Chapter Eighteen – The Beginning

The two weeks of the Easter holidays were some of the most wonderful of Martin's life. Philip and Michelle had accepted Martin into their family from the moment they'd first met him, and their genuine warmth and cheerfulness soon helped Martin to get over his shyness and join in their conversations, jokes and laughter as though he had known them all his life.

His relationship with his boyfriend became, if possible, even closer during those two weeks that they spent almost solely in each other's company. They went out every day, exploring both Muggle and magical London and enjoying themselves thoroughly: taking a boat trip on the Thames; strolling through St. James's Park and seeing Buckingham Palace, all the while surreptitiously giggling at the guards with their ridiculous hats that looked as though they had Nifflers draped on their heads; gazing up at the Houses of Parliament and the Big Ben; or walking through Piccadilly and the rest of the West End.

In Diagon Alley, Martin relished the chance of finally being able to spend as much time as he wanted cruising the shops, checking out all the displays in the shop windows and occasionally entering this store or that, instead of working out the quickest route between places they had to visit beforehand and then rushing through them, completing their shopping in the least amount of time possible, as he usually did when he went there with his father. Martin didn't exactly blame him for this, because he knew that neither his father nor his students enjoyed running into each other at Madam Malkin's or the apothecary, but now he was under no such limitations with Ramin, and they happily walked through Diagon Alley for hours, flicking through books in Flourish and Blotts, admiring the magnificent Firebolt on display in Quality Quidditch Supplies, sneaking curious glances down Knockturn Alley and rounding their days off with giant sundaes at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour.

So the days of the Easter holidays passed, but as much as Martin enjoyed every minute of them, they still could not compete with the miraculous things that took place during the nights. Sometimes even thinking about it was enough to make Martin blush, but he still would never have wanted to undo so much as a single minute of what happened between himself and Ramin after Michelle and Philip had gone to bed and the Muffliato spell had been cast, just in case. Only a year ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible that there would ever be a person in his life that was closer to him than his father, but he now realised that, in just a little over eight months, Ramin had somehow managed to become just as important to him, though of course on an entirely different level. Indeed, whenever Martin's thoughts turned to his father during those wonderful holiday days, he couldn't help remembering the conversation they'd had on the evening before his departure, and a grin spread across his face every time he thought about that almost in spite of himself. Should they ever happen to discuss that topic again, Martin reflected, he certainly would not be able to look his father in the eye now and say that he and Ramin were "not doing anything."

Much too soon, the holidays were over, their trunks were packed, and Philip and Michelle were hugging both of them goodbye on platform nine and three-quarters before the boys boarded the Hogwarts Express. When the scarlet steam engine pulled the train out of the station and Martin and Ramin were waving to Michelle and Philip out of their compartment window, watching as their figures grew smaller and smaller in the distance, Martin had enough wonderful memories to fill a whole Pensieve, the sensation of having gained a new family and an invitation to stay with the Wilkinsons again some time during the summer holidays to take back to Hogwarts with him, and he already felt that the end of the school year could not come soon enough.

Back at Hogwarts, however, the summer holidays were soon driven completely out of Martin's mind. The start of the summer term brought with it yet another increase in the sixth-years' already considerable workload, and Martin spent most of the hours in which he wasn't sitting in – as the days grew warmer and warmer – more and more sweltering classrooms either in the library or outside the Hufflepuff common room on the adjoining terrace, where he and his friends could sit in the sun and quiz each other on the Unforgivable Curses, dos and don'ts of human transfiguration, antidotes and plants that were often no less murderous than many of the poisons they'd covered in Potions.

During all those long hours of studying, Martin often thought back longingly to the freedom of the days and the wonders of the nights he'd enjoyed during the Easter holidays, both of which he now sorely missed. Although he was, of course, still spending as much time as he could in his boyfriend's company during the day, there could be no question of continuing this new and most intimateside of their relationship at the moment – there were simply always other people around, and there was no privacy to be found anywhere, be it in the castle or grounds. What was more, all the sixth-years were so snowed under with work that Martin doubted he and Ramin would have found time to spare for any activities that did not involve pouring over books and notes or practising complicated spells, even if they'd had a private spot to pursue them.

Although their really important exams, the N.E.W.T.s, were still a year away, the sixth-years would take preliminary exams in all their subjects that they needed to pass in order to be allowed to continue the courses. Martin wasn't too worried about Charms and Herbology, and he was certain that he would pass well in Potions, but he needed all the help he could get from Ramin and the others where Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration were concerned.

His boyfriend, on the other hand, looked set to ace all of his exams except for Potions, but Martin still expected him to pass in his father's class, too, even if it wasn't going to be with top marks – their continuous extra work in Potions throughout the year had paid off, and Ramin had turned into a reasonable potion maker, even if he wasn't brilliant.

John and Edward, who often studied with Martin and Ramin, both seemed quite confident as well. Edward was a good allrounder and had always received decent marks, and the only subject John really struggled with was Transfiguration, but with Edward's and Ramin's help, he, too, gradually started to improve.

Although Cedric, too, often sat with them when they were studying and repeatedly offered to help with any difficulties – something he could very easily do, since he was, and always had been, a top student – he himself wasn't studying for anything, because as a Triwizard champion, he was exempt from end-of-year exams. Instead of pouring over books and practising Protean Charms and the transfiguration of racoons into bedside tables, therefore, it was his job to prepare as best he could for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament, which would take place on the 24th of June – the final day of their exams, and exactly one week before the end of term.

Cedric did not learn what this last task of the Tournament was going to be until precisely one month beforehand, however. But when the evening of the 24th of May finally arrived, he left the common room shortly after dinner and re-entered it just before nine o'clock, returning from his meeting with Mr Bagman and the other champions.

Martin, Edward and John had been halfway through revising their Defence Against the Dark Arts notes, but they all looked up as Cedric crossed the room and dropped into an empty chair at their table.

"Well?" said John excitedly in a hushed voice, so as not to alert the entire room to Cedric's return before he'd had a chance to catch his breath and to tell them about the third task in private before having to inform the whole house about what was in store for him. "What's it gonna be, then? Tell us!"

Cedric looked at his three dorm-mates, who were all staring at him captivatedly, for a moment, then he broke into a grin.

"A maze," he replied, drumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair energetically, as though he couldn't wait to clear this last hurdle of the Tournament. "They're growing it on the Quidditch pitch. I couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw it, it looks totally different with hedges growing all over it! They're only about knee-high now, but Bagman said they're gonna be twenty feet on the day of the task! The Cup's gonna be at the centre of the maze, and whoever touches it first wins."

"But what about the points you got for the first two tasks?" Edward asked, frowning. "Surely they've still got to count somehow?"

"They determine the order we're being let into the maze," Cedric explained. "So Harry and I will enter first, then Krum, then Fleur! Bagman said we're all in with a chance to win, though."

"But you're gonna have a head start, Ced!" John said enthusiastically. "You just find your way through that maze quickly, and you're gonna win!" He beamed widely at the thought of Cedric actually winning the Triwizard Tournament for Hogwarts and for Hufflepuff. "Just think what you're gonna do with your thousand Galleons prize money! Do you reckon it'll be enough to buy a Firebolt?"

"He hasn't won yet," Martin cautioned. He couldn't help feeling that the relatively simple matter of finding their way through a maze, however skilfully designed, could hardly be all that was expected of the champions in this final task of the Tournament. "What else is gonna be in the maze, Cedric?"

"Some creatures of Hagrid's," Cedric said, grimacing. "And Bagman said something about enchantments, too. I reckon we'll more or less have to fight our way past them to get to the centre."

Martin nodded, as his stomach clenched uncomfortably. With the sort of creatures Hagrid was likely to put into that maze and a couple of dangerous enchantments on top, the last task sounded as if it was going to be just as dangerous as the first and second. But then, he thought reassuringly, Cedric had got through those well enough, hadn't he? Surely, he was going to manage this last one as well.

John had pulled a face at the mention of the obstacles in the maze. "Great, I bet you're gonna get a chance to meet the Blast-Ended Skrewts after all, then," he said, in a tone of deep disgust. He alone of their group had continued Care of Magical Creatures to N.E.W.T. level, and he had been complaining loudly about the Skrewts ever since the beginning of the school year.

"You'd best teach me how to fight them off, then," Cedric grinned.

As Martin looked into Cedric's glowing face and sparkling grey eyes, he thought that he didn't appear to be too worried about this task. And perhaps he was right not to be – now that he had learned what it was, he was at least going to be able to prepare for it properly.

"I wish I knew," John said darkly. "But unless you're gonna feel an urge to tie a leash around the damned thing and take it for a walk through the maze, I haven't learned anything in Care of Magical Creatures that'll come in useful."

"We should still practise, though," Edward said, his brow furrowed, as though he was already working out the best strategy for Cedric's preparation for the task. "Jinxes and counter-jinxes, and charms. And perhaps some handy transfigurations, and we should definitely revise the best way to defeat Devil's Snares and Venomous Tentaculas and the like, some of them are bound to be planted somewhere in the maze. I don't suppose Potions will come in very useful, though, I doubt you'll have time to brew anything during the task …"

"Or be allowed to take a cauldron," Cedric yawned. He stretched and then got restlessly to his feet. "I wish I could take a walk now and think about all of this, but it's past curfew already. I think I'll just go to bed, even though I doubt I'll sleep a wink tonight. I'll be too busy trying to think of good spells and hexes and stuff …"

"We'll help," Edward promised. "Tomorrow, we'll go to the library to look up some things, and then we'll start practising!"

"Definitely," John agreed, nodding fervently. "You just wait, Ced, on the 24th of June, you're gonna be so well prepared that you wouldn't not reach that Cup first even if you tried!"

"Come off it, John," Cedric replied, grinning, but Martin clearly saw the eagerness in his eyes before he turned and disappeared through the door into the boy's corridor. Cedric, he realised, wasn't at all concerned about merely getting through that maze safely. Nor were Edward and John. They, like all the other Hufflepuffs, and most of the other students, too, wanted Cedric to win. A mere safe return would be a disappointment to them.

"What about you, Martin? You're gonna help Ced prepare, aren't you? You and Ramin?" John asked him, pulling him out of his train of thoughts.

"What? Oh, sure!" he replied, and John grinned and enthusiastically continued planning Cedric's training with Edward.

Martin let their conversation wash over him without really taking in anything they were saying. Of course, if Cedric did manage to win, he, too, would be thrilled, and there was no denying that he'd enjoy seeing all the other houses looking up to a member of Hufflepuff house for once. But, he thought, and he felt a little twinge of guilt as he realised it, he didn't really care that much who was going to win the Tournament. All he wanted was for Cedric – and all the other champions, too, if it came to that – to come out of this Tournament happy and whole and in one piece. And that, for him, would be enough reason to celebrate, even if Cedric was chased out of the maze by a Blast-Ended Skrewt a bare five minutes into the task and finished the Tournament in last place.

The next day, his father held him back after their Potions lesson.

"Stay," he said in a very low voice as Martin handed in a sample of his potion. "I need to talk to you."

He had barely moved his lips, clearly anxious that no one but Martin should hear, but Ramin, who had gone to the teacher's desk with him to hand in a flask of his own potion, hesitated and looked questioningly from Martin to his father and back again. Martin glanced at his father's face, saw the intense look in his black eyes and the way his lips were pressed tightly together, and he knew that his father wanted to speak to him alone.

"Just wait outside," he murmured, but his father cut across him.

"There's no need," he said curtly, fixing Ramin with a penetrating stare that would have made most students quiver with fear. Ramin, however, met his eyes unflinchingly. "Go up to the Great Hall. This may take a while."

Ramin looked at Martin, who gave his father another half glance out of the corner of his eye, then nodded slightly at Ramin. "I'll join you there," he said in a low voice, and Ramin slung his bag over his shoulder and left the room, not without giving the pair of them a curious look over his shoulder.

As the door feel shut, Martin turned to face his father apprehensively. His stomach had clenched once more. What did his father want to talk to him about that was so urgent that it couldn't wait until their weekly meeting on Friday? Could it be something to do with the third task? But how would that concern him? Was it something about Ramin again? Or was it … something else? Something about that other topic, the one they had not discussed since that night in February?

"Martin, listen to me," his father began as soon as the door had closed behind Ramin. The look in his eyes was so intense that it was almost scary. Martin had the impression that his father was trying to look, not just at him, but straight into him, in a way that even Professor Moody's magical eye couldn't. He spoke rapidly, as though he wanted to get whatever it was out of the way as quickly as possible, and his voice was still low, even though the two of them were now the only people left in the room.

"Do you remember what I told you about Mr Crouch? That no one had seen him in the office or anywhere else since November, that he virtually disappeared from public life?"

Martin swallowed. Crouch. So it was something to do with their talk in February.

Martin looked into his father's eyes, saw the anxiety and tension there, and felt a wave of fear wash over him. Could something else have happened now? Something even more severe than all those other things, Bertha Jorkins' disappearance, the Death Eaters at the World Cup, that … thing on his father's forearm growing clearer and clearer?

"Yes, I remember," he replied, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. His mouth had suddenly become very dry.

His father's gaze flicked towards the door for a fraction of a second, then he fixed Martin again and continued, still in that same low and rapid voice: "Dumbledore's been making discreet inquiries for months, but all the information he got from Crouch's department was that he was simply taking a break from work. Dumbledore didn't believe that. He thought Crouch had to be ill or worse, and that whatever it was had to be very severe indeed to make him disappear from public life so completely."

Ill or worse … Martin stared up into his father's eyes, his fear swelling inside him. What could he possibly mean by that?

"And it seems Dumbledore was right," his father went on, his eyes still boring, unblinkingly, into Martin's. "For last night, Crouch appears to have been here, in the Hogwarts grounds."

Martin's mouth opened in shock and disbelief. "Here?" he gasped. "But why? And how? If he's ill, how could he just appear in the grounds? You can't Apparate into Hogwarts, can you?"

"No," his father replied, his eyes flicking momentarily towards the door once more. "You can't. And Crouch certainly couldn't have Apparated anywhere, considering the state he was in."

"What do you –," Martin began, but his father suddenly seized Martin's shoulder with his right hand and cut across him, speaking, if it was possible, even more intensely than before: "Martin, listen. Crouch was … very confused. You might even say mad. Half the time, he apparently didn't know where he was or who he was talking to, but every now and again, his mind seems to have become clearer, and then he repeatedly demanded to talk to Dumbledore. There seems to have been something extremely urgent he needed to tell him. But by the time Potter had fetched Dumbledore and they'd returned to the spot where Crouch was –"

"Harry?" Martin gasped, unable to stop himself. "Why Harry? How –"

"Potter and Krum found him," his father explained impatiently. "They apparently took a walk down to the Forbidden Forrest after they'd been told about the third task, and they found Crouch there. But that's unimportant. What matters is that when Dumbledore arrived at the place where Crouch had been, Krum was lying there Stunned, and Crouch had vanished. We searched the grounds thoroughly last night, but we could not find him anywhere. He completely disappeared."

A few seconds' silence followed these words, as his father paused and Martin tried to take in what he had just heard. Crouch in the grounds at Hogwarts? Confused, even mad, and desperate to speak to Dumbledore? And then gone, just like that? Krum, Stunned?

But … how? And why? What did all this have to do with You-Know-Who? Did it have anything to do with You-Know-Who, or was it possible that there was a different explanation altogether? But what?

Martin's head felt like it was about to burst. His thoughts were swirling around so fast that he had the impression the room was spinning around him.

"But … how?" he finally managed weakly, and he pressed his eyes shut in an effort to stop the spinning sensation that was making him feel dizzy. "I mean … how could he have disappeared just like that?"

"No one knows," his father replied, and Martin opened his eyes again to meet his intense stare once more. "It is of course possible that Crouch Stunned Krum and then disappeared on his own, but I don't believe that. Judging from what Potter told Dumbledore, Crouch doesn't seem to have been in any state to perform the most basic magic, let alone anything complex enough to allow him to vanish without trace from the Hogwarts grounds. I believe, and Dumbledore believes, too, that somebody – somebody present in the grounds when Potter ran to get Dumbledore – wanted to stop Crouch talking to Dumbledore, and they, whoever they are, attacked Krum and Crouch both. Whether it was one person or more, whether they simply silenced Crouch, put him under the Imperius curse or even killed him, I don't know."

A very heavy silence followed these words. Martin stared up at his father. For a moment, he thought he was too terrified to speak.

"Killed?" he whispered finally, looking into his father's grim face, a part of him hoping against hope that he was going to retract these last words. But in his head, he knew that he was not going to. Because he couldn't. Because he couldn't, and Martin couldn't, either, shut his eyes from the fact that it was a real, serious possibility that Crouch had been murdered. Because this was not one of Beedle the Bard's tales, but brutal, cruel, ugly reality.

"Yes, Martin," his father replied, and the finality in his voice and something about the way his jaw clenched when he said it told Martin that his father thought this option not only possible, but likely. Probable, even. "But Crouch's fate is not something you should concern yourself with. Very few students know about it, and it is best if it stays that way. Tell Mr Wilkinson if you must, but no one else, do you understand?"

Martin nodded. His mind and body still felt numb with shock. Could a murder really have been committed in the grounds last night? Here, at Hogwarts, possibly while Edward and John had been enthusiastically discussing Cedric's preparation for the third task?

Martin felt as though the ground was shaking beneath his feet, but his father had not finished yet.

"I wouldn't even have told you about this," he began again, now putting his other hand onto Martin's shoulder as well. Martin felt their weight pressing down upon him, as though embodying the crushing weight of everything he had just heard. "But you have toknow. You have to know, because from now on, you have to watch out, Martin, do you understand? Avoid going anywhere on your own if you can help it. Stay with Mr Wilkinson, or else Diggory, Summers and Palmer. Don't go out into the grounds unless you're in a big group, and don't, whatever you do, leave your common room after hours, do you understand?"

His father's eyes bored into him, looking, it seemed to Martin, straight into his soul.

"Yes," he replied, swallowing nervously. "Yes, of course, but why –"

"There is someone at Hogwarts who shouldn't be!" his father hissed, his eyes darting towards the door again, his hands gripping Martin's shoulders so tightly that he almost cried out. "Someone attacked Crouch, someone from inside the school, Martin, don't you see?"

"But who?" Martin blurted out, desperate to finally shed at least a little light on this whole twisted and confusing affair. "Karkaroff? You said he was a Death Eater, couldn't he –"

He broke off as his father let out a contemptuous and utterly humourless laugh. "Karkaroff? No, Martin. Karkaroff is small, and insignificant, and weak. He is terrified of the Dark Lord returning and punishing him for all those faithful Death Eaters he betrayed to the Ministry. He would never dare to do anything as major as this, right under Dumbledore's and Moody's noses. No, it was someone else who attacked Crouch. I don't know who, or how, but I do know that there is someone exceptionally dangerous inside the castle, someone who won't hesitate to attack it he feels that it serves his purpose, someone who is probably capable of murder! I do not mean to frighten you", he added upon seeing Martin's terrified face, relaxing his grip on his shoulders slightly, "and I see no reason why he should be after you, but you do need to be on your guard. You should be safe enough if you stay in your friends' company, and I will of course do everything I can to keep you safe, but I cannot watch over you all the time. You need to be alert, and you need to be careful, and you need to watch out for yourself. Do you understand, Martin?"

Martin looked up at his father, his eyes large and round, feeling small and scared and somehow almost naked. His father had mentioned You-Know-Who returning, so he had to believe that whatever had happened to Crouch was connected to that horrible prospect in some way.

He felt as though his terror was pressing down on his lungs, squashing them and making it impossible for him to breathe properly. The only time he could remember ever feeling something remotely like this had been during his fourth year at Hogwarts, when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and several students had been attacked. Then, too, he had felt as though the ground he had built his life on was shaking. If Hogwarts, the place where Albus Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody and many other capable witches and wizards like Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and his own Head of House, Professor Sprout, were, the place where his father was, wasn't safe, where was it safe, then?

Nowhere, perhaps, a cruel little voice inside his head answered. Somewhere, deep inside him, he sensed that what his father had just told him, even though he hardly understood any of the whys and hows of it, was the beginning of something so overwhelming that he couldn't even begin to make out just how major it was. All he knew was that he did not want to find out about it, did not ever what to get involved in any of it – and yet the knowledge that it was inevitable, that whatever it was would come closer and closer and eventually engulf him, and that there was nothing whatsoever he could do to stop it, was as firm and sound within him as if it had existed all along, and he simply had not realised it was there. Now, however, he knew that he would never be able to shake off that feeling of something unstoppable coming closer and closer ever again, until it – whatever it was – had finally happened.

He swallowed. The fear was threatening to overwhelm him. He forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths, and finally managed to nod slowly. "Yes," he said, and his voice was shaking slightly. "Yes, I understand. I promise I'll be careful."

His father looked at him for another two seconds, then he, too, exhaled audibly. "Good," he murmured, and then, for the first time during their entire conversation, his lips curved into a small smile. "Come here," he said softly, and he stepped forwards and hugged Martin tightly.

Martin pressed his face into his father's chest, inhaled the familiar smell of herbs and hearth and put all his effort into trying to calm himself down. His father ran his hands over his back reassuringly, and slowly, as he continued to take deep, steadying breaths, Martin's racing thoughts and feelings gradually slowed down. All the while, his father continued rubbing his back, and he said in a quiet, yet altogether different voice from the one he'd used earlier: "Don't be frightened. You're going to be safe, I promise. I just want you to be on your guard, that's all."

Martin nodded, took a last deep breath, then let go of his father and took a step backwards. "I will, I promise," he said, and he was relieved to find his voice coming out much steadier than before.

His father looked into his eyes, and he met his gaze unblinkingly for a few seconds, until his father smiled and let go of Martin's shoulders. "Good," he said again, and his voice was warm with hardly any trace of tension left. "Well, let's go up to the Great Hall, then. I'll take you there."

Martin nodded, grabbed his schoolbag and followed his father along the dungeon corridors and up the staircase leading up to the Great Hall. But even though the blind panic he'd felt after his father's revelations had somewhat subsided now, he couldn't shake off the horrible sense of foreboding that had descended upon him. When he entered the Great Hall and looked around at all the students discussing completely mundane things such as homework, revision and exams, he almost let out a desperate laugh as he realised that, even between the third task of the Triwizard Tournament and watching out for a potential murderer running free in the school, he was still expected to perform decently in his – when you broke it down – utterly meaningless end-of-year tests.

Author's note:

Oh dear … I owe you a MASSIVE apology. I seem to remember writing something about updating a little more quickly in the last author's note, but … well. You know what became of that promise.

I'm really, really sorry that you had to wait for more than three months for this chapter, but the fact is that I've been quite busy (even despite the pandemic), and because my university courses are taking place online at the moment, I've had to reduce the screen-time at other ends. Unfortunately, this also affected writing. That is why it's taken me so long to update again, and that's also why I can make no predictions whatsoever as to when I'll be able to write and post the next chapter.

But until I do, I hope you'll at least enjoy reading this chapter (providing anyone is still reading this story, of course), and as ever, I'd be thrilled to hear what you think, so you'd really make my day if you took the time to write a review!

This chapter is based on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, London 2000, pp. 477 – 496.