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"Wake up, Professor."
Even in his hazy, semi-conscious state, Moody detects an undertone of gleeful mockery in the last word. Under normal circumstances, this would have him on his feet in an instant. The very fact that someone is in the room with him as he rouses himself from unconsciousness should be indication enough that something is very, very wrong. But for reasons he cannot yet recall, the inner voice he relies upon to spur him into alertness is instead urging him back to sleep.
The outer voice speaks again, this time in annoyance. It sounds increasingly familiar, though somehow out of place. "I said, wake up."
Moody opens his eye. Puzzled by his limited field of vision, he tries to reach up a hand to feel for the artificial one before realizing that he is already wearing it: if, by "he," one means the doppelganger seated across the room with his wand - his wand - drawn.
Oh, yes. Now he remembers. "What's wrong, Barty? Thought you said the hair you took last time would tide you over 'til Christmas."
Crouch laughs. "How do you know that it isn't Christmas?"
All Aurors are trained to handle unexpected situations, and Moody has always been above average in this regard. Nonetheless, hearing his own voice echoed back to him is disconcerting. He makes a mental note to recommend that the scenario be added to training if - when he gets out of this. "You haven't switched to winter robes."
"Very perceptive," Crouch says. It is not a compliment. "No, my store of Polyjuice ingredients is well stocked. I need something else from you."
He remembers this part, too, much to his shame. "No."
"My dear Auror Mad-Eye." Crouch twirls the wand between his fingertips. "You are under virtually every binding spell known to wizardkind that can be cast upon an unwilling participant. Why do you persist in the delusion you have a choice in the matter?"
"The Imperius Curse can be resisted with…"
"Constant vigilance." Moody isn't certain what's worse: hearing his favorite expression co-opted with such a cavalier smirk, or knowing that the impostor still doesn't have the inflection right and no one else seems to have noticed the difference. "Yes, that's served you well so far."
"Damn right," Moody growls. "I've been putting down Dark wizards since before you were in nappies. I've survived curses that would have killed a lesser man. And we both know you can't afford to cast any of them on me, or you'd have done it already. So go ahead, Barty. Do your worst…for whatever that's worth."
A peevish look that reminds Moody of the young boy his former supervisor used to bring to work sometimes and then ignore for the rest of the day crosses Crouch's face, then vanishes. "Enough of this," he scowls, and raises his wand. "Imperio!"
Moody struggles, but Crouch's anger has intensified the strength of the spell. All too soon, he can feel himself drifting away. "Tell me about the Longbottoms," he hears Crouch ask from a distance.
"Frank and Alice?" One image springs instantly to mind, its vividness overwhelming any feelings of placid obedience, if only for a second. "Didn't you get enough information when you tortured them?"
Judging by Crouch's clipped words and the further weakening of the spell, he has struck a very different kind of nerve. "We weren't interested in questioning them at the time." Crouch quickly regains control, however, every order growing more assured, more honeyed. "And what little they did say didn't involve you. You were their coworker. Tell me about the cases you handled together. Your impressions of them. Whatever it will take to make their son trust me – trust us."
Moody lets go, allowing the answers to pour forth. He isn't happy about whatever Crouch has in mind for the Longbottom boy, despite the spell's assurances that he's doing the right thing, but he has to trust that the Death Eater won't attempt anything drastic this early, right under Dumbledore's nose. For his part, he needs to marshal his strength. Because sooner or later, Crouch will ask whose side Severus Snape is on. And when that day comes, it will take all of his vigilance to give the answer that needs to be given for his escape to make any difference.