Back to Hogwarts
They made their way back to the campsite the way they came, following the paths illuminated by the red and green lanterns. Overhead, the occasional leprechaun soared, giggling and waving his green lantern. The Irish fans were still yelling and singing in a celebration that looked like it would go on all night long. Harry was glad the Malfoy's tent included silencing charms, otherwise, there would be no sleep at all tonight.
"Interesting game", Vernon commented, "but rough, perhaps even rougher than Rugby. I'm not sure I like the idea of Harry's playing this game. Looks very dangerous. The way that Bulgarian took that cannon ball right in the face. If he fell from that height, he would have died. Same for the Irish player who crashed twice".
"School Quiddich is quite different", Lucius explained. "Those were professional leagues, and it looks worse than it really is. I'm not denying that players haven't died, but that is a rare occurrence. The rules for school games are different. Children wouldn't be allowed to play if there was any significant danger".
"Just some bumps and bruises, nothing worse", Harry explained. "I like playing, and I think I'm pretty good at it. You could get hurt playing Rugby or Football, you could get whacked in the head playing Cricket, and normie schools sponsor teams".
"I thought it very exciting", Petunia said, "and co-ed too: you don't see that in professional sports".
"That's the thing about Quiddich", Harry explained, "only the Beaters require strength. For Chasers and Seekers, it's speed and agility that count".
"What I wouldn't give to play", Dudley said.
"You could be a Beater".
"He's the one who bats around the cannon balls?", Dudley asked.
"Yep, and it's called a 'Bludger'".
"Too bad there aren't any inter-school leagues", Draco said, "then we could match wits".
Draco and Harry were both Seekers.
"That would be something", Harry agreed, "maybe if you transferred to Beaux Batons".
"Not. Gonna. Happen", Draco reminded.
"It really was a shame, losing the both of you", Lucius said.
"Not after the irresponsible way that school is run", Vernon protested.
"We are trying to change that. I am on the Board of Governors, and once we have a decent Headmaster, there will be changes made. Of that, I can assure you".
"I hope you do. For the sake of the children, regardless of whether Harry returns or not.
"One thing I don't understand", Vernon began as he bought forth a handful of gold coins from one of his overstuffed pockets, "is how they can afford it?"
"That's leprechaun gold", Lucius explained, "and leprechauns never give away gold. It will be gone by morning, so it cost no one anything. It's all part of the pregame show".
"I should have guessed it was too good to be true. Then all those legends about leprechauns and their pots of gold..."
"Are incomplete. You don't get to keep it".
0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
"Get up! Get up now! Harry! Hermione!"
"Huh? Wha..."
"No time to explain", it was Lucius and Narcissa.
Harry had drifted off to sleep. He hastily pulled on jeans and a T. Outside, he could tell something wasn't quite right. The Irish fans should have been celebrating, getting louder and rowdier the more butterbeer, wine, and fire whiskey consumed. Now, people weren't singing, they were screaming in terror.
There was a tight knot of people marching across the field, wands held high. People were running away from them, and there were bursts of light and sounds like gunfire. Above them, four forms writhed unnaturally. He still had his Omnioculars and focused on the scene. These were figures clad in identical, featureless, black robes with hoods pulled tightly over their heads. They all wore identical silver masks. They were blasting tents out of their way.
As they passed a burning campsite, he could recognize one of the people high in the air: Mr Roberts the property owner and site manager. The others were his wife and two children, a preteen boy and his teen-aged sister. One of the wizards turned the girl upside down, her nightdress dropping down around her head. She was wearing nothing, and the nightdress pulled away, fluttering down to the crowd below. She was completely naked. They made her do a dance like a marionette on strings. The crowd below hooted with glee. Her younger brother whirled like a dervish, his head flopping from side to side.
"That's sick!", Hermione commented.
"Mega-sick", Harry agreed.
"They're attacking the muggles", Lucius said. "We need to get your parents and brother into hiding. Into the woods!"
"Who are they?!", Vernon asked.
"Death Eaters", Harry explained.
"Here? Here?!"
The woods were getting darker: they could hear other people calling back and forth, children crying, looking for lost parents. They passed a gaggle of Beaux Batons students.
"Dammit!", Harry called out, "my wand".
"What happened to it?", Hermione asked.
"I must've dropped it".
"Here", she said. "Lumos", to light the way so they wouldn't break an ankle.
There was a rustling nearby. They all looked around, anxious. Was it just a harmless woodland critter, disturbed by the noise? It was Winky, struggling to move forward, but seemingly held back by an invisible hand.
"There is bad wizards about", she announced. "People floating up in the air. Trying to get away..."
Winky was pulled back into the woods by whatever unseen hand held her.
"What the hell was that?", Vernon asked.
"A house elf...", Harry explained
"But what's wrong with her?"
"She probably didn't have permission to run away", Hermione explained. "Most magi treat them like animals. Look at how frightened she was of being in the sky box, but did her owner care? No, of course he didn't".
"House elves are under a special enchantment that guarantees their loyalty and obedience. If she were disobeying, she would have to fight that off", Lucius explained further.
"Disgusting..."
"Better keep moving", Lucius said.
They passed a trio of goblins who were cackling over a sack of Galleons they'd won from betting on the match. They didn't seem to care about the mayhem. Maybe they believed it didn't involve them? Too drunk with greed to care? Now Harry and Hermione understood why Bagman didn't pay them right away: you don't make goblins wait for their winnings. Still farther on, they crossed a moon lit meadow where three male wizards were hitting on one of the Bulgarian veela.
"I make 100 sacks of Galleons a year!", one was heard to brag. "I work for the Department of Dangerous Creatures!"
"The hell you do", another disagreed, "you wash dishes at the Leaky Cauldron. I, on the other hand, am a vampyre hunter. I have 96 kills to my credit".
"I'm next in line for Minister of Magic", a pimply-faced young man was saying. "I'll be the youngest Minister of Magic ever!"
Harry recognized this last suitor: Stan Shunpike, a Knight Bus driver.
They left the veela to deal her suitors.
"I think we'll be OK here", Lucius announced.
"Why would they do something like this?", Petunia asked.
"Yeah, and with almost the entire Ministry here as well. How do you suppose they thought they could get away with this?", Narcissa agreed.
They could still hear sounds of the mayhem back at the camp grounds. Then they heard someone shuffling through the brush off the trail.
"Hello! Anyone out there?", Harry called out.
"Better not", Hermione stopped Harry and his brother from investigating. "We don't know who's out there".
They could just barely make out a figure in the darkness where moon light didn't reach.
"Morsmordre!", he called out.
A beam of green light shot skyward, where it looked at though it hit an invisible barrier. It spread out, forming a thick mist, then it began to take shape. It was a skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth. It glowed green, casting a green tinge all around the ground below, like a hideous florescent sign.
Seconds later, they heard the apparition of a large group of wizards: "Get down!", Harry ordered.
"Stupify!", about a couple dozen wands opened up, sending flashes of red over their heads, so close it felt as though a strong wind was blowing through their hair. Red blasts flew everywhere: into the surrounding trees, ricocheting off the trunks of trees, some back at the casters.
"Cease fire!", Lucius called out. "We have civilians here! Stop firing at my guests!"
They ceased, and everyone rose.
"Which one of you did it?", Amos Diggory demanded.
"It wasn't us!", Hermione called out. "We heard the incantation coming from over there"
"An incantation, you say. You seem to know quite a bit about conjuring the Dark Mark, Missy..."
Barty Crouch was also there: "Malfoy, it was you, wasn't it? You're one of them".
"You know good and well I was cleared. Even if I did, why would I do that in front of all these witnesses?"
"If you Confunded them..."
"I assure you, we aren't Confunded", Harry explained. "That can be checked out pretty easily, you know. You are aware of my history? You know what happened to my parents? Why the hell would I have anything to do with that?", as he pointed up to the apparition in the sky.
"Yet you – all of you – are here at the scene of the crime", Diggory continued.
"There was someone", Hermione explained, "over there. We all heard someone sneaking behind the trees. I'm sorry, but we didn't see".
"They probably Disapparated", Arthur Weasley said. "You can't seriously be accusing Harry and his friends?", he asked, incredulous.
"I'd expect that from you", Diggory continued accusing.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I know there have been hard feelings between you and the Malfoys, but it's also a fact that Draco helped save your daughter's life, so I would suspect you would return that favour".
"Maybe we should check?", another wizard suggested. "We sent Stunners into the woods where the Young Lady pointed".
"Probably disapparated before we arrived".
"Can't hurt to see".
Diggory headed into the woods.
"Found something!", they heard Amos call back.
He reappeared, not with an unconscious culprit, but a small figure like a small child.
"Winky", Harry recognized the makeshift cloak she wore that she made from an old towel.
"She's been stunned", Diggory explained.
"I ordered her to stay at the campsite", Crouch said. "What's she doing here?"
"Let's hear what she has to say for herself", Diggory said. "Enervate!", he cast the reversal spell.
"Elf, what are you doing out here?', Diggory began his interrogation.
"There is bad wizards. People high in the air, blowing up tents. I is running away".
"Did you conjure the Dark Mark?"
"Wait just a minute", Arthur interrupted, "the Dark Mark is wizard magic that requires a wand..."
"She had a wand", Diggory said, as he displayed the wand.
"Hey! That's mine", Harry called out. "It went missing shortly after we ran into the woods to escape the rioting".
"Did you know there's a way to see what spells the wand cast, Elf?
"Priori Incantatum".
Harry's wand replayed the casting of the Dark Mark: "Deletrious", Diggory deleted the memory of it from Harry's wand.
"Can I have my wand back?", Harry asked.
"Yes, of course", he handed it back.
"Elf: you know there are laws that forbid non-humans from possessing a wand, let alone cast with one?", Diggory addressed Winky.
"I is not doing it! I is not knowing how!"
"Then where did you get this wand?"
"I is finding it, back there". She pointed back into the woods. "It was on the ground. I is wondering who might want it back, so I picked it up".
"So you found a wand and decided to have a bit of fun with it?"
"No, Sir, I is not knowing how… I is not knowing how to use a wand, I is not knowing how. I is good elf"
"Amos, there are very few wizards outside the Dark Lord's circle of followers who'd know how to conjure the Dark Mark. How would she know?"
"She could have learned..."
"Are you suggesting I teach my servants how to cast the Dark Mark?", Crouch asked, indignant.
"No, but she still gets around. No telling who she met, where, or when, who could have showed her..."
"This is beyond absurd!", Hermione called out. "Listen to her speak: her voice is high pitched and squeaky. We all heard the caster, and it was definitely a human voice… a man's voice and certainly no house elf!"
"Then it had to be one of them!", Diggory pointed to Malfoy and his guests. He had a positively insane look to his eye.
"You do realize that you have accused two of the least likely suspects?", Arthur tried to reason with him, "Mr Crouch and Mr Potter. Do you really believe that Mr Potter, especially, would just stand by while someone here cast that spell without a peep of protest? Do you really think Mr Crouch would teach his house elf how to conjure the Dark Mark, or allow her to associate with those who do? Do you listen to yourself? Do you know how insane all that sounds?"
"OK, then...", Diggory conceded.
"You", Crouch addressed Winky, "you disobeyed my instructions to wait..."
"Please, Master, I is good elf… I was scared… tents blown up… people up high..." Winky was clinging to Crouch's legs. "I is sorry for running, I was scared of the bad wizards"
"I'm not interested in your sniveling excuses. I don't need servants that disobey, so this means clothes for you..."
"No, Master… Not clothes! Anything but clothes..." Tears were flowing from her large, brown eyes.
Harry and Hermione didn't know what that was about.
"Mr. Crouch", Hermione protested, "can't you see how frightened she is? You knew she was afraid of heights, and still you sent her to the sky box. She saw the Roberts being levitated, she saw and heard the utter mayhem back at the camp site..."
"Mind your own business, Young Lady! I don't know who the hell you think you are, speaking to me like that. I already made myself clear: I don't need disobedient servants! Now butt out!
"Come, Winky"
Crouch left with the sobbing Winky.
"F'kin asshole", she said. "What was that all about?"
"He's firing her", Lucius explained. "That's how the binding enchantment is broken: give the house elf clothes. Normally, they wear cast off items".
"It's not fair, the way he treated her! Did you hear that other asshole? The way he couldn't even do her the courtesy of addressing her by her name, like she wasn't even human!"
"Well", Draco explained, "she isn't"
"That doesn't mean she doesn't have feelings! You saw for yourself!"
"Just the way it is..."
"It doesn't have to be that way!"
It is just this sort of things Lucius meant when he said half bloods and muggle born magi bring with them their muggle sensibilities that can't but help threaten the traditions of Magical Britain.
"It's going to be nearly impossible to get a Portkey now", Lucius announced, "best to Disapparate. We can leave from here. I don't think anyone will see or care if they do".
0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
The Daily Prophet was waiting for them when they got back to Privet Dr.
MAYHEM AT THE WORLD CUP!
DEATH EATERS RUN AMOK!
The Headlines took up half the front page. Minister Fudge lambasted for the lax security that allowed an international embarrassment mar the first World Cup to be hosted by Britain in thirty years… Utter chaos at the camp grounds… Lawsuits seeking damages… Speculations as to the motive of the Death Eaters: everything from a drunken mob that couldn't control themselves, to a warning that the first sighting of the Dark Mark in over a decade was a calculated reminder that Hewhomustnotbenamed's followers were still out there, to retribution for the prosecutions Madam Bones' office was conducting.
HEROIC INTERVENTION SAVES MUGGLES!
"This whole sorry incident could have turned into a real tragedy but for the timely intervention of Albus Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. As during the last wizards' war, The Order quickly routed the mob of Death Eaters, preventing any loss of life, including the Roberts family – all of whom are muggles who were entrusted for their part in organizing the World Cup.
Alistair "Mad Eye" Moody, Remus "Mooney" Lupin, Daedalus Diggle, Ted and Nymphadora Tonks, Hestia Jones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Rubius Hagrid – whose name and wand were recently restored – apparated to the scene. The Death Eaters fled before any could be apprehended.
"Alas, fate would seem to have denied me that quiet retirement", Albus Dumbledore said to this reporter. "While it is regrettable that none of these criminals were apprehended, it is of greater importance that innocent lives were protected. While the treatment of the Roberts is disgraceful, we should all pause to remember Voldemort's muggle hunts. I have no doubt but that their treatment was a prelude to much worse to come. I would also remind Voldemort's minions who still live among us: you can run, but you can not hide, and justice will seek you out. As for myself, I seek no reward for doing my duty, as both an official of the Ministry or as a man.
"As for the Roberts family, the Obliviators have cleared their memories of the incident. It will take a few days before they're all feeling back to normal, as there was a lot they needed to forget. It is fortunate they will be spared any further trauma".
As everyone who reads the Prophet knows, this reporter as long been a critic of our Chief Warlock, and long serving Headmaster of Hogwarts. In the interest of fairness, I will say this: we owe Mr Dumbledore a debt of gratitude. Do you agree? I leave that up to you to decide.
The next morning, Lucius Lutra apparated. He cast a silencing charm before speaking. Harry figured he'd bring news of Sirius.
"I need you to do some shopping for me", he explained. "Two cases each of Butterbeer and pumpkin juice, steaks, potatoes, fruits and veggies. Sirius is getting tired of fish morning, noon, and night".
"Not a prob", Harry replied.
"You see the Prophet?", he asked.
"I was there, and, I did see it".
"I used the occasion to drop in on the Ministry… It's disturbing, to say the least".
"What is?"
"Dumbledore was a very active opponent to reopening Sirius' case. It would also seem he was instrumental in arranging Sirius' disappearance..."
"You mean he tried to murder my godfather?!"
"Not in so many words, but he made it clear he didn't want Sirius to ever leave Azkaban, and wasn't too particular as to how that was to be done. I also know why".
"And? Don't leave me in suspense"
"Sirius told me that James and Lily said that, in the case of both their deaths, that Sirius was to be given guardianship. There were two other names on that list: Frank and Alice Longbottom".
"So with Sirius in Azkaban, and the Longbottoms in St Mungos..."
"There was no one to object when Dumbledore declared himself your magical guardian".
"Did he have anything to do with what happened to the Longbottoms?"
"Now that, I do not know. We do know that they were tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lastrange, her husband, and one unknown. There had to be some reason, and since Neville was the only other magical child born as the seventh month dies, that prophecy probably figures into it. Bellatrix and her cohorts had to find out their location somehow".
"Dumbledore… Dumbledore… I might have known...", Harry said in disgust. "What does he want from me? Why is he always interfering in my life?"
"I don't have all the answers, not yet, anyway. That he believes you destined to defeat Voldemort is pretty much a given at this point. Other than that, I can't say, and my guess is as good as yours".
Lucius returned to Owlery Holt with two cases of Butterbeer and pumpkin juice and other groceries bought at the market on Magnolia Crescent.
London: Ministry of Magic
"I must protest in the most strenuous terms", Amelia Bones was saying to Minister Fudge.
"Protest all you like, but these are my orders: you are to suspend your arrests of Voldemort's followers".
"This is capitulation to terrorism, Mr. Minister..."
"Do you have any idea how embarrassing this incident is? The diplomatic corps is having a difficult enough time as it is, working it out with the Bulgarian Ministry. All I am asking for is a bit of breathing room".
"And the only thing the Death Eaters will see is that their attack on the World Cup has gotten them precisely what they want. We were fortunate this time – this time, Mr. Minister – there were no casualties. Who is to say what they will do next? I can't agree to this".
"Is that your final word, Amelia? If it is, I expect your resignation on my desk by morning".
"Then you shall have it".
Amelia Bones, John Dawlish, Clive Williamson resigned, and took half the Auror Corps with them.
0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
"I must protest", Lucius Malfoy made his case to the Board of Governors. "Have we forgotten so soon why Mr. Dumbledore resigned in the first place? How irresponsible it was, bringing a Philosopher's Stone into the castle. How negligent Mr. Dumbledore was to allow a professor possessed by the Dark Lord himself access to the castle for almost an entire term, endangering the lives of the children entrusted to Hogwarts.
"Don't misunderstand: I am as grateful as anyone that Mr. Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix showed up when they did to save the lives of the Roberts family and end the mayhem. I still contend that this is irrelevant to any qualifications to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts. We already know what that reputation has become in recent years. Yes, Mr. Dumbledore has faithfully fulfilled the Headmaster's position for four decades, but that is the past. It is the present that concerns me, and I do not believe any reasonable person would disagree that he is not fit to lead the school".
"Your objection is noted", Madam Longbottom stated, "I call for a vote on the appointment of Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster of Hogwarts".
The vote in favour was overwhelming to reinstate Dumbledore as Headmaster. The Prophet carried the news the next day and also hinted that the reinstated Headmaster was bringing with him something surprising. Harry's summer was winding down.
Beaux Batons
The first day back, Madam Maxime had a special announcement.
"This year, our school vill be involved in a very special event: the newly reinstated Triwizard Tournament. The last one to be held vas in 1872 before it vas discontinued due to the excessive number of fatalities. There have been efforts to revive the Tournament, but none successful until today.
"If you didn't know, the Triwizard Tournament vas established between Europe's largest and most prestigious magical schools: 'Ogvarts, the Durmstrang Institute and Beaux Batons. A champion selected from each school contested in three tasks held over a school term. The original intent vas to bring together students from the different nations so that they could get to know one another to further international relations and co-operation. These tasks are not easy, and vill be designed to test your abilities to the maximum. Historically, the Tournament vas 'eld every five years.
"In case you didn't know, the reputation of the Tournament became tarnished as, over the centuries, the tasks escalated in both difficulty and risk. Alvays vant to outdo the previous Tournament, things got out of hand, and the death toll unacceptably high. The fiasco of 1872 shut it down.
"This year, the 'eds of the three schools, the respective Ministers of Magic, and the Supreme Mugwump – Mr. Albus Dumbledore – 'ave agreed on a protocol that should eliminate any risk of accidental death, vile keeping the Tournament sufficiently challenging. To this end, only those 'oo are of age will be allowed to submit their names as possible contestants. Also, the prize has been increased from the traditional 1,000 Galleons to 10,000 Galleons. Due to the efforts of Mr. Dumbledore, the first in the series of revived Triwizard Tournaments vill be hosted by 'Ogvarts. Ve vill be spending some considerable time there, and I expect that you vill do your best to represent our school vell. The selection of the champions vill take place on the Sabbat of Samhein, or as some of you may know it 'All-O-Veen".
"I read about this Tournament", Hermione told Harry, "that last one was a total disaster. The second task involved a basilisk, and several students and judges died".
"I don't know about this, but I don't like it, to say the least. I don't trust anything Dumbledore's involved in. I mean, look at how he used his involvement with the World Cup to worm his way back into being Headmaster".
"I don't know… I mean, the chance to reunite with old friends, see the old school again..."
"Believe me, I've seen more than enough of Hogwarts last year", he reminded.
0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
Dumbledore was giving a similar speech.
"You're joking!", Fred called out, before thinking. He was expecting a reprimand.
"No, Mr. Weasley, it's not a joke. That does remind me, I heard a good one this summer. A hag, vampyre, and leprechaun go to a bar..."
McGonagall interrupted with obvious throat-clearing.
"Not the most appropriate thing to say, anyway, where was I? The Triwizard Tournament. This is the revival of a legendary test of magical ability. Three contestants compete in three events over the course of a school term. It is with pride that Hogwarts has been selected to host this year's tournament. This means, there will be no Quiddich Cup for this year..."
Lots of disapproval over this.
"I'm afraid the staff will be kept busy with the Tournament. We will be hosting guests from the other schools, the Beaux Batons Academy, and the Durmstrang Institute. I am confident that you will help make our foreign guests feel more at home. The whole point is to advance international relations and co-operation.
"To help correct some of the defects that caused the cancellation of the Tournament, the Heads of the three schools have decided to limit contestants to those of age: 17 and older..."
"No fair!", Fred and George called out. "We'll be seventeen in April! Why can't we have a look in?"
"I'm sorry, but the rules stipulate all contestants must be of age when they sign up. There's nothing I can do for you, I'm sorry. The three champions will be selected from the applicants by an independent judge..."
"I want in", Fred said after everyone returned to the Common Room.
"But how? You heard Dumbledore", George reminded.
"He also said an independent judge, which isn't him. We get our names in, and if we're selected, we're in".
"I mean, sure, we could use an extra 10,000 Galleons… How about you, little brother?"
"I… dunnow", Ron said.
"Three Weasleys up for selection, three times a better chance of one of us getting in".
"Yeah, but you heard: it's gonna be tough enough for the upper classmen".
"I'm going for it, with or without you".
Little Hangleton
The locals still called the place the Riddle House, despite that the Riddle family nor anyone else lived there in decades. Fifty years ago, it had been the largest and grandest Manor for miles, the home of a local aristocrat. Now, most windows were long boarded up, the neglect taking its toll. The roof was missing slate tiles, the ivy growing up the sides untrimmed in as long as anyone could remember. The place was considered creepy, and not just for the state of disrepair. Back in the 1950s, this old house was the scene of an event that shook the lives of everyone calling Little Hangleton home. The whole family, the near elderly Mr and Mrs Riddle, and their adult son, Tom were discovered dead one fine summer morning. They had apparently died earlier, as they were still seated at the dinner table, in their dinner clothes, meal still half eaten.
It wasn't that anyone really cared, as the Riddles were despised. They were filthy rich, and loved to flaunt it to the little people, they were snobbish, and their son even worse in that regard. There was a scandal of sorts, Tom had run off to marry a common village girl, whom he abandoned shortly after learning of her pregnancy. He had returned, wheedling himself back into his parents' good graces somehow. The police were summoned, and suspicion quickly settled on Frank Bryce, the gardener. Frank lived in a cottage on the grounds.
It didn't help that Frank had returned from the war with a knee injury that left him with a permanent limp, and a raging case of PTSD. Back in those days, little was known about PTSD. He couldn't tolerate being in crowds, nor could be stand loud noises. A backfiring car would see him hitting the deck, yelling INCOMING! He had come to the country seeking peace and quiet. He kept to himself, showing up in the village as little as possible. Being locked up, accused of a triple murder, of which he proclaimed his innocence, didn't help.
Multiple pathologists were called in for the investigation, but none could offer any explanation as to how three healthy people suddenly died simultaneously. There were no signs of a struggle, no signs of violence, no chemical poisons detected in the bodies, or in their last meal. No signs of biological pathogens. The only unusual thing was the odd look of fright frozen on their faces. It is a cold case to this very day. Not being able to determine that murder had taken place, Frank was released. Naturally, an event like this kicks the rumour mill into high gear. The story told and retold over the years, speculation heaped upon speculation, until no one was sure what the truth was anymore. Naturally, suspicion fell on Frank, despite being cleared officially of any wrong-doing. This drove him even further into isolation.
Frank still lived in the cottage, supported by paychecks that arrived every month for his services as the gardener. The Riddle House was said to be owned by unknown someones via shell corporations, for tax purposes. Frank never met his employers; no one had ever come by to see how he was doing. Despite that he could have easily just screwed off, collecting his pay for doing nothing, he did his best to maintain the grounds out of a sense of honour and pride in workmanship. Due to his injury, and advancing age, this was becoming increasingly difficult so that the expansive lawn had largely gone wild. It was just the flower beds he could keep up.
Weeds in the flower beds weren't the only things that vexed Frank. Given the reputation of the house, village children had a habit of breaking in on dares. Sometimes, they would ride by on their bicycles to throw rocks at unbroken windows. They would ride their bikes over the lawn just for a chance to see the old guy come hobbling on his bum leg, brandishing his walking stick, yelling at them to "Keep off my lawn!", like a stereotypical old fart.
One night, Frank was awakened by the throbbing in his bum knee. He made his way to the kitchen to put on a kettle to refill his hot water bottle. He happened to glance out to the manor house. He noticed a light in an upper floor window.
"Damn kids!", he cursed to himself. The flickering of the light meant fire. Did one of these village kids finally go too far? Since he valued his privacy, and had no trust in the police, he didn't have a phone. He would have to go to the village if he wanted to place a call. By then, it may be too late. Against his better judgment, he took a key that hung by the kitchen door. He went to the front door, collected his staff, and headed towards the house. The front door was still locked, no one had kicked it in, nor broken the windows beside it to reach in and unlock it. No windows had been disturbed either. Maybe they climbed the ivy? He went around back.
There was an old service entrance, now almost over grown with ivy. He unlocked the door, and opened it quietly. The cavernous kitchen was quite dark, but Frank didn't need light as he knew the floor plan by heart. He made his way through the darkened house, alert to the sounds of footsteps or voices, the scent of dust and decay strong in his nostrils. The foyer, though, was illuminated by moonlight, through the leaded glass windows flanking the front door.
The dust that had accumulated over the years served to muffle his footsteps as he climbed the stairs. On the landing, he looked to his right, and saw where the light was coming from: a door slightly ajar, let a sliver of gold play across the dark floor. He headed that way, until close enough to get a glimpse into the room. To his relief, the room wasn't on fire as the fire was burning on the grate.
"...A little more left in the bottle, My Lord, in case you need more", he heard a man's voice, though it sounded uncertain.
"Not just now", came the answer: another man's voice, though unusually high-pitched, almost like a child's. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail", still a chilling quality to that voice, and it was obvious he was completely in charge. There was the sound of a glass bottle being set on the hearth stone. Frank heard something drag across the floor. Frank got a glimpse of the man pushing the chair. He was small, had a bald spot, and was wearing dark robes, giving him the look of a friar. Who ever he was working for was even shorter than this Wormtail, as he couldn't see anything over the top of the seat back. He must've been disabled in some manner, Frank decided.
"Where is Nagini?", Cold Voice asked.
"I… don't know, My Lord. I suppose she's gone exploring? Looking for rats? I'm sure she won't wander far".
"You will find her and milk her before we retire. I will need a feeding later tonight. This journey has weakened me greatly".
Frank wondered what sort of animal would be looking for rats, yet need milking?
"I shall see to it, My Lord… If I may, how long will we be staying here?"
"A week, probably longer. Our accommodations here are reasonably comfortable, if not ideal. It would be foolish to act prematurely. The Triwizard Tournament is our best chance, perhaps our only opportunity".
"I've been thinking..."
"That's the one thing I do not require of you Wormtail".
"...If we got another wizard, it could be done sooner..."
Frank was wondering about what "triwizard tournament" and "get another wizard" meant. He figured this was code-talk, and that these were drug dealers awaiting a shipment. An obscure, out of the way village with a minimal law enforcement presence would be ideal for that.
"...if you'll allow me to leave for a few days, I can be back with a suitable candidate. It doesn't have to be Potter".
"Without Potter?"
"I'm not speaking out of any sympathy for the boy, My Lord. It's just that we could complete the ritual sooner..."
"I could use another wizard, that much is true".
"And Potter's so hard to get at, so well protected when he's here, and when he's not he's in France. It makes sense".
"So you so kindly offer to find a substitute, eh Wormtail? I wonder, if this deviation from the plan is an attempt to desert me? Has the task of nursing me become wearisome, Wormtail? Are you regretting your decision to come look for me?"
"Never! My Lordship! I would never abandon you!"
"I disgust you, don't I?"
"No, My Lord..."
"Do not lie to me, Wormtail! I know you too well, I can see it in your eyes. I see it in your body language every time you come near. I feel the suppressed shudder every time you touch me".
"No! My devotion to you…"
"Is nothing more than cowardice and desperation. You wouldn't be here if you had any where else to go. How am I to survive when I require feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"
"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord".
"Liar! I am no stronger, and these past few days have been enough to rob me of what little health I recovered under your inept care. Be silent!"
Wormtail fell silent at once. For a few seconds, there was no sound other than the fire.
"I have my reasons why it must be Potter, and I shall use no other. I have already discussed this with you, and I shall not repeat myself. I have waited twelve years, so a few more months will make no difference. As for the boy's protection, I believe my plan will neutralize whatever protections are in place. All I require of you, Wormtail, is a bit of courage, courage you will find unless you want to experience the wrath of Lord Voldemort".
"My Lord, I must speak", Wormtail said with a hint of panic. "During our journey, I have thought the plan over. Bertha Jorkins' disappearance won't go unnoticed by the Ministry forever. If I killed..."
"If?", whispered Cold Voice, "If? If you follow the plan, the Ministry need not know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish I could do it myself, but in my present condition… Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Potter is clear. You won't have to act alone, by that time, my faithful servant shall have arrived..."
"I thought I was a faithful servant?", Wormtail asked with a hint of disappointment.
"This requires brains and a proved, unwavering loyalty, neither quality you possess".
"But I found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins, didn't I?"
"That is true", Cold Voice said in a near whisper, as if talking was wearing him out. "A stroke of brilliance I wasn't expecting from you. Though you didn't know how useful Jorkins would be, did you?"
"I… I thought she might be useful, My Lord..."
"Liar! However, you did bring her to me, and she proved a font of information. Information I needed to formulate our plan. You shall have your reward, Wormtail, I shall allow you fulfill a role for me that many of my followers would give their right hands in exchange".
"What...", Wormtail hesitated, "did you have in mind?"
"Ah, Wormtail, your part will occur at the end. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, now would you?"
"No, My Lord"
"I promise you this: you will have the honour of being as useful to me as Bertha was".
"You're… you're aiming to kill me too?", Wormtail asked, plainly worried about the answer.
"Wormtail, Wormtail, Wormtail, why would I want to kill you?" Cold Voice said in a silky tone. "I killed Bertha because I had to. Besides, she wouldn't have been much use to anyone after I got done breaking the Memory Charm put on her. Awkward questions would have been asked around the Ministry had she gone back to tell everyone she recognized you. Those who are supposed to be dead would do well to not be running into Ministry officials at wayside inns while they're on vacation..."
Wormtail muttered something Frank didn't get that made his master laugh, a cold, mirthless laugh.
"Memory Charms can be broken by powerful wizards, as I proved by questioning her. It would be a desecration of her memory to not use the information I extracted from her. Just one more to eliminate, and Potter's as good as mine. We will follow the plan, and I will hear no more talk of deviation, is that understood?"
Frank had no idea what these two were talking about, only that they had killed some woman in cold blood. There was no remorse here, instead, they found it funny. As if that wasn't bad enough, they were planning on more killings, one a boy named Potter, and the unnamed one who needed to die to clear the way to Potter. Whoever they were, it was becoming clear that they were sociopathic and/or mad. His better judgment was telling him to ease his way back the way he came, get to a call box, and alert the police. His staff slippery with sweat in his hand. It was too much: he didn't want to hear more, but couldn't help himself.
"Yes, My Lord"
"Good, now be quiet, I think I hear Nagini".
Cold Voice was now making hissing and spitting sounds. Frank thought he might be having a fit or seizure of some sort. He thought he saw something moving in the shadows. Closer to what little light entered the hallway, he saw a gigantic snake coming, slithering, leaving curved traces in the dust. It had to be at least twelve feet in length. There was no escape other than into the room where these two were so casually discussing murders. He thought the serpent must strike, but it didn't. It slipped on by without giving him any notice, following that hissing, spitting voice. He wondered if the unseen man in the chair could talk to snakes.
"Nagini has some interesting news", the Cold One said.
"Indeed"
"She says there's some old man just outside the door. He must've over heard everything we've been saying".
This Wormtail opened the door. He was with beedy eyes, pointed nose and face, and a bad overbite.
"Where are your manners, Wormtail? Invite our guest in will you?"
He stood aside to let Frank in. The serpent from the hall was curled up on a carpet in front of the fire, like a faithful old dog. The light from the grate cast spidery, dancing shadows on the walls.
"I don't know who the hell you are, or what business you have in this house", he challenged.
"That's where you are wrong, Mr. Bryce, I am the owner of this property, and it is I who has seen to your receiving your paychecks every month".
"Is that so? You should also know that my wife's expecting me back, and if I don't come..."
"That is the oldest trick in the book. You have no wife; no one knows you're here. Don't lie to Lord Voldemort, he knows… he always knows".
"A lord are you? I'm not impressed, if you can't face me like a man…"
"I am not a man. I am so much, much more than a mere man. I shall face you: Wormtail, if you would be so kind as to turn me around?"
"Are you sure?"
"Just do it".
Wormtail struggled to turn the chair on the rough floor. A leg snagged Nagini's carpet, she hissed at him. Frank got a good look at what was occupying the chair. Frank had seen plenty of horrors during the war, but nothing prepared himself for this. He involuntarily screamed, and screamed so that he didn't hear the next words this Voldemort spoke.
"Avada Kadavra!", there was a burst of green. Frank crumpled to the floor, dead before he landed.
Across the Channel, Harry woke, his scar burning like it was on fire. He had seen, but the memory of the nightmare was fading fast. For an instant, he feared that the burning he felt meant Voldemort was near. He recalled more details of the vision: Wormtail was there, whom he recognized right away, a dark room, an old man he didn't recognize, a green flash. He could recall no more, and the harder he tried, the more detail slipped away. He had no idea where this room was, but it clearly wasn't at Beaux Batons.
He couldn't quite get a handle on what had happened, but he was certain that Voldemort was on the move, had regained a physical form of some sort, and had cast the Killing Curse. That was not good, Voldemort's being in any condition to cast. He knew he'd need to alert Lucius.
Hogwarts
In the main hall, a large sign was set up beside the marble staircase:
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUX BATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING ON THE 30TH OF OCTOBER AT 6:00PM.
LESSONS WILL END ONE HOUR EARLY TO GIVE EVERYONE ADEQUATE TIME TO PREPARE FOR THE WELCOMING FEAST
"That's next week", Fred announced the obvious.
"At least we'll get out of Potions", Neville said.
The week was a frenzy of activity: suits of armour needed polishing. Grimy portraits needed cleaning, much to the distress of their subjects. Filch made sure every student wiped their feet before coming in.
By mid-week, a large crate stood mysteriously in the Great Hall. Dumbledore was frustratingly sparse with details, and the rumour mill took over: speculation on who would be the Hogwarts champion, the differences between the Beaux Batons students, the Durmstrang students, and themselves. What the contests might be, how difficult and dangerous, would anyone die this time? Fred and George were as determined as ever to find some way to game the system to enter despite being sixteen.
Friday morning, the decorations were up: silk banners displaying the red and gold lion of Gryffindor, the blue and bronze eagle of Ravenclaw, the green and silver serpent of slytherin, and the yellow and black badger of Hufflepuff. The Hogwarts coat of arms, the lion, eagle, serpent, and badger united around a letter 'H' hung behind the staff table.
There wasn't much concentration on lessons, and the profs didn't bother to push their students. As 6:00 arrived, students lined up along the covered bridge over the valley. The sky was thick with steel clouds, but fortunately, no rain.
The first to arrive was Beaux Batons. The delegation arrived in what looked like a futuristic airliner, silver, coming in over Black Lake as it made its final approach. Some wondered how it would land, seeing that Hogwarts didn't have a runway, Unlike muggle aircraft, there was no sound of jet engines, no apparent means of propulsion. The Beaux Batons coat of arms decorated its rudder. It had vertical landing and takeoff capabilities as it slowed as it approached the lawn between the castle and Hagrid's cabin. It extended landing pads before settling on the lawn. The wings folded up and out of the way.
The pilot, wearing the traditional airline captain's uniform extended the airstair. It was well known that Beaux Batons didn't follow the same traditions that Hogwarts did, that their curriculum placed more emphasis on teaching muggle ways, and that the school had a reputation for turning out technomages.
Durmstrang's reputation was for turning out dark wizards. They not only taught defense against the dark arts, but also how to perform those very arts.
The Durmstrang delegation arrived in a wooden sailing ship that surfaced from the depths of Black Lake. How that ship managed to get from where ever Durmstrang was located into the lake was anyone's guess. As soon as it surfaced, sails unfurled, though hardly necessary so close to shore.
Everyone made their way to the Great Hall. Dumbledore stood behind the owl shaped lectern:
"Would you join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beaux Batons Academy of Magic and their Head Mistress: Madam Maxime".
This was the clue to open the main doors. They entered in a not so organized manner, all with a severe and serious look: all eyes forward, no smiles, hands behind their backs. They stepped up the aisle center dividing the tables. When they had all filled the aisle, they bowed sideways, hand out, and sighed to one side. Farther up, they did the same sideways bow, reach, and sigh to the other side.
They sprinted up the aisle, forming a double line.
"Bloody hell", Ron said.
As they reached the end of the tables, they criss-crossed while releasing what looked like blue butterflies that chirped like birds. These flew over the tables before disintegrating into blue sparkles that fluttered down to just above their heads before disappearing completely.
One girl was doing a series of back flips, her white gymnast's suit so form fitting she might as well have been naked. They stood before the crowd, below the staff table, and bowed in unison. Dumbledore went to meet Madam Maxime. He planted a kiss on the back of her hand.
Lots of cheering and applause.
Dumbledore rushed to the podium, motioning for silence:
"And now our friends from the north. Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their High Master: Igor Karkarov".
Their entrance was martial; each in their dark brown uniforms with fur hats, carrying a staff, as they marched in precise lockstep. Every time they struck the floor with the staffs, sparks flew. The staffs flew from one hand to the other, almost too fast for the eye to follow. They twirled the staffs, again so fast they blurred. They broke into a sprint, some doing backflips, others flourishing their staffs. At the end of the performance, one held his wand to his lips and blew a great fiery dragon. This dragon circled the caster, then flew over the staff table before dissipating
"Blimey!", Ron announced, "it's him! Viktor Krum!"
"He's still in school?", Fred and George asked. These two didn't understand why anyone as famous and likely rich as Krum would bother with school.
Krum was walking with Karkarov.
"Albus", Igor called out.
"Igor"
Karkarov and Dumbledore embraced. Like Dumbledore, Karkarov was tall and slim. His hair salt and pepper, as he was a lot younger than Dumbledore. His goatee, with a tip that curled up, didn't completely hide his weak chin. Even though he seemed nice enough, his smile didn't reach his eyes, which remained cold and calculating.
"I trust life has been treating you well?", Igor asked.
"So far, the Fates have been most kind", Albus replied.
As for where the guests sat, Beaux Batons pretty much divided between Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. The Durmstrang students went with the Slytherins. Harry joined Hermione at the Gryffindor table.
"Long time, no see", the Twins greeted Hermione.
"Been a long time, you'll have to let me know how things've been going".
"Ummmm...", Ron started, "why is Filch setting out four extra chairs?"
Filch, wearing his old tailcoat for the special occasion, was indeed setting in place four chairs besides Dumbledore's spot. Th rest of the staff filed in through a side entrance. The heads of the houses, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall. The new Defense professor, Alistair "Mad Eye" Moody, and Professor Hagrid, who gave a wink and nod to Harry and Hermione.
"Ladies and gentlemen", Dumbledore called out. "Welcome to Hogwarts, and I hope you have a pleasant and comfortable stay here with us. After the feast, we will be officially opening the revived Triwizard Tournament".
The gold plates filled with food, the glasses with drink. It was obvious the house elves had made a real effort to provide foreign dishes.
"What's this?", Ron asked about a large bowl of shell fish stew next to a large steak and kidney pie.
"Bouillabaisse...", Hermione explained.
"Bless you", Ron replied.
"It's French", she continued explaining, "it's really quite good. I had it on holiday".
"I'll take your word for it", he said as he helped himself to the steak and kidney pie.
"I'm definitely gonna start with that", Harry said as he ladled his bowl full.
"Me too", Hermione agreed.
"Excuse me, are you vanting zee bouillabaisse?", asked a tall platinum blond.
"Hello, Fleur", Harry greeted.
"'Ello, 'Arry, 'ave you finished viz it?"
Ron had turned several shades of red, and was completely tongue tied. He stared up at her, and the best he could do was make a gurggling sound,
"I think we're done", Harry said. He slid the bowl her way.
"It was excellent", Ron said even though it was obvious he never tasted it.
"She's a veela!", Ron announced as she was carrying the bowl to the Ravenclaw table.
"Actually, part veela", Harry explained, "her grandmother was a veela".
"You know her?", Ron asked
"Well, yeah, she's the captain of our Quiddich team, and she helped us out with Hagrid and Buckbeak".
"How do you, you know, concentrate?"
"Takes some practice", Harry agreed.
Half way through the first course, Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch arrived to fill the two extra seats.
The second course included a number of desserts that weren't familiar to them. Once the plates had been cleared, Dumbledore stood for another speech. A pleasant sort of tension filled the Hall.
"The moment you have all been waiting for has, at long last, arrived. I'm sure you've been wondering about the crate that was delivered a few days ago. Soon, all will be revealed, but first, I would like to introduce Mr. Bartemius Crouch, the Director of the Department of International Magical Co-operation..."
Polite applause, but Crouch neither smiled, nor acknowledged, the applause.
"...And Mr. Ludovich Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports..."
Bagman received more applause which he acknowledged with a wave. Perhaps his popularity was greater for having been a Beater for the Wasps, or because he came across as a more likable character.
"Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman have put in a lot of hard work, putting together this revival of the legendary Triwizard Tournament. They will be joining myself, Professor Karkarov, and Madam Maxime on the panel that will judge the performance of the champions. The instructions for the champions have been established and agreed upon by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman.
"The Tournament will consist of three challenges, spaced over the school year, that will test their magical ability, their courage and daring, their deductive abilities, and how well they face danger. The champion who accumulates the highest score will win both the Triwizard Cup, and 10,000 Galleons. The three champions will be selected by an impartial judge..."
Dumbledore waved his wand, and the crate with gold and black checks, began to disappear, from top down. What was finally revealed was a large cup that stood on a plinth. The brim being some seven feet above the floor. They couldn't tell whether the cup was made of stone or bronze.
"...the Goblet of Fire".
Once the crate had disappeared, Dumbledore stepped off the raised platform to embrace the Goblet. He murmured something no one heard. The Goblet erupted with a blue, cold fire.
"Those wishing to enter their names will need to write their name and school on a slip of paper and place it in the Goblet. You will have the next 24 hours before the Goblet makes its selections.
"I must warn you: this decision is not to be made lightly, If selected, you stand alone, and there will be no backing out. The Goblet represents a binding magical contract, so if selected, you will be obligated to compete in all three tasks. No changing your mind.
"Finally, to make sure no underage students succumb to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet. If you are not seventeen yet, the Age Line will not allow you to pass. Come Samhein evening, the Goblet will announce the champions names. That's everything, and have a good night".
"An Age Line!", Fred said, "that ought to be easy to beat. Some aging potion, and we're in. How about it Ron? You gonna try? I'd invite you too, Harry, but you're not in Hogwarts let alone Gryffindor".
"I highly doubt it will be that simple", Hermione disagreed. "Dumbledore doesn't leave things like this to chance, and you can bet he's already thought of aging potion. I wouldn't".
"It's always like I say", George replied, "nothing adventured and no one gets blamed".
"I wonder where everyone's spending the night?", Ron asked.
Just then, he got his answer.
"Everyone, back to the ship", Karkarov was leading the Durmstrang students. "Viktor, you have enough to eat? Perhaps I can order the kitchen to send up some mulled wine, help you relax?"
"No, Professor, I don't need any, and I'll be ready", Krum answered.
"How about me? I could always use a draught of vine", another student spoke up.
"I wasn't offering, Polavski", the fatherly facade dropping. "I see you have also dribbled down the front of your robes, you disgusting boy. How does that reflect on Durmstrang?"
It would be a contest, to see who had the worst table manners: Polavski or Ron Weasley.
Karkarov stopped as he and his delegation drew up to Harry and company. He scanned Harry, slowly, a look of recognition. Polavsky, the food dribbler, said something to another student, pointing at Harry.
"Yes, that's Harry Potter", it was Mad Eye.
The famous x-Auror had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts this year as a favour to the recently re-appointed Albus Dumbledore. Alistair "Mad Eye" Moody bore his battle marks. His face horribly scarred, half his nose missing, and the right leg from the knee down, replaced with a wooden leg with a clawed foot. He used a walking stick that could easily double for a club. His left eye was also gone, replaced with an electric blue eye, twice the size of a normal eye, held in place with a leather band. This eye could swivel in every direction, could see beyond any barrier, and even through the back of his head, something his students quickly discovered. The source of his nick, "Mad Eye", but only to his friends, Mr. Moody to everyone else.
Karkarov looked very uneasy, being in Moody's presence. It was as if he were seeing his worst nightmare materialized before him. The colour drained from his face.
"You..."
"Yeah, me. Unless you have something you'd like to discuss with Mr. Potter, I suggest you get moving. You're blocking everyone's way"
Students had indeed been piling up behind the Durmstrang delegation. Without another word, Karkarov got out of the way. Harry and Hermione went with the Beaux Batons students back to their airliner. Harry wondered when, and how, he might meet up with Draco. Ever since his second banishment of the Dark Lord, the thwarting of his next attempt at rematerialization from the diary, Harry was even more unwelcome at his own House. That Draco had been involved certainly didn't help his reputation any.
"Be nice if you could come to Gryffindor", Lee Jordan said. "We still have vacancies".
"Madam Maxime will be expecting us", Harry and Hermione explained.
The next day, during breaks, students filed into the Great Hall.
"Who's entered so far?", Fred asked.
"All the Durmstrang students", Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw, said. "First thing this morning".
"Anyone from Gryffindor?"
"I don't know. Wellington from Slytherin entered. Cedric's gotten his name in"
"That idiot?", Ron started.
"He isn't", Colin Creevey replied, "he does well in his classes. You just don't like him because Hufflepuff kicked our ass last Quiddich match.
"Still Hufflepuff's pretty boy", Ron dismissed.
"Well, Angelina said she's considering it".
"Ready, Gred"
"Ready, Forge"
Fred and George Weasley were also there, with their aging potion. They stepped up to the Age Line, took a breathe like a high diver ready to do a high dive. They jumped over the line, and at first, it looked like they'd done it. A second later, both were ejected forcefully. They skidded about ten feet along the floor. Both looked to be about 90, both with long, gray beards.
Everyone laughed at the spectacle. Even Fred and George had to join in as they got to their feet.
"I did warn you", Dumbledore said as he was entering the Hall, with a twinkle in his eye. "You'd best be seeing Madam Pomphrey. She's already treated Miss Fawcett, and Mr. Sommers, although their beards are no near as fine as yours".
Lee accompanied them, laughing all the way.
Madam Maxime led her contenders into the hall to submit their names.
Ron was still trying to chase down Krum for an autograph. Harry and Hermione finally caught up with Draco.
"It looks like Dumbledumbass finally found a decent DADA prof", he was catching them up on Hogwarts happenings. "Though his first day didn't go so well".
"Oh?", Hermione said
"What happened?", Harry asked.
"Ginny happened. That first day of DADA, everyone entered what looked like an empty classroom. You remember, just like our first Transfiguration class".
Harry recalled: the first day and no Professor McGonagall, just this tabby cat sitting on the desk. That's when Ron ran his big mouth with vile insults for the Professor when he didn't realize she was an animagus.
"Anyway, Moody was hiding, right beside the door, under Disillusion and Notice-Me-Not Charms. He began firing Stunners, knocked out half the class, but Ginny and her Ravenclaw classmates hit the deck. Anyway, she got a bit carried away and hit Mad Eye with a Cutting Curse. Sent him to the infirmary.
"Dumbledumbass was pissed. I guess he wanted her in detention until she sat her OWLs. Moody intervened with Dumbledumbass, saying that it was all his fault, that he was actually proud of her for figuring it out, and for not considering she'd know that curse. So Ginny got out of detention. Said hers was the first class he didn't completely stun. He did the same thing while teaching auror cadets at the Ministry.
"The next class, he asked how she knew, and she explained she smelled kippers on his breathe and knew he was there, hiding. I think Ravenclaw got at least fifty points".
"How did she learn?", Hermione asked.
"Your friend, Remus Lupin. It was after Wormtail. He was there, and was only too willing to include her in our defense lessons. That's how Mad Eye is running the class, like it was auror training. I suppose that's what he knows best. Unlike the other classes, he's working on defense against dark spells and curses. He even demonstrated the Unforgivables right there in class, casting them on these spiders. He even put us under the Imperious".
"You're shitting me, right? You can go to Azkaban for that".
"Dumbledumbass is giving Mad Eye considerable latitude", Draco explained. "Maybe the one thing he's done right so far. Moody does know his stuff, unlike Quirrel and Lockhart. Unfirtunately, he won't be teaching more than one year, then back to retirement".
"Almost sorry I missed that. So, anyway, what's going on in Slytherin?"
"I wouldn't really know. I just sleep there. Most of the time, I avoid them. After Father got accused of turning against the Dark Lord, then after Ginny came to the Common Room, well, word got out the Dark Lord was prevented, once again, from reincarnating. If I wasn't persona non grata before… that pretty much finished my reputation with the Death Eater wannabes".
"How the hell would they know?"
"Ginny was seen in the Common Room, so they knew she came looking for me. Then I guess word got around the Ministry, and from the Ministry to the sons and daughters of Death Eaters or their sympathizers, and from there straight into Hogwarts".
"I told the Weasleys to keep quiet about that".
"Either one or more of them couldn't resist telling, or maybe Arthur was ordered to tell, or they just figured it out on their own. Who knows?"
"What about Luna? The others?"
"Luna's father wasn't involved with Voldemort, and neither was Blaise Zambini's folks, or the Bulstrodes. They're letting Blaise, Luna, and Millicent alone, pretty much".
"That's good to know".
"So what's with your school?", Draco asked. "You and the girls drop in from something that looks like it flew out of Star Wars or something?"
"Madam Maxime wants to prepare all of us to deal with muggles. We have computer lab, and driving lessons, familiarization with muggle culture. We have field trips where we go in civilian clothes to museums, concerts, and the malls and restaurants. Arthur would love it. At least, French magi don't look like complete fools when out among the non-magical public at large.
"She doesn't like the idea of pretending time stopped during the 13th century. It shows, and Beaux Batons looks like any muggle university".
"That is interesting. Fudge would never agree to anything like that".
0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
All the students assembled in the Great Hall. The decorations for Samhein were in place: bats flew overhead, jack-o-lanterns glowed. Dumbledore addressed the audience.
"The moment you have been waiting for", he said as he waved his hand, turning down the torches, extinguishing the candles, leaving the cold fire of the Goblet the main source of light, "the selection of our Champions".
He approached the Goblet, and the fire turned into normal flames, yellow and hot. A jet of fire shot straight up, and a scorched piece of paper fluttered down. Dumbledore caught it.
"The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum!".
There was no surprise there. The rest of the Durmstrang students were clapping his back, shaking his hand, and offering words of encouragement. Krum headed towards the staff table, and through a side entrance.
The flames turned yellow, and another paper flew out: "The Beuax Batons Champion: Fleur Delacourt!"
Some of the other students offered their congratulations; a couple of others put their heads on their arms to cry in disappointment over not being chosen.
The final selection: "The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!"
The Hufflepuff table was ecstatic over having a Champion from their House. If Cedric won, it would go a long way to banishing Hufflepuff's reputation as the loser's house. The other Houses not so joyful that the Triwaizard Champion wouldn't be representing Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Slytherin.
Barty Crouch was bringing to the table something; Dumbledore continued his speech:
"Congratulations to our Champions, and to everyone who entered their names in the Goblet. In the end, only one will go down in history, only one will hoist this Chalice of Champions, this Vessel of Victory: the Triwizard Cup".
The cover flew off to reveal the intricately engraved bronze and crystal Triwizard Cup. Dumbledore was too caught up in his speech to notice. Snape was the first to see something had gone wrong. The Goblet of Fire had not gone out. The cold fire was still there, and as Dumbledore approached, the cold fire turned yellow, and a fourth paper shot out. Dumbledore caught it.
"Harry Potter?", he said to himself.
"Harry Potter!", he announced.
Harry sat with Hermione and the rest of the Beaux Batons students. Harry made no move to come forward.
"HARRY POTTER!", Dumbledore called out more forcefully.
"You'd better go", Hermione told him, and began to shove him.
"No… no… no...", Hagrid told himself as he shook his head.
"He's a cheat", someone said.
"He isn't close to seventeen", another agreed.
Fred, George, and especially Ron glared at him as he passed the Gryffindor table. Dumbledore curtly handed him the slip of paper without a word. Harry headed out of the Hall. Snape was also glaring, no doubt sure he'd done it on purpose just to make his life more difficult.
Down the stone steps, towards a wrought iron gate that opened automatically for him. Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor were there, wondering why a fourth person was coming. Loud, angry, voices all talking at once, so no one could make out what was being said. For a man of his age, Dumbledore moved fast, grabbing Harry by the shoulders.
"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?!", he demanded.
"Nooooo… Sir", he replied.
"Did you ask one of the other students to do it for you?"
"No, Sir"
"You're absolutely sure?"
"Yes, yes Sir"
"But of course he's lying", Karkarov accused.
"The hell he is", Moody defended. "The Goblet of Fire is an exceptionally powerful magical artifact and only an exceptionally powerful Confundus Charm could have hoodwinked it. That kind of magic is beyond any student wizard, certainly beyond anything a Third Year could accomplish, regardless of how talented he may be".
"You seem to have thought this out in advance, Mad Eye", Karkarov continued to challenge.
"It was once my job to think as dark wizards do, Karkarov, maybe you remember..."
"That isn't helping Alistair", Barty Crouch told him as he broke up the argument before it could turn nasty.
"We leave this up to you, Barty", Dumbledore said.
"The rules are absolute", he explained. "The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Mr Potter has no choice: as of tonight, he is a Triwizard Champion"
"Then I demand a redraw", Karkarov said, "if Beaux Batons can have two champions, then so should the rest of the schools".
"It's not possible", Crouch explained, "the Goblet went out after Potter's name came out. It won't reignite until the next Tournament".
"The hell you say, Mr. Crouch", Harry announced. "I'll end the argument right now: I'm not participating".
"You don't seem to understand", Crouch explained. "If you break a binding magical contract, your magic is bound for life..."
"In the first place, no contract is binding if it was entered into through force or intimidation, or fraud. There isn't a court in the land that wouldn't void any such contract. Look at this", he held out the paper with his name on it. "That's not my signature, not even close".
"Muggle courts, Mr. Potter. The Goblet doesn't work like that. I'm afraid you have no choice..."
"That's where you're wrong: I do have a choice. I can go back to the muggle life I had for most of my life. I'm not saying I won't miss it, the hocus-pocus, I mean. If that's what happens, then so be it".
"Harry", Dumbledore said, "you can't mean it"
"Oh, but I do, Professor, I can assure you, I'm willing to take that chance. If I am to lose the magic, then I'd advise telling Fudge right now so he can make the announcement that the Boy Who Lived has become a squib. I'd like to see Rita's article about that, but for now, I have better things to do".