Author's Note: Hello Everyone! I'm very sorry for the length of time it took to give you this chapter. Rest assured, I have not abandoned this story, it's just been a busy few weeks. That said, I hope to finish out Harry's fourth year this summer, then I'll be taking an extended hiatus to draft the fifth year. Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support. For now, enjoy the chapter!
Chapter Eighty-Two - The Dream
Harry's first errand the following morning was to send two letters - one for Sirius, and one for Mrs. Zabini. Both contained nearly the same information. Harry had informed his guardians of Mr. Crouch's bizarre appearance in the forest the previous night, and the even stranger disappearance that followed. Harry knew that Sirius wanted to be kept updated on every development at Hogwarts, particularly if it had anything to do with the tournament. As for Mrs. Zabini, Harry had resolved to write to her, and so he had. He was sure she would be interested as well, and he hoped that her relationship with Ludo Bagman could shed some light on what had happened to his fellow minister and judge.
Blaise had woken up early, a rare circumstance for him. He seemed troubled by what Harry had told him of Mr. Crouch. Together, they walked to the owlery and discussed the events of the previous night.
"Tell me again what Crouch said to you," Blaise said.
"He was difficult to understand," explained Harry, feeling as though he had told the story hundreds of times already, "He mentioned his son and Bertha… I think he meant Bertha Jorkins. He said she was dead… But there were times when he seemed to think his son was still alive."
"Was that before or after he mentioned You-Know-Who?"
Harry shook his head. "He didn't say much about Voldemort. Just that he was getting stronger… That's when he said my name. I think… I think he was trying to warn Dumbeldore about something."
Blaise fell silent for a few moments. Like him, Harry was quiet as he considered the implications of what it all meant. He reflected on his prior encounters with Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had murdered his parents when Harry was only a baby. There were many who believed Voldemort had been destroyed when the curse he attempted to use on Harry backfired, but Harry knew that was not the case.
When he was a first-year at Hogwarts, Harry had seen Voldemort, or rather what was left of him. He had been a wreck of his former self - a parasite living on the back of Professor Quirrell's head. He'd had no body of his own to sustain the shadow of life he held. When Quirrell died attempting to capture Harry for the Dark Lord, Voldemort had disappeared. But neither Dumbeldore nor Harry had believed he was really gone for good. Crouch's warning that he was growing stronger did not sit well with him.
Blaise let out a heavy sigh that pulled Harry from these reflections. "This has something to do with you and this tournament, doesn't it?"
"Why do you think so?" Harry asked, though he'd been thinking the same thing.
"Crouch said your name, didn't he?" Blaise reminded him, "And he and Bagman organized this whole affair. Then Crouch starts missing work, and when he shows up again he's talking about You-Know-Who and… I'm not saying he's the one who put your name in the Goblet, Harry, but I think he needed to see Dumbledore for a reason, and that reason seemed to concern you."
"You don't think he's mad?" Harry asked.
"No, I don't," Blaise stated with confidence, "Cursed, maybe. But mad? C'mon, Harry. We've always known there was something wrong about this tournament."
Harry didn't contradict him. He had stayed up late the previous night, composing his letters and thinking the same things Blaise was saying now. But it was a comfort to hear that he wasn't paranoid. He hoped that Sirius and Mrs. Zabini would agree with his own theories, and that they could offer some guidance on what he should do now.
A response from Sirius and Mrs. Zabini would have to wait, but there was one person at Hogwarts who could give them some information immediately. After morning classes, Harry, Blaise, and Millie decided to pay a visit to Professor Moody. They found him in the hall near his office, having just dismissed a class of second-year students. His one natural eye gazed at them without surprise, while the electric blue false eye followed a pair of retreating students around a corner.
"Thought I'd be seeing you three," he growled, not unkindly, "You'd better come in, then."
Tapping his walking stick against the door of his office, he ushered them inside. Harry had been in this office once before, when Sirius and Remus came to visit him after the first task. The room looked much the same as it had before, with its odd instruments for detecting dark magic. Harry wondered if any of the devices had warned Moody of Crouch's presence the previous night.
Moody appeared to anticipate his thoughts, for he said, "I suppose you're wanting to know if I found Crouch last night, or the intruder who stunned Viktor Krum?"
"You don't think Crouch knocked him out?" Harry asked eagerly.
"No, I don't. And neither do you, Potter," Moody replied, "From what you told Dumbledore of his condition, I don't think Crouch would have had the strength to overpower Krum and run away. I think it's obvious that someone else didn't want Crouch to speak with the headmaster."
"We were thinking…" Harry began hopefully, darting glances at Millie and Blaise, "Well, we thought that with the Marauder's Map, you'd have been able to see if anyone was around when Crouch… When he disappeared again. Maybe someone who wasn't supposed to be here?"
Moody paired his reply with a crooked smile. Unlocking a drawer of his desk with another tap of his walking stick, he withdrew the folded map, its surface currently blank.
"I checked it as soon as Hagrid came and found me. But the map only shows the school and the grounds. Crouch was already gone by the time I looked. If he fled into the forest or was pursued by someone, there was no way for me to find him."
To Harry's surprise, Moody leaned forward, holding the map out to him. Harry was about to take it, but Moody checked the movement, withholding the map a moment longer to add, "I've heard enough about you and your friends to know you like to go poking around yourselves. I'll give this back to you, on the condition that you leave any investigating to the professionals. The only thing you have to worry about is surviving the third task."
Harry swore he wouldn't go looking for trouble, and accepted the map, though he couldn't help but feel troubled by Moody's choice of words.
Sirius's answer to Harry's letter arrived the following day, but rather than provide advice, it betrayed his anxiety.
What did you think you were doing? he wrote. Walking off into the forest with Viktor Krum? There's someone very dangerous at Hogwarts, Harry. They could have been feet away from you in the dark. You could have been killed!
Unfortunately, Mrs. Zabini's letter wasn't much better.
Someone put your name in the Goblet of Fire for a reason. I believe it's the same person who attacked Viktor and Mr. Crouch. Ludo's office is in a complete uproar over this. The ministry is doing everything they can to find Mr. Crouch, but there are rumours that the worst has happened…
Harry had hoped for something more helpful, but he knew that their warnings were founded. The third task was swiftly approaching, and they were no closer to discovering why someone had entered him into the tournament in the first place.
Harry decided to take everyone's advice, and rather than enjoy the warm summer weather or pay a visit to Hagrid with his free time, Harry spent almost every spare moment in the library, reading up on spells and magical creatures. If he wasn't there, then he would be in an empty classroom, practicing defensive spells with Blaise and Millie. Blaise knew so many advanced charms that Harry was amazed he had memorized them all. Millie, as usual, was particularly helpful at teaching him hexes.
The constant studying and worry over Mr. Crouch began to take its toll on Harry's stamina, however. He found himself nodding off in Wand-Making, a class he normally found very interesting. As Professor Nobilis instructed them all on the various types of wood used in wands, Harry's eyes began to droop.
He was flying through the air toward an old, ivy-covered house set atop a tall hill. He floated through a broken window pane on one of the upper stories, then down a long, dark hall to a room at the very end. This room was also in shadow, and Harry realized vaguely that the windows had all been boarded up. It would have looked abandoned, but he was not alone.
There was an armchair with its back facing him. On the floor in front of the chair were two dark shapes, stirring slightly. One was a large snake. The other, a man. He was short, balding, and had watery eyes and a pointed nose. There was something about his appearance that suggested a rodent rather than a human being. He wheezed and sobbed into the dusty hearth rug as a high, cold voice spoke to him from the depths of the chair.
"You are in luck, Wormtail," the voice said, "Your mistake has not ruined everything. He is dead. Nagini, I am afraid you are out of luck. I will not be feeding Wormtail to you, today…"
The sobbing man, Wormtail, thanked the voice and stammered his apologies, even as he declared how pleased he was that someone's death had spared him his master's rage.
But the voice was not through with him. It wished to remind Wormtail that another mistake would not be tolerated. Harry saw the end of a wand directed toward the cowering man, but could not see the hand which held it. The voice hissed, "Crucio!"
At once, Wormtail began to scream, and at the same moment Harry's scar seared with pain. He awoke to the sound of his own cries. He was laying on the floor of his classroom, his hands on his still-stinging scar. The other students looked scared.
He gazed upward and realized it was Cedric's face that leaned over him, asking, "Harry? Harry, are you alright?"
Another face loomed into view. Professor Nobilis, the lines of her face creased with worry, asked, "Potter, can you hear us? Do you need the hospital wing?"
"Yes…" Harry managed to choke out as the pain in his scar gradually receded, "Yeah, I think so…"
Professor Nobilis nodded and said to Cedric, "Make sure Potter gets there safely."
Cedric helped Harry get unsteadily to his feet. Harry did his best to ignore the worried and curious looks his classmates gave him as he shuffled slowly out the door. For once, he was grateful that Wand-Making was not a popular class. A larger audience would have made the situation even more humiliating.
"What was that about?" Cedric asked him once they were in the hall, "You were grabbing your scar…"
"It was nothing," Harry deflected, "Just a headache…"
Cedric didn't look convinced, but Harry took a sudden detour. Cedric protested, reminding Harry that the hospital wing was in the other direction, but Harry ignored him. He had no intention of seeing Madame Pomfrey.
"Do you want to tell me why we're standing outside of Dumbledore's office?" Cedric asked him after following his path to the stone gargoyle.
"You didn't have to come with me," Harry said.
"Actually I did. I told Professor Nobilis I would take you to the hospital wing. You're not well…"
"Sherbert lemon," Harry interrupted, once again ignoring Cedric. But the gargoyle remained in place. Frustrated, Harry began to list off every sweet he could think of.
"Licorice wand! Fizzing whizbee! Chocolate frog! Sugar quill!"
"Cockroach Clusters," Cedric finally suggested when it became clear that Harry was not going to give up. The gargoyle immediately jumped down from its plinth, revealing the spiral staircase to the headmaster's office.
Harry looked at Cedric, who shrugged his shoulders and said, "I'm a prefect," as if that explained everything.
Harry led the way up the stairs, Cedric trailing dutifully behind him. They paused on the landing just outside the office door. There were voices having a heated discussion within. Harry thought he detected the voice of Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, as he argued with the headmaster.
"Ludo says that Bertha is more than capable of getting herself lost! We have absolutely no evidence of foul play! And as for your suggestion that her disappearance could be linked with Barty Crouch's, well…"
"Then what do you suggest happened to Crouch, Minister?"
Harry gave a start. The voice that had just challenged Mr. Fudge had not been Dumbledore's, but Professor Moody's.
"Clearly the man has gone insane. I'm sorry to say it, but it's no surprise, given his history. He must have knocked out Krum and wandered off…"
They did not get to hear the rest of the argument, as Moody's voice abruptly broke in to say, "We might want to wrap up this conversation. Potter and Diggory are here to see you, Albus."
Harry flinched again, as did Cedric at his side. He'd forgotten that Moody's magical eye could see through doors. It swung open, revealing Fudge, his bowler hat in hand, as well as Dumbledore, who sat calmly behind his desk.
Harry ignored the accusatory looks Cedric was directing at him as they were ushered forward, focusing instead on Mr. Fudge, who approached him with kind familiarity.
"Harry!" he said jovially, "We were just talking about the night Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds. I understand that it was you who found him?"
Harry was painfully aware that Cedric was standing right next to him, hearing everything that was discussed. He didn't know if Cedric was much of a gossip, but he had a feeling that everyone in the school would be talking about this tomorrow.
He chose to deflect Fudge's question by addressing Dumbledore instead.
"I wanted to talk to you, Professor."
"Certainly," Dumbledore said casually, as if they were meeting by appointment, and not as though Harry had barged in on a private conversation with the Minister for Magic. "I was just about to escort Cornelus on an examination of the school grounds. You and Cedric are welcome to remain here until I return. I daresay we will not take long."
Harry would have liked to mention that Cedric could leave, but Dumbledore had already risen from his seat, and was quickly directing Fudge out the door, Moody following closely behind. The office door swung shut behind them, and Harry was left alone, staring at Cedric.
After a moment of silence, Harry suggested, "You can go if you want. I feel much better now."
"Certainly not," Cedric replied, "Dumbledore told us both to wait. Besides, as prefect, I can't leave you alone in the headmaster's office."
"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged, though a part of him wondered what mischief Cedric thought he would get up to if left alone.
He had been in the headmaster's office before. It was a beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts. Currently, the portraits were all asleep, though Harry suspected this was merely a contrivance to make them think they could speak without being overheard. Harry wondered how often they whispered secrets to Dumbledore, overheard from trips to other portraits around the school...
Other than the creepy portraits, there was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, perched majestically on a stand near his desk. He was far from molting, and looked resplendent in his gold and scarlet plumage. On a shelf behind the bird, Harry spied his old nemesis, the Sorting Hat sitting next to a glass case that contained a magnificent silver sword with large rubies set into the hilt. As Harry studied it, curious to know if the gems were real, he saw a light reflecting off the glass. Turning his head, he noticed a tall black cabinet. The door had been left ajar, and a bright, silvery light shimmered around the edge. It reminded Harry strongly of the light cast by the Patronus charm.
"What do you suppose that is," Harry asked Cedric, nodding toward the cabinet.
Cedric glanced at it before saying firmly, "Whatever it is, it's none of our business."
Harry shrugged again, though privately he wondered how he got stuck with such a strict adherent to school rules. Cedric interrupted his thoughts by suddenly asking, "Are you going to tell me what we're going here?"
"I just need to tell Dumbledore something," Harry replied evasively.
"Is it about the reason you collapsed in class?"
"Drop it, Cedric."
To his credit, Cedric did pause for a moment before he continued, "You're a pretty mysterious guy, you know?"
Harry had never been described as mysterious before. Nosy, yes. Troublesome, absolutely. But mysterious? That was new.
"What do you mean? I'm just normal…"
Cedric laughed, "Normal? Do you actually think that? You were already famous when you came to this school, and now you're a Triwizard Champion! There are all these rumours going 'round about you. No one thought an underage wizard could get past Dumbledore's age line, but here you are. Then everyone said you'd be too young to compete, but you came in first against the dragons and the merpeople…"
"Hang on!" Harry interrupted, his mind reeling from what Cedric was saying. "It all sounds great when you put it like that, but I didn't enter myself in the tournament, and I've had a lot of help…"
Cedric was already shaking his head in denial before Harry could finish.
"It hasn't all been good, Harry," he added, "People have been talking about you since Professor Quirrell died. There were a lot of strange rumors about what happened in the forbidden corridor. Not to mention the Chamber of Secrets. And then Sirius Black getting out of Azkaban to find you…"
"But he was innocent!" Harry argued.
"Yeah, and your godfather, strangely enough!" Cedric persisted, "All I'm saying is, this stuff seems to keep happening to you, and I guess I just want to know why."
Harry had no idea what to say. It was a question he often asked himself. How was he supposed to explain that during his first two years at Hogwarts, he had faced Lord Voldemort in one form or another, and that he had survived again and again? He had already tried explaining that he hadn't been the one to enter himself in the Triwizard Tournament, and no one had believed him. Why should Cedric believe him now?
They stood in silence for a few moments, Harry not knowing what to say, before Cedric finally sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Fine," he said, "You don't have to tell me your secrets. Just… Well, I don't know if I ever told you this, but your flying against that Horntail was amazing. I was watching from the stands when you were up."
"Thanks," Harry replied, "And you were a big help with that egg. I never would have figured it out without you."
"That was only fair. You tipped me off about the dragons, after all."
They fell silent again. Searching for something to relieve the tension, Harry added, "So… You and Cho Chang, huh?"
It was an awkward start, but Cedric smiled in response, "Yeah. We're still seeing each other. She's… really great."
"Good Seeker," Harry agreed with a nod, then added as an afterthought, "Pretty, too."
"Thanks, but what about you? Are you and Willoughby…?"
"We're just friends."
"Oh. That's good, too. Cho is friends with her, as well. We were both surprised when you took her to the dance. I figured you'd go with Bulstrode."
"I'm not Millie's type," Harry said. After a moment of reflection, he added, "I'm not sure Millie even has a type."
Cedric smiled, but it seemed that they had finally exhausted all topics of conversation. Harry was beginning to wonder if he should mention the tournament or Quidditch when he was distracted by the silvery light, peeking out from the black cabinet. He thought about approaching the subject with Cedric again, but he never got the chance. Dumbledore returned to the office, alone this time.
"Now then, Harry. What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly.
Harry shot a pointed look at Cedric. His stare was lost on the Hufflepuff, who still seemed determined to remain, but Dumbledore understood Harry's intention.
"Cedric, did you need anything from me?" Dumbledore asked.
Cedric, forced to admit that he was only trying to make sure Harry got to the hospital wing, was summarily dismissed from the office. He looked as though he would have liked to stay and hear the rest of Harry's conversation with the headmaster, but when Dumbledore dismissed him with promises that he would personally ensure Harry was well, he could not refuse to leave.
Without Cedric listening in, Harry was finally free to tell the headmaster about his dream. He began by explaining, rather guiltily, that he had fallen asleep in class. When Dumbledore did not interrupt or discourage him with a reprimand, Harry felt emboldened, and he continued.
"While I was asleep, I had a dream. A dream about… Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail… Sorry, I meant Peter. You know, Peter Pettigrew?"
Dumbledore nodded, "Of course. Please continue, Harry."
"Right… Well, he said something about a mistake that Pettigrew made, but then he said he was lucky, because someone else had died. He had this giant snake, and he was going to feed Pettigrew to it, but then he… he cursed him instead…"
"The Cruciatus Curse?" Dumbledore suggested.
Harry nodded his head. "That's when my scar started hurting, and I woke up on the floor of the classroom. I thought that… I thought that you'd want to know."
Dumbledore considered him carefully before he asked, "Has your scar hurt any other time this year?"
"Yes, this past summer. I… I had been dreaming then, as well."
"The same dream?"
"Sort of… Wormtail… Pettigrew was there, but Voldemort wasn't torturing him. Not then, anyway."
Dumbledore began to pace slowly around his office, his steps gradually moving him closer and closer to his desk, where he finally sat down. He appeared lost in thought.
"Professor?" Harry ventured when the silence became too much to bear, "Do you know why my scar is hurting me? The dreams don't… Well, I mean they can't mean anything, can they?"
"You wouldn't be here if you didn't think they meant something, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "And yes, I do have a theory. If I am right, then your dreams may not be dreams at all. It is my belief that your scar hurts when Lord Voldemort is near you, or when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."
Harry frowned. This was certainly not the answer he had been expecting.
"Why would my scar hurt because Voldemort is angry?" he asked.
"Because you are connected to him by the curse that failed," Dumbledore explained patiently, "That is not an ordinary scar you carry. Marks like that are a sign of a curse."
"So you think my dreams… These dreams I've been having with Wormtail and Voldemort… They really happened? But wouldn't that mean that Voldemort has returned?"
"It is possible. But Harry, did you see Voldemort in these dreams?"
"I heard his voice," Harry replied, "But no, I never saw his face. But there wouldn't be anything to see, would there? He hasn't got a body…"
Harry stopped himself. If Lord Voldemort had no body, then how had he held the wand that cursed Wormtail? His dreams didn't make any sense, but then again, he'd always known that Voldemort had not been truly destroyed. If Wormtail somehow found him after escaping Azkaban… if he had helped Voldemort the way Quirrell had before…
"He's getting stronger," Harry said finally. He almost added that he could sense it, but this might only have been the effect of Dumbledore's suggestion that they were connected somehow.
Dumbledore did not contradict him.
"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power were marked with disappearances," he said, as if confirming Harry's own suspicions, "And now Bertha Jorkins has vanished in the very place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch has also disappeared within these very grounds. And a third disappearance, one the Ministry does not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. But he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and I feel that these events are connected."
"But Fudge disagrees?" Harry asked, thinking of the conversation he had overheard before entering the office.
Dumbledore shook his head, but not to refute Harry's words. He seemed tired.
"Acknowledging even the possibility of Voldemort's return would cause too much trouble for the Ministry. There would be panic. It seems that Cornelius will not see reason because he knows all too well the difficulties that would arise for him if he did."
"Maybe he's right," Harry said, clinging desperately to the knowledge that the Lord Voldemort he heard in his dream was weak, barely hanging on to life, "If my dreams are real… That is, if Voldemort has returned, he's not nearly as strong as he was before. And without a body…"
He trailed off. Dumbledore was watching him patiently, allowing him to continue if he chose, but Harry knew it was useless. Already he could sense that something was coming, something dark and dangerous and… inevitable. He could stay in denial like Fudge, but it would be better to face this threat head-on. And if Dumbledore was right, if all of the disappearances were connected and Harry's dreams were real…
"What should I do?" Harry asked aloud.
It was the question he'd been asking himself all along. It was the question he'd hoped Sirius could answer, then Mrs. Zabini. Now he appealed to Dumbledore, but the headmaster could only look at him with a compassionate smile.
"Let me worry about Lord Voldemort, Harry," he suggested, "You just focus on completing this tournament."