future together...”
Snape couldn’t help letting out a disdainful snort at that point; Pomfrey and McGonagall both shot him glares and Flitwick raised his eyebrows. “Moody” chuckled, and winked at Snape with his real eye.
“Cheers, then, to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, may they both flourish in the embrace of Hogwarts’ bosom,” Dumbledore concluded, as if oblivious to the drama proceeding around him.
“Cheers!” said the professors in unison, clinking their glasses together, though Snape’s, “Cheers,” was hissed through gritted teeth, his lips curled in a grimace.
Harry and Hermione were both as red as the field on the Gryffindor coat of arms now, as they took sips from their own goblets. They were both pleasantly surprised by the rich, fruity flavour of the brandy, and grateful for the soothing warmth which crept through their veins as it slipped down their throats, feeling their nerves settle.
On the other sofa, something odd seemed to be happening. “Moody” - who was seated between Snape and Flitwick - began to twitch. The two professors on either side of the false Moody had their wands out instantly. Without a word, ropes shot out from Flitwick’s wand, binding “Moody” tightly.
“Albus, what the bloody blazes...?” gasped “Moody,” just before his eyes glazed over and the twitching stopped.
“My apologies, ‘Alastor,’ which I doubt very much is your real name,” said Dumbledore politely. “I have it on good authority that you are not who you claim to be. And I suspect we shall see the truth of the matter in less than five minutes, as I last saw you sipping from your hip-flask nearly an hour ago.”
“Moody” simply stared back glassily. Harry and Hermione peered at him, bewildered.
“Veritaserum - a truth telling potion,” said the headmaster, for the benefit of his students. “Professor Snape was kind enough to sneak out before the end of the Yule Ball and return with a vial of it, which I slipped into ‘Alastor’s’ drink as I poured the brandy. Now all that remains is to wait and see if the polyjuice wears off as suspected, and then interrogate him.
Sure enough, after several minutes passed, everyone fidgeting in anticipation, “Moody’s” features began to bubble and melt. The magical eye popped out with a disgusting squelchy sound and rolled across the floor, the wooden peg-leg fell away from his knee with a clunk, replaced with a growing calf and foot. The grizzled hair shortened and stubble withdrew into the bubbling skin.
When the transformation was complete, Harry and Hermione were both utterly perplexed. McGonagall gasped in shock. Snape’s eyes widened, and he shot a look at Dumbledore which held perhaps even a small hint of fear.
“That’s not Barty Crouch!” Harry blurted out, peering in astonishment at the much younger man with stubble free skin and a thatch of straw coloured hair. Hermione clutched Harry’s hand tightly, frowning.
“Actually, it is,” said Dumbledore. “However, it is not the Barty Crouch you were expecting. Meet Barty Crouch’s son - Barty CrouchJunior... who was imprisoned in Azkaban - along with the Lestranges for torturing Neville Longbottom’s parents into insanity - by his own father no less.”
“But he’s supposed to be dead!” snapped McGonagall.
“Though he would not be the first to escape the clutches of death that we know of,” Snape muttered meaningfully, a sour expression on his face.
“Quite true,” said Dumbledore, nodding as he stroked his long silvery beard pensively. “But I have my doubts that we are looking at another ‘Dark Lord.’ I believe there is something much more intriguing going on. And there, we will begin our interrogation. ... Barty can you hear me?”
“Yes,” said Crouch Junior in a flat, wooden tone.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore gently. “Now, if you please, tell us how you have come to still be alive, and escaped Azkaban...”
Harry and Hermione listened intently, growing more and more bewildered and tense as Crouch revealed all, an intricate plot hatched by his brokenhearted mother, and carried out in conjunction with his father, who had apparently loved her deeply enough to break their son out of prison for her. The plan had involved polyjuice potion and the mother taking her son’s place in Azkaban, where she eventually died, still bearing his features.
Meanwhile, Crouch Junior was being watched over by his father - who kept Junior under the Imperius Curse much of the time to control him - and looked after by Winky the house-elf.
The story took an even more bizarre turn when Dumbledore pressed Crouch Junior to explain how and why he had come to be at Hogwarts, disguised as Alastor Moody. Apparently things began to go awry with the plan around the time of the World Cup, when Crouch Junior managed to escape the control of his father’s Imperius Curse, and had cast the Dark Mark as a warning to the Death Eaters causing mayhem - those who had disloyally disavowed the Dark Lord to stay out of Azkaban, believing him to be dead and gone.
Junior had then been discovered in his home by Voldemort and Wormtail, after they had apparently got all the information they needed from a hapless Bertha Jorkins (who had learned of Junior’s existence inadvertently, only to have the knowledge obliviated by Crouch Senior) when she was on holiday in Albania.
Harry’s head was spinning with all the convoluted details as the story continued - much of it stretching credulity to its breaking point - his chest taut with anxiety to learn that Crouch Junior had been sent by Voldemort to Hogwarts as Moody, while Crouch Senior was being kept imprisoned in his own home and imperiused when sent out on occasion to keep up appearances at the Ministry.
Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand comfortingly and gave him a sorrowful look when it was revealed that Crouch Junior had entered Harry into the tournament, in a twisted plot to somehow manage to keep Harry alive all the way through till the end, and thenkidnap him in a bid to reconstitute Voldemort through some sort of ritual.
It all seemed a bit stupid really to Harry - why not just kidnap him right at the beginning and save all the trouble? That still didn’t make a lick of sense to him, even when Crouch Junior’s supply of information had been exhausted.
Harry hoped that at least they would be able to work out where on earth Voldemort was hiding, but Crouch Junior wasn’t able to reveal that tidbit due to some sort of Secret Keeping Spell. Crouch Junior had been supposed to turn the Triwizard Cup (the award - part of the prize - not the Goblet of Fire as Harry had at first assumed) into a Portkey at the very last minute, so it was impossible to track down Voldemort that way.
One good thing came out of the whole affair though. When the interrogation was finished, Dumbledore called for Winky the house-elf. She was beside herself and sobbing at first to see her Master’s son captive, and to hear of his involvement with the Dark Lord.
Hermione was in tears to see her so abject, and this time it was Harry who provided the comforting hug. His arms wrapped tightly around Hermione and held her close as they listened to Dumbledore explaining things to Winky.
“My poor Master,” Winky wailed after hearing a truncated version of events, “Barty is being very bad boy, hurting his father. But I is not wanting to see him punished. He is needing love and caring.”
“I am so sorry Winky,” said Dumbledore as pitiful house-elf wept. “There is little I can do about that. I expect that once his story is told to the proper authorities, he will be sent back to Azkaban. But there is one who still needs you. Barty Crouch Senior is still very much alive and Imperiused, held captive in his own home.
“As your current employer, it is my wish that you bring Barty Crouch Senior to the Hogwarts infirmary for recuperation, this very night, where Madam Pomfrey will see to his medical needs. Following his recovery, you are to look after Barty Crouch Senior at his home once more...”
“You is letting me work for my old Master?” Winky squealed in surprise. “But what if Master is not wanting me?”
“I do not believe that Barty will have any objections, at this point,” Dumbledore sighed. “However, he will not be able to send you away or sack you again, as technically you will be working for him on my behalf.”
“Oh thank you Master Dumbledore, sir! Thank you!” Winky wept again, but this time big fat tears of joy rolled down her beaming cheeks. “Thank you! You is being great wizard to give me back my true Master. Thank you!”
Dumbledore wiped a tear away from his own eye and smiled back at the effusive house-elf.
“Then go Winky. Go now to your old Master and bring him to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will meet you there.” There was a little popping sound, and Winky was gone. “Poppy?” Dumbledore peered at Pomfrey over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
“I’m already on my way, Albus,” said the school nurse, clambering to her feet. “Are you coming Severus?” she asked, her tone cold, “We have to pick up the real Alastor on the way...”
“Oh Harry,” Hermione sobbed, her tears dripping onto Harry’s shoulder. “I’m so happy for Winky, but I can’t stop crying.”
“You don’t mind?” asked Harry, not sure of his own perplexing cauldron of feelings.
“Oh, one day, I’m still going to do my best to make sure that house-elves have rights, Harry. But that’s just it - freedom doesn’t mean house-elves shouldn’t be able work for who they like. I never wanted to take away their happiness - I just want them to have freedom to choose who to work for, and to not be treated cruelly.
“Winky loves Barty Crouch to bits... Of course Winky should work for him if that’s what she wants, as long as he isn’t mistreating her.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, nodding his head, “I agree a hundred percent. I hate slavery! I’m sorry I wasn’t a bit more supportive of S.P.E.W. Hermione, I guess I was letting Ron and Hagrid influence my opinion a bit.
“But you’re going to have to do something about that acronym, Hermione,” he added, grinning. “It really is dreadful.”
Hermione let out a teary little giggle. “You’re right Harry. I suppose it’s not very conducive to eliciting sympathy for house-elves...”
“Well, I hate to intrude on this moment,” said Dumbledore, who had apparently finished giving his instructions to the other professors, “But I believe it best that you return to Gryffindor now. You and I have much to discuss, Harry, and we will be talking again at length before the New Year...”
“What’s going to happen with Barty Crouch Junior?” asked Harry, still trying to fill in the gaps.
“...And the real Moody?” asked Hermione worriedly.
“Professors Flitwick and McGonagall are going to secure Crouch Junior in a warded, but comfortably furnished dungeon cell tonight. And I will be sending for Madam Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt tomorrow to take his testimony for themselves... After that, as I explained to Winky, he will likely be returned to Azkaban. I wish there were more we could do for him, but as you can see, Crouch Junior is quite devoted to Voldemort, and it would not do for him to escape from Saint Mungo’s Mind Healing ward.
“As to Alastor... once he has recovered from his ordeal, I see no reason why he shouldn’t take on the role I hired him on for. There is none other more suited to the task of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts - I would trust him with my life...
“Which is probably why I was less cautious than I should have been in regards to keeping my eye on him,” Dumbledore sighed. “Even I sometimes make mistakes. I should have been much more on guard after the near conjunction of events at the World Cup with the incident which resulted in the apparent Alastor Moody’s altercation with muggle policemen.
“This all confirms the vision you had earlier this summer, of course, Harry. Which is why we must be on high alert and reevaluate the current situation. Voldemort has failed for now - he cannot reconstitute himself in the manner he had hoped... and that gives us time to make plans.
“As I said, you and I will be conferring in coming days to try and sort things out - and Miss Granger, given your closeness with Harry, I do believe your presence is warranted as well. But for now, get some rest, and make the best of the holidays - you have both earned the respite.
“And if I am not mistaken, I do believe that the Weasley Twins’ post-Ball celebration is continuing in the Gryffindor common room. They are no doubt expecting you,” Dumbledore concluded, the twinkles returning to his eyes.
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Yuletide Blessing in Disguise