A/N: Shoutout to Bearmauls for reviewing every single chapter read. You're a legend.

Chapter Forty-Three

Tensions Rising

The following morning saw her parents' replies delivered straight onto her oats. Alex sighed once as she plucked it from her breakfast, then again when she read their responses. They were as clueless as she was.

"Bad news?" Zubair asked conversationally as he handed her a muffin.

She accepted it gratefully. "Sort of." Her eyes darted to the other side of the hall where a green, gaseous cloud was polluting Hermione's direct vicinity. "The Gryffindors have got me beat, though."

Less than ten minutes later, her Housemates were a giggling mess. Thanks to Skeeter's article, readers of Witch Weekly now thought Hermione was an indecisive floozy. The more rabid of Harry's fans were sending her hate-mail for toying with the poor Boy-Who-Lived's heart, not to mention the heart of the youngest Seeker in the League.

Alex had half a mind to go over and help Hermione, but not a second later she was rushing out of the Great Hall, her hands covered in oozing sores. Alex could've sworn she saw tears running down her cheeks.

"Astoria, you didn't," gasped Daphne Greengrass from further down the table. Despite the scandalised tone, the fourth-year appeared positively delighted with whatever scheme her sister had cooked up.

"Maybe I did," Astoria said slyly. She smirked. "Undiluted bubotuber pus isn't exactly hard to get your hands on."

"No, but it'll be hard to get it off your hands," laughed Chase Winters, a second-year.

Astoria's long lashes fluttered as she blinked at him innocently. "What do you mean? I thought all mudbloods had thick, knobbly gloves for hands."

Katherine swore beneath her breath as the tea in her cup froze over, as did the other drinks within grabbing distance of Alex. "Control your temper," she snapped, already melting her tea-flavoured ice-block.

Alex could barely hear her. She didn't even care that the other Slytherins sitting near her were exchanging loaded glances and hushed words about her. The framework of a plan was beginning to form in her head, and she needed to strike while the iron was hot.

Astoria needed to learn to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Pansy needed to be taught that not all attention was positive. These respective lessons had to be dished out before the end of tomorrow, so that their pea-sized brains could connect the dots and realise the karmic justice for what it was. But it couldn't be obvious enough for them to pin the blame on Hermione.

Alex knew from the top of her head about a dozen different ways to induce instant hair loss on your target of choice. The Hair Loss Curse was the most popular and simplest spell of choice, with the Instant Scalping Hex following close behind, but Alex craved something subtler and slower.

No room for wand-waving here, she mused as Binns went off on a tangent about a skirmish involving a giant and a group of ogres. Potions it is.

There was just one problem – her cohort wasn't due to brew the Balding Potion until next year. She knew this for sure because Cedric had been complaining about the complexity of the brew, not to mention the potential for disaster once it was complete. Like every potion he'd brewed since first year, Cedric kept a small vial to himself instead of Vanishing the remnants that wouldn't be used for grading purposes.

This was where things grew tricky. Ever since the second task, she and Cedric had stayed as far away from each other as they could in a castle that housed less than three hundred people at any given time. Alex actually began to avoid the library, embarrassingly enough.

The last time they had fought like this, they'd been quick to swallow their pride and patch things up. This was different, though; something had clearly shifted between them, and Alex wasn't sure whether it was for the better or for the worse.

She wasn't sorry at all for how she'd acted down by the lake, and she had a feeling Cedric knew he had nothing to apologise for either. He was probably waiting for her to approach him.

Alex bit her lip. She should've made up with him ages ago. Now she was going to seem so skeevy, mending old wounds with him only to ask him for a favour immediately after.

Unless… A new idea sprouted in her mind as she watched one of her Ravenclaw classmates tuck her fiery red hair behind her ear. Fred and George would be more than happy to help her out, right?

She ambushed the Weasley twins outside the Great Hall two hours later during lunchtime. At first they were sceptical of her request, but once she explained her reasons—mischief and revenge—they adopted matching expressions of glee.

"Of course we'll help you," exclaimed George.

"For free, even," added Fred. "A diabolical prank with such a worthy cause is more than enough payment for us."

"Besides, we have a surplus of Balding Potions."

Alex didn't even want to know.

As per their instructions, she waited in the entrance hall while they went and fetched the potion. She wouldn't have minded accompanying them to their common room—she'd already been inside multiple times—but something told her that the twins didn't keep their stash inside their dorm. Alex had no interest in sniffing out their hiding place, so she grabbed an apple from the Great Hall before returning to her spot outside it.

They returned roughly ten minutes later. With great effort, the twins made a show of checking if the coast was clear (they were literally the only beings in the hall, living or otherwise) before slipping her a palm-sized vial.

"The deed is done," claimed the twin on her left.

"The deal is complete," concluded the twin on her right.

They exchanged nods before walking backwards into the Great Hall, almost bumping into a hapless first-year in the process.

"…Thanks," she muttered, watching them go. Shaking her head slightly, Alex pocketed the potion. The bell was about to ring, and she didn't want to be caught sneaking into the second-year Slytherin dorms when she was meant to be heading to class. She'd have to wait until the next meal, when everyone was preoccupied with dinner.

Not wanting to enter the Great Hall right after the Weasley twins had—it only took one person to put two and two together—Alex lingered in the entrance hall, eyeing the giant hourglasses that held the gems symbolising the points that were almost constantly being added and subtracted. She was about to head off to her next class when someone walked out of the Great Hall and into her personal space.

"Cedric," she said, and instantly cringed. What was with that hitch in her voice? "What's up?"

Rather than cracking a joke like he usually did ("the sky") Cedric's expression was devoid of levity. "Hi," he said cautiously. He grimaced. "How have you been?"

"Great. My best friend's been avoiding me, so…" The bitterness seeping into her voice was unexpected and unwelcome, but she couldn't help it.

Cedric's eyes were accusatory, but all he said was, "I'm here now. My friends told me you were loitering outside – I assumed you were waiting for me."

That's a really weird assumption to make. Then again, what other explanation would he turn to if he heard she was just standing here instead of sitting in the Great Hall with everyone else?

"Right," she replied, not wanting to disillusion him. "Are you still upset? About before?"

"I am," he admitted slowly, his words weighed down with uncertainty. "But I'm also upset with myself for how I reacted."

Alex neither needed nor wanted clarification. She could recall with little difficulty the flash of disgust on Cedric's face.

Some of the tension between her shoulders dissipated. "Right," she said once more. Everything was okay now; the bump in the road had been smoothed.

Or not.

Cedric was still peering at her expectantly. Did he want her to apologise as well?

When she continued to remain silent, he ran a hand through his hair. He seemed tired. "Do you even know why I was mad at you?"

"Yeah."

Her breezy reply made his forehead wrinkle further. "Do you even care?" he asked, exasperated.

A small frown wormed its way onto Alex's expression. "Of course."

"Then why aren't you reacting? Why do you have to be so cold and detached whenever it comes to important stuff?"

Because if she let even one iota of emotion leek into her eyes or voice or any part of her, the floodgates would break open and the tears would start gushing. Even now Alex was struggling; her stomach churned uneasily with the effort of keeping her distress contained.

"Who says I'm not being emotional right now?"

So that's what he's like when he's angry. Alex thought it distinctly unfair that Cedric could retain his good looks even with that scowl marring his brow. What do those romance novels of Stephen's call it? Smouldering?

"Harry could have died," Cedric said flatly. "He didn't, but he could have. Merlin knows he's almost been publicly executed before."

Alex's frown deepened at the memory of Harry's disastrous first quidditch match. "That's different," she said harshly.

She could feel her cheeks heating with anger. He wanted her emotional? Fine.

"Firstly, I highly doubt Harry's the first student to almost fall off his broom mid-game in the school, jinx or not," she began scathingly. "Even if he had fallen, Madam Hooch or any of the other professors would've charmed him to safety. Literally every match poses that much danger to any of the players, and sometimes even the audience." The inherent danger of quidditch was the core reason she avoided the pitch in the first place.

But she was digressing.

"Secondly, Harry was in even less danger from those merpeople than he was while mid-air. They had no interest in harming him even when he went against the task rules." Most books made merpeople out to be savages, and while Alex couldn't vouch for every group, she was certain the community living in the Great Lake were anything but barbaric.

Alex rolled her eyes as she came to her third and last point. "And if he was in actual danger, who do you think would have been more helpful in rescuing him? Me or the professors?"

Cedric was watching her carefully. Now it was his turn to mask his emotions.

Alex met his gaze without flinching even as a swarm of billywigs buzzed around in her stomach.

In the end, neither she nor Cedric broke their staring contest; their stalemate was forcibly ended by Jamie Khairo, who was leaving the Great Hall and decided to walk right into Alex instead of around.

As she strode past, she shoulder-checked Alex with enough force to make her stumble. "Snake," the Gryffindor fifth-year hissed as she made her way past.

Alex's restraint shattered. She snapped her head to the side, glaring at Khairo's retreating figure. The space behind her eyes grew hot as if her dark pupils had been replaced by twin burning coals. Her vision went red.

Khairo yelped as an invisible force slammed into her, sweeping her off her feet. A small smile blossomed on Alex's face as she watched the Gryffindor land awkwardly and painfully on her face.

Cedric didn't share her vicious amusement. "Was that you?" he asked, his eyes wide with shock. "Did you do that?"

Alex could only shrug. "Maybe she's just clumsy."

Realistically, she could've been. Alex didn't know Khairo well enough to say for sure. Still, a quiet voice in the back of her head whispered the truth.

Cedric lowered his gaze to the floor. "I think this tournament is stressing you out," he concluded. "It's making you act unlike yourself."

Then who am I? she wanted to ask him. How could he presume to know her better than she did?

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," she replied icily.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a humourless smile. "That's the first time you've ever apologised to me."

She had nothing to say to that.

Her head light and her heart heavy, Alex turned and left Cedric in the entrance hall. When she glanced back a minute later, he was gone.

Breakfast the following morning began ordinarily enough. Alex went down to the Great Hall the same time as her roommates, her eyes scanning the Slytherin table for two specific girls. Her lips curled upwards into a satisfied smile when she noticed both Pansy and Astoria were present. It was the only unusual reaction she allowed herself; if anyone had caught her expression at that moment, they would have just assumed she was smiling at the warm stacks of pancakes weighing down the tables.

After sitting down, Alex piled her plate with various pancakes – one layer of blueberry, one of choc chip, one plain, etc. She forced herself to eat even as the anticipation bubbling inside of her made it difficult to stomach anything.

Just as she cut into her fourth pancake, Astoria let out an ear-piercing scream. Her rich brown locks of hair had suddenly and spontaneously decided to vacate her scalp. The Slytherin table exploded with noise as everyone clamoured to gawp at Astoria's new look even as she clutched her the waves of hair that were now in her lap instead of on her head.

Obscured though her vision was, Alex knew that not a single strand remained on poor Astoria's head. She had made sure of that when she doused the third-year witch's hairbrush in her dorm last night. It was kind of embarrassing how easy it was for her to sneak into the third-year girls' room and pinpoint what belonged to who. Alex herself had kept all her belongings locked in her chest as soon as she stepped foot in the common room all those years ago.

Astoria burst into tears and bolted from the hall, her hair still in her hands. Alex pasted a concerned look on her face as she ran by, followed closely by her friends. Some of the other Slytherins didn't even try to conceal their wicked amusement.

The school had about five minutes to process what had happened to Astoria when the mail arrived. Alongside the usual letters came several special deliveries: a howler for Pansy, a dungbomb for McGaffin, an explosive parcel of pus for McCormack, and a flaming letter for Lamier.

The reason for the howler was obvious. Pansy was a loud-mouthed bint who enjoyed sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She badly needed a taste of her own medicine, so Alex recalled all the embarrassing facts she had gleaned from Richard's whinges and Millie's rants throughout the year. When that wasn't enough, Alex took some creative liberties and made up some believable lies about Pansy, such as her notorious infatuation with Draco.

Pansy would probably be on a warpath after her dirty laundry was aired out for all three schools to see, but her efforts to sniff out any recent howler purchases from the local stationery shops would be fruitless. Alex had bought the howler years ago, back when Mrs Weasley had thought it a good idea to publicly humiliate her youngest son after Ron and Harry flew the family car to Hogwarts in their second year. She'd had a feeling they would come in handy someday. Although howlers recorded the exact voice of the sender, Alex had taken precautions by modulating hers with a simple charm.

A deep, booming voice announced to the entire hall that Pansy had wet the bed up until she was seven (true), that she liked to kick any poor cat that had the misfortune of running into her (true), and that she had an uncomfortably detailed plan to marry Draco one day (not true, but Alex wouldn't have put it past her).

Of course, Astoria and Pansy couldn't be the only victims of Alex's pranks. Anyone who had been paying attention to the schoolyard politics for the past week would surely realise the connection, and then Hermione would be forced to suffer the brunt of their rage. That was where McGaffin, McLaggen, and Lamier came in.

William McGaffin, though he kept to himself these days, had yet to receive the proper punishment for what he attempted to do to Esther Clemmons the night of the Yule Ball. He was a piece of shit, so he deserved the extra-strong, long-lasting dungbomb Alex had confiscated from a first-year a few months back. The smell would linger on him for hours regardless of how hard he tried to rub the stench off him.

Cormac McLaggen, after seeing what she was capable of during the first task, had finally stopped accidentally grazing her. He still couldn't quite manage to keep his fingers to himself, though. Alex made sure to keep an eye on him whenever he was in the same vicinity as her, and although she'd done her best to limit his casual harassment of other girls, he had yet to learn his lesson proper.

Adam Lamier was a sixth-year Ravenclaw and their revered quidditch captain. The most studious House of the four received a lot of flak for being only book-smart; most people were under the false pretension that Ravenclaw was full of unathletic nerds. They were only partially right. What the Ravenclaws lacked in athleticism they made up with sheer determination. Their competitive spirit was almost as fiery as the Gryffindors'.

But Alex didn't care about any of that. Quidditch could officially be banned worldwide this afternoon and she would do nothing more than smile. What she cared about was Lamier and his constant harassment of Duncan and especially Grant.

Ever since their unofficial/official emergence from the closet at the Yule Ball, Lamier had taken to dropping homophobic quips and insults whenever Grant and Duncan were in the vicinity, and only them. He had plausible deniability that way. It was getting so bad they were even thinking of dropping out of the team completely. When Duncan had confessed to her what was going on, Alex had threatened to take care of the matter, but they refused – not only would they be blamed for fracturing the team, they didn't want their dirty laundry to be cleaned by a third party. So Alex stepped back and bid her time.

Her revenge was sweet if not swift. Those unaffected by her messages shrieked with laughter at the havoc being caused in the Great Hall. Lamier wailed as the letter he held burst into (weak) flames, searing his hands and leaving him with first-degree burns. One of the Durmstrang witches across from McLaggen took one look at his marred face and promptly gagged. McGaffin was hurrying out of the hall, the putrid stench of faecal matter wafting after him. Those unfortunate enough to be in his way promptly lost their appetite.

Pansy was trying her best to get rid of the howler, but the spells she threw at it—the Vanishing Charm, an incendiary jinx, a shredding hex—had no effect, partly because her magical ability was abysmal but mostly because Alex had purchased the expensive, invulnerable kind.

The pug-faced witch had just given up when the howler reached its end of shameful secrets and promptly destroyed itself with a flourish. Unable to wallow in her shame any further, she leapt out of her seat and ran outside, only a moment after Lamier and McLaggen.

If they got over their differences long enough, there was a chance they'd come together in attempt to discern the individual responsible for their public humiliation. They wouldn't get very far. Alex had been nothing but courteous to Astoria up to this moment, and McLaggen probably didn't even realise she existed, not really. McGaffin would sooner point his finger at Esther and her friends than he would her, and Lamier would turn on the other quidditch teams first. Pansy probably had a list of enemies longer than Harry himself.

Alex glanced at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was grinning from ear to ear.

Smiling to herself, Alex finished her breakfast.

From then on, the professors vigilantly screened any and all incoming mail, but only if the student in question consented. They tested for any bombs and howlers; Professor McGonagall had confessed to Hermione that many of the latter had been sent to her. People were convinced she was a harlot out for both Viktor and Harry.

"I wonder how Skeeter knew Viktor had invited me to his home over the break," Hermione mused, a crease in her brow.

Alex shrugged as she soaked in the weak rays of the spring sun. "Maybe she has spies in the school – attention-starved loud-mouths like Pansy."

Hermione smirked. "Not anymore," she practically sang.

Alex turned on her side so that her back faced Hermione. She didn't want her friend to spot the wide grin threatening to split her face.

She flipped back around when Hermione asked her how she had managed to avoid Skeeter's scrutiny.

"My parents are well connected," replied Alex after a moment. "If they wanted to, they could make life harder for her. And unlike Harry and Viktor, I'm not a public figure."

"There should be child protection laws against this sort of thing," grumbled Hermione.

"I'll make sure of it when I'm Minister," she joked.

Hermione giggled. "Is that what you'll tell Professor Snape during your careers advice interview?"

"Nah. I'll prob say something generic and safe like auror or ice-cream vendor."

The notices for the interviews had gone up only this morning. Alex and her cohort were expected to spend their Easter holiday prepping for their careers advice interview that would take place as soon as the summer term began. Alex already had her answer in mind, clearly, but she was curious as to what her friends had planned for the near future.

Duncan was keen on trying out for a professional quidditch team, but Grant was a bit more sensible about his career path.

"I'll probably intern at the Ministry after school," he said as they played hangman in the library. "Maybe join the Department of Magical Games and Sports, but I'd prefer a sector that deals with people as little as possible."

"The Department of Mysteries, then?" laughed Alex. That was the one department that you couldn't apply for; if you were deemed worthy, the Unspeakables would seek you out themselves.

Zubair and Jacob would also head straight for the Ministry, using the connections formed by their family to blitz past the unpaid internships and into cushier, paid jobs. The casual explanation of their privileged paths had Alex pressing her lips tight.

Katherine was uncertain about what the future held for her—which was fair, seeing how they were barely sixteen—but Agatha had known since she was a child that she was going to be a wife and a mother.

"Oh," murmured Alex as she struggled to rein in her distaste. "Is that your, um, dream?"

"I suppose," Agatha replied quietly. "It's what's expected of me. My parents probably have a husband in mind for me."

Not for the first time, Alex marvelled at the old-fashioned mannerism of her pureblood friends and their families. It was moments like these that made her question what century it was.

"My cousin gave birth within a year of graduating," declared Katherine, her eyes on the green flames flickering in the fireplace. "She almost died doing so."

A shudder wracked Alex's frame. Gross. "Everything about the process sounds awful," she said. "The before, during and after."

Agatha blushed heavily. "Even the before?"

"Yes," Alex said firmly. Some of the older students acted like pleasure was the be-all, end-all of life, but Alex couldn't imagine exposing herself to such vulnerability. She shuddered once more.

"You're surprisingly prudish," Katherine noted, her demeanour devoid of judgement.

"Thank you."

The interview came and went without a hitch. Snape monotonously read off the list in his hands, looking like he'd rather be anywhere than in a spare classroom inquiring after a bunch of teenagers' goals and aspirations. It'd be a different story if she were Harry – he'd probably roast her into oblivion. It was a good thing his interview next year would be with his own Head of House. Still, she doubted Professor McGonagall would be too impressed if he decided he wanted to be a professional quidditch player.

Once the careers advice interviews were over, Alex's cohort realised how soon they'd be sitting their O.W.L.s. Even though she was permitted to skip them, as a Champion, she had her own moral code to abide to. Besides, it wasn't like she had anything else to do, seeing how she and Cedric still weren't talking.

The first nervous breakdown occurred on May 2nd. The earliest exam—theoretical Charms—was set to take place in ten days' time, and the stress was almost tangible in the corners of the library the fifth-years were tucked into. A boy from Gryffindor ended up having an anxiety attack right outside the library. It ended quickly with the help of his mates, but that certainly wasn't the last incident their cohort would witness.

Back when they were on good terms, Cedric had shared some tips with her regarding both the written and practical exams. Strictly speaking, the Wizarding Examinations Authority could ask you about anything and everything from the first year curriculum to the fifth, but they focused on fifth year alone. The only time they hadn't was a decade ago, when they decided to trip students up and distribute the questions evenly across the five years. The results for that year had been a record low.

More than one person in her House downed a sleeping potion the night before their first exam. Others used the time to study instead of sleep. Alex fell into neither of these categories, and though it took her a while, she managed to get some reprieve before the big day.

Her stomach performed enough somersaults to make a skilled gymnast green with envy as she lined up for her first exam. That was better than actually appearing green like Jacob was. Someone further back dry-heaved.

The actual test was...okay. Alex knew her stuff, having studied consistently throughout her stay at Hogwarts instead of furiously cramming within the last month like some of her peers clearly had. The practical components were even easier, except in the case of Transfiguration. Even before she opened the paper she knew she wasn't getting an O for that particular subject.

Hermione and Stephen took to ambushing her after each session, demanding to know what had taken place. Alex answered them to the best of her ability, silently wondering how these post-exam interrogations were more tiring than the actual tests themselves.

Once the exam period was over (for them, anyway; the other years had yet to do theirs) Alex was able to breathe and relax for an entire week. Then she was reminded of her other duties.

On the last day of May, the four champions were told to gather at the quidditch pitch for the reveal of the third and final task. Personally, Alex thought there should have been an additional task this year, for consistency's sake.

"What do you think it'll be?" mused Fleur as they intercepted each other outside. She didn't wait for them to respond before answering: "Underground tunnels is my guess. Maybe we'll have to search for actual treasure this time."

"Not much entertainment in that," remarked Alex. "There was barely any lighting for the lake's task, let alone underground."

Fleur huffed, annoyed that her thunder had been stolen.

"Maybe it's a quidditch match," offered Viktor, his dark eyes glimmering.

Harry grinned. "Let's hope so."

"Let's not," interjected Alex.

"We all know who the winner of that would be," Fleur said as she batted her eyelashes at Viktor.

"Yeah," agreed Alex. "Harry."

Harry blushed, pleased with the compliment even as he laughed incredulously.

To her surprise, Viktor levelled a glare at Harry. Was he that prideful?

I'm telling Hermione, thought Alex like the snitch she was.

In the dying light of the sun, they couldn't determine what was waiting for them at the pitch until they got there. Shrubs were being grown on the grass, which was probably why quidditch had been cancelled this year. They were currently shoulder-height and laid out in a way that made Alex think of a maze.

"What do you think?" asked Bagman as he poked his head out from the closest bush. "They might not look much now, but in a month, Hagrid will have them at least six metres tall."

That was like four of her stacked on top of each other. "Shit," Alex muttered. "That's tall."

"Indeed it is," said Bagman, preening. "The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"That's it?" Fleur asked sceptically.

"There will be obstacles, of course," chirped Bagman, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures, then there will be spells that must be broken – all those sorts of things, you know. Now, you four will be heading inside the maze based on the points you've accumulated so far."

That meant Harry was first, then Alex, then Viktor, then Fleur. Ostensibly Harry would have a head start over all of them, but it was your performance in the maze that truly mattered. If he encountered a sphinx, for example, he would be stalled for at least ten minutes.

"Any questions?"

Alex raised a hand. "What will the deadliest ranking creature be?"

"Three X's," answered Bagman. "Well, three point five."

Alex stared at him.

When there were no further questions, Bagman dismissed them. Alex took two steps before realising Harry wasn't by her side. He was talking to Viktor, or rather, Viktor was talking to him.

"Can I speak with you? Alone?" he asked Harry.

"Um, okay," mumbled Harry.

Viktor surreptitiously swept his gaze over them before returning his eyes to Harry. "Will you walk with me?"

Rather than appearing concerned, Harry was openly curious. "Sure."

Alex resisted the urge to slap her own forehead. Harry was way too trusting.

Bagman seemed to think so as well.

"I'll wait for you, Harry, shall I?" simpered the middle-aged man.

"No, it's okay, Mr. Bagman," said Harry, suppressing a smile, "I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks."

He didn't bother dissuading Alex, who sat on the grass and watched as Viktor led him to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Now that's not ominous at all.

Alex wished she had Harry's invisibility cloak on her. As it was, she'd returned it to him months ago.

They stopped to talk for a few seconds. Alex breathed a sigh of relief when Harry's face broke into a wide grin; Viktor's mouth twitched in what she supposed was a smile. Even without the distance between them, Alex probably wouldn't have been certain of his expression. She hadn't even thought Viktor was capable of smiling before she saw him with Hermione.

And then a third figure joined them.

A man stumbled out from the tree-line, seeming delirious even from where Alex was standing. She made her way towards them, breaking into a run the second the unidentified man grabbed Harry by the front of his robes.

Alex was about two metres from them before she recognised the stranger. It was Bartemius Crouch, except he looked like he'd been wrestling with orcs all day. His robes, once pristine, were torn and grimy; the hair on his head and face were long and matted. It was his eyes that truly made Alex's skin crawl, though. They were wide and bloodshot, darting here and there like he was unable to focus on one thing at a time.

He needs help, Alex thought uncomfortably.

"Viktor," she said quietly so as not to startle anyone, especially Crouch. "Can you go fetch Dumbledore? Or any of our professors?"

Viktor pried his eyes from Crouch, who had yet to notice any of them as he instead spoke to a tree. "Our ship is nearby. I'll get Karkaroff."

"No," she said more harshly than she intended. "Not Karkaroff."

He stared at her, recognising the slight for what he was. "Very well," he said coldly. Viktor spared one last look of disgust for Crouch before hurrying up towards the castle.

Harry made a move to approach Crouch.

Alex snatched up his arm before he could take another step forward. "Don't," she warned the thoughtless idiot. "He's fragile enough as it is."

One second Crouch was muttering soundlessly at the tree, the next he was staggering sideways. He fell to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut.

Harry threw caution to the wind and crossed the distance between them and the collapsed man. "Mr Crouch?" he called, alarmed. "Are you all right?"

"Dumbledore!" gasped Crouch. He reached out and seized a handful of Harry's robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry's head. "I need…see…Dumbledore…"

"He's on his way," Alex said in a soothing voice even as her heart fought to break free from her chest.

"I've done…stupid…thing." Crouch struggled with each word. Hell, he looked like he could barely even breathe. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. "Must…tell…Dumbledore."

"Tell him what?" she asked calmly.

Crouch's crazed eyes flickered over to her. His grip loosened enough for Harry to step free. "Who are you…?" he rasped.

"Fortescue. A Hogwarts student. And a Champion. We've met before."

"You're not…his?" whispered Crouch, his mouth sagging.

"His?" she echoed, her brow furrowed. "Whose?"

"His!" he repeated with newfound urgency. "Voldemort's!"

Alex felt her blood run cold. Harry was a statue beside her. "No," she breathed. Her heart seemed to have stopped working. "No, not his."

Crouch's expression slackened. "Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr and Mrs Fudge."

"Oh my god," Alex murmured as Crouch continued to ramble on. "He's gone mad."

"How long d'you suppose he's been in the forest?" asked Harry warily.

"Too long."

"D'you… Do you think he's in there? Voldemort?"

Alex glanced at him with wide eyes. "You're saying Voldemort did this to him? But how?" The last time he'd been a serious threat was three years ago, when Harry obliterated him into dust with his bare hands.

"I don't know!" he snapped, running his hands through his nest-like hair. "Why else would he mention him?"

"Could just be another Death Eater," reasoned Alex. She eyed the dark forest uneasily.

"Death Eater," repeated Crouch, having overheard them. "The Dark Lord…he grows stronger. I escaped, must warn Dumbledore… Bertha. Dead. My fault. All my fault."

Bertha? "As in Bertha Jorkins?" she gasped.

Harry swallowed back his apprehension. "Wasn't she the ministry lady Mr Weasley was talking about? The one who went missing?"

Alex took a chance by kneeling in front of Crouch. "How did Bertha die?" she asked in a soft voice.

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Her question must've triggered something in Crouch, for he ceased to say anything legible and moaned wordlessly instead.

Sighing, Alex stood back up – just as she noticed two jets of red light shoot out from the forest and squarely into herself and Harry.

The world went dark.