Collected

Most students at Hogwarts complained when they were stuck with Double Potions during the school week. Isola Crouch, however, found herself very uncomfortable at the prospect of having Double Defense Against the Dark Arts. That was a solid two hours of sitting in front of Alastor Moody, and even if he was a good professor, the girl wasn't sure if she'd be able to sit there under his constant scrutiny for that long.

Weiss sat down next to her in class again, mussing up his own strangely silver hair. "What d'you think it'll be today? Hexing one another for practice? Cursing insects?"

Before Isola could even roll her eyes, Moody's voice rang out, "Neither, Macnair," making the boy jump as the Auror limped up to the front of the room. "Today, I'm going to go further in depth about the Imperius Curse, its effects, and what it feels like to be under it." There were whispers around the room, and even Isola quirked an eyebrow. "You need to know what you're up against. You need to be able to recognize the sensation. You need to stop whispering about me like I can't hear it, Miss Parkinson!"

The pug-faced girl pouted, and Isola snickered, always a fan of Pansy getting chewed out, especially publicly.

"To resist the Imperius Curse takes extremely strong will-power. It's doubtful that any of you will be able to do it. But, this is a learning experience, is it not?" The student's faces all looked grim, everyone nervous about what the day's lesson was likely to entail. "Now, before I go into practical demonstrations, I want all of you to close your eyes, and I want you to picture a safety system, something that would keep predators out-- a bunker, a door, a net, a protector, whatever works for you." This was almost beginning to sound like one of Trelawney's attempts to make them use their inner eye. "I want you to imagine them defending you from this curse. Just picture it for a moment, get it nice and cemented into your little brains."

It sounded a lot like practicing Occlumency, which was something the Death Eaters had Isola study from a young age.

The brunette rolled her closed eyes but did as told, imagining first a net, though that seemed too flimsy. Her mind quickly switched it to a door, a large wooden door that was vaguely familiar, and it took her a few moments to recognize it as the door to Regulus Black's flat. Still, doors could get broken down. She could feel her lips twist into a frown and opened one eye to see that all of the other students were following instructions. At the front, Moody stood watching all of them, his hands clasped together, and for a fraction of a second, his tongue darted of his mouth in a familiar gesture. Isola had seen that somewhere before.

With a grimace, she shut her eyes again, this time picturing a man-- a man with messy brown hair and large, light brown eyes. Freckles were sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, and he was smiling. It was Barty-- her guardian, her savior, her protector.

Smiling wasn't going to do much, though, and with some effort, his face contorted into a determined scowl, and she imagined him armed, pointing a wand. Now, that was more like it.

"Ready, then? Have your defenses?" The children murmured, unsure, and Isola nodded, curious as to how this would turn out.

Lavender Brown was put under first, her eyes immediately going foggy as a dazed smile appeared on her face. No surprises there, she wasn't exactly strong in the brain area. Goyle was next, but he didn't stand a chance. Weasley went into it with a determined look on his face which soon faded away into a blank stare, and then Moody pointed his wand at Harry bloody Potter who, of course, was the only one to resist for any amount of time, short as it was.

Everyone looked amazed, especially those who had already gone under, and Moody looked at him with interest. "You've got a strong mind, Potter," he barked.

"Thanks, I'd like to think the same," he replied.

This went on for some time until Moody got to Isola's table, first cursing Weiss, who failed miserably, then Isola found the wand pointed at her head. "Prepared, Miss Crouch?"

There was something dancing within his eye, the real one, interest, perhaps, and Isola nodded, gripping the table and thinking hard of her past guardian, remembering the way he would tell her about killing on raids, torturing people the way he had tortured her blood-traitor parents.

"Imperio!"

She could imagine him, eyes darkening, magic strong, and she pictured him standing in front of her, one hand pointing a wand ahead at some unknown enemy while his other arm reached behind him to keep her back and away from danger.

There was a faint itching in her brain, like something scratching to get out, or in this case, in, and Isola knew what it was. She knew she was being cursed, and she knew that she was resisting.

It took effort, though. It didn't feel like just thinking of something, it was like she was losing some of her magic in doing it, like resisting the curse was making it seep straight from her pores. She was getting weaker, but she wasn't going to give up. Keeping her eyes shut, she continued to think of him, throwing hexes and curses of his own, defending her, and it seemed to be doing the trick.

And then, it stopped. The itching stopped, and she opened her eyes, the room returning to her briefly before she felt her eyes roll back and her body sag forward, head coming in contact with the hard table.



"Isola? Izzy, Izzy, come on, wake up."

Isola stirred at the sound of a gruff voice and a gentle hand shaking her. She let out a quiet groan and shifted slightly, slowly growing more aware of just how worn out she felt. She was lying horizontally, but the surface beneath her was still hard, so it was safe to say she was not in the infirmary.

The Fourth Year recalled what happened and opened her eyes, nearly falling to the ground when she saw Alastor Moody's scarred face hovering over hers.

"Sweet Merlin! Did you have to get so close?" She practically screeched, leaning back as far as she could.

He just laughed and held out his hand, a small piece of chocolate in it. "I didn't face a Dementor," she stated blankly, noting that they were alone in the room.

"The curse took a toll on you in a similar way. Just take it."
She eyed it, taking it from his hand, but did not put it in her mouth. She didn't trust him, and as much as it pained Barty to know that, he was also so proud of her.

Isola slid from what she realized was one of the tabletops onto shaky legs, and braced herself on a stool. Her body was so tired, it was awful.

"Does this always happen when you resist a curse?"

"Just this one," Moody answered. "It's the only Unforgivable you can resist. The Cruciatis is about inflicting pain, and Avad-Kedav is obviously about killing. There's nothing you can do about that since it relies on the caster's desire to hurt or kill."

"But, the Imperius is about will power and taking it away," Isola murmured, quickly catching on, "And even if the caster wants to have control, you can still fight it since it relies on both people's wills."

Moody smiled at her, a frightening sight, and she stepped back again. "Precisely. You've grown up to be a bright witch."

Her frown deepened, and she said defensively, "You say that like you knew me when I was young."

One eye widened, and Moody also took a step back, clearing his throat. "I've had run-ins with people who you were around as a child. I knew there was another little one like Malfoy running around."

Isola tried to contain the sense of foreboding that was threatening to engulf her. If he knew of her then, did he know where she came from?

"Right, well, this has been lovely, but--"

"Just, as a matter of interest," he interrupted her, and Isola watched him closely. "What were you thinking of when you were resisting? An army, a bomb shelter, what?"

The brunette narrowed her eyes. It was a legitimate enough question. He had reason to wonder why a fourteen-year-old could resist the Imperius Curse so well, but still, it could have also been a way for Moody to nose deeper into her life.

"It was a person," she answered vaguely. "I went with the protector idea."

"Wh- who was it, if you don't mind me asking. You must view them as very strong."

"Of course I mind!" She snapped, suspicion rising. "It's my mind, and you have no reason to go digging around in it, Moody, unless, of course, you're just trying to find out how dark I really am. Is that it?" He said nothing, just stared at her as her temper flared. "Well, I can promise you, I won't be throwing around any of these Unforgivables at Hogwarts. You'll have no reason to cart me off to Azkaban, like I'm sure you're just dying to do already."

Moody's mouth twitched, and he licked his upper lip again, the feeling of familiarity returning to Isola. "I never said I wanted to, but the way you've reacted is making me think that maybe I should."

Barty had to remain realistic in his role, even if he wanted nothing more than to wait out the Polyjuice and show her who he was. However, watching her get so riled up was rather amusing. She would have to watch her temper, though. Had Isola been saying all of this to the real Alastor Moody... Barty shuddered at the consequences.

"Don't even try to act innocent. You've been watching me closer than anyone else since you got here." This was not a lie. Perhaps this had been building for a while, the past few weeks. Had she really caught him staring that often? "Shouldn't you be expending all of your energy on keeping Saint Potter safe rather than watching out for me?"

"Yes, but I have other orders as well."

The girl let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head and gathering her bag from the ground. "Right, ol' Dumbeldore's finally getting worried about me, is that it? Wants to make sure I won't hurt his golden boy, or is it that he wants to try to save my soul from darkness?"

Barty had to fight not to laugh. She was right; that was definitely something Dumbledore would try to do.

Isola watched as the Auror smiled mysteriously, lifting an eyebrow, "Not quite. I have orders from someone else, too."
She just rolled her eyes, muttering a quiet, "Whatever," before adding in a louder voice, "Just stay away from me."

Shoving past him, Isola walked to the door, still feeling a little light-headed. A thought came to her as she reached the threshold, though, and she turned back, knowing that Moody was still watching her.

"The other night at the drawing of the champions... You weren't surprised when they called him. You didn't even look fazed when Dumbledore read off Potter's name, though you, of all people, should know that it would take incredibly strong magic to get past Dumbeldore's safety spells and the magic of the cup." He didn't say anything, didn't even blink for that matter. "Strange. I would have thought you'd be worried."

With that, she turned and left the room, walking down the corridors and toward the dungeons. She was officially sick of Alastor Moody and his strange tactics. She knew he had a purpose in being here, but she couldn't get to the bottom of it, and the way he watched her was so beyond unnerving. She just wanted him to go away.

As she entered the common room, she paused, remembering the way she had felt when she first woke on the table. Disoriented and weak, but she had woken for a reason. Moody had been speaking to her, saying something, trying to wake her, and in it...

"Isola, Izzy, Izzy, come on, wake up."

She scowled at the ground, wondering what in the devil would possess him not only to call her by her first name, but to resort to nicknames. No one called her Izzy. Draco, Weiss, and Moria did it occasionally, but it never sat well with her. The only person who had called her by that name, who she was okay with, was Barty, and she hadn't heard it from him for eleven years.

Maybe the professor had thought she would wake easier to comfort, but he had no way of knowing that it would work. Really, he had no way of knowing that she had even been called that.

And, what was that about taking orders from someone else? Who could Moody possibly be listening to who wasn't Dumbledore? Fudge, Crouch Sr.?

Feeling a headache coming on, Isola walked up to her dormitory, fetching a piece of parchment and scribbling out a quick note to the Carrows.

Amycus and Alecto,

If you haven't heard already, Moody has a post here as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. If that's not awful enough, he's acting very... Strange. I don't know how to explain it, but he's been watching me very closely. Draco thinks he might know my history, and I'm not so sure he doesn't.

Just tell me what you think about it.

Isola

She rushed out of the dungeons, ready to just sleep her way through dinner, and as soon as she reached ground level, Nizbit was sitting in a window, already aware of her needs. Isola handed the scroll to him, and the owl took it in one of his feet, clutching it tightly, as he flew off.

She ignored her homework, as well as Weiss and Pansy, climbing into her bed. Sleep did not come easy, however. Something was off in Hogwarts, and Isola was sure that it had something to do with Moody. She just had to find out what it was.