Chapter Eighty-One - The Madness of Mr. Crouch
When the owls arrived the following day, clutching the morning's post in their talons, one arrived with a letter for Blaise. It was from Mrs. Zabini, and though addressed to her son, it contained several lines concerning Harry. After perusing the message with a smirk, Blaise passed the letter to his friend. To his dismay, Mrs. Zabini asked if there was any truth to the rumor that Harry was dating Hermione Granger.
I thought that he and Millie were together, she wrote, but perhaps I was mistaken? And who is this Willoughby who went to the Yule Ball with Harry?
Blaise seemed to think his mother's interest in Harry's love life was hilarious.
"You ought to write to her yourself," he said as Harry read the message a second time, "She's always asking how you are. Then she complains that you never tell her anything."
Harry agreed. It was bad enough that Mrs. Zabini had thought Harry entered himself in the Triwizard Tournament. This second letter was proof that Harry's neglect of his surrogate mother came with unintended consequences.
"I'd thought she'd know better than to believe anything Rita Skeeter wrote about me," he added after a moment of mournful reflection.
"I'm sure she's only joking," Blaise tried to reassure him, "After all, she's never asked me about my dates before. And you're perpetually single! There's no reason to worry about you."
Harry was about to ask him what he meant by this comment when another passage in the letter caught his eye. Mrs. Zabini had written that Winky the house-elf appeared to be getting on at Hogwarts quite well.
…Of course I told Dumbledore that I would be willing to take Winky back if things did not work out, but he tells me that Winky is welcome to remain at Hogwarts for as long as she desires…
Harry was pleased by the update. He wasn't sure if Winky had accepted the offer to work for the school. It was a relief to hear she was doing better, though Harry realized it was a relief he could have experienced sooner if only he had written to Mrs. Zabini. He resolved to take Blaise's advice to start writing to her himself.
Hermione and Neville came to join them for breakfast soon after Harry made this resolution. He was grateful that Hermione had not arrived sooner, as she might have overheard their conversation about Harry's dating life, or rather the lack thereof. Blaise interposed before much could be said, and was on the point of asking Hermione if she had talked to Krum when several large screech owls landed on the table directly in front of her.
"What's all this?" Hermione said in surprise while Millie cursed. Like Hermione, several owls had landed in front of her, all with envelopes clutched in their beaks and jostling for position. One had upset a cup of orange juice onto Millie's robes.
Hermione and Millie exchanged a look before reaching to open one of the letters. Hermione read the first of those addressed to her and tossed it away with a sound of disgust. Neville snatched it up and read aloud, "You're a wicked girl. Harry Potter deserves better. Go back where you came from, Muggle. Hermione! This is terrible!"
Harry quickly glanced at the letter even as Hermione reached for a second. It was not written by hand, but looked to be composed of letters cut from the Daily Prophet.
"Apparently, there are a lot of people who resent the implications of Skeeter's article," Hermione said with a tone of lofty disdain, tossing another note aside.
"Careful, Hermione," Millie warned her, "Some of these might be booby trapped."
Millie had already taken the precaution of setting her unopened letters alight with her wand. The delivery owls looked on in consternation, watching their hard work go up in smoke before they flew away, hooting morosely. Hermione immediately regretted not heeding this advice. Tearing quickly through the envelopes, as if consumed with a morbid curiosity to see each and every one, she suddenly gave a cry of pain. The offending envelope dropped to the table, a sickly yellow substance oozing slowly from one corner.
Neville picked it up carefully and gave the contents a sniff. "Undiluted bubotuber pus!" he declared in shock and dismay, "Hermione, you have to go to the hospital wing!"
"I'll take her," Millie said, rising from her seat as Hermione whimpered. Her hands had erupted into large, painful looking welts. While Harry looked on in horror, the blisters burst, oozing more of the yellow pus while Hermione desperately tried to wipe her hands on her robes.
Millie guided Hermione out of her seat, careful not to touch her hands. Harry was already halfway out of his own seat when he suggested, "Shall I come with you?"
But Millie shook her head and replied, "I'll handle it."
The girls left their friends to worry over Hermione's fate while they finished their breakfast, though everyone's appetite had fled. Harry was particularly aware of Draco laughing with his friends further down the table, and wondered how much of the incident he had witnessed.
Harry and Blaise said goodbye to Neville as they made their way to Herbology. It was a class they shared with Ravenclaw. Harry made his way to their usual spot, where Nell was already waiting. After telling her briefly about the trouble Hermione and Millie had that morning, Harry asked if she had received any threatening messages.
"I haven't got any hate mail since that first article," Nell admitted, "But I heard about the one in Witch Weekly. I don't know what Hermione did to get on her bad side, but it seems like I got off easy."
"It isn't fair," Harry muttered, "It's my fault she's doing this. She's only going after the people close to me because I'm famous and she needs some scandal to keep people interested."
Nell smiled at Harry sympathetically, "Hermione doesn't deserve this, but it isn't your fault. Skeeter is the one who's harassing students, after all. Dumbledore even banned from the grounds, and yet…"
Nell paused. She seemed to be thinking about something. Then she smiled again, and added, "I promise I'll do everything I can to help Hermione and Millie. Leave everything to me."
Harry remembered Millie's words as she left the Great Hall. They were similar in substance, if not in tone, to what Nell said to him now. He wondered, not for the first time, what the girls had in store for Skeeter. After what happened to Hermione, he hoped it was something really nasty.
His friends still had not returned by the time they left Herbology and marched across the grounds for their Care of Magical Creatures class. Pansy, approaching Hagrid's hut with Draco by her side, loudly called to Harry, "Where's your girlfriend, Potter? She seemed upset this morning. Did the effects of her love potion finally wear off?"
"If anyone has used a love potion, it would be you," Harry snapped back, "Draco may be a slimy git, but even he has standards."
Draco's face turned as pink as Pansy's dress had been at the Yule Ball. Both he and his companion were silenced by Harry's remark as Hagrid stepped out of his cabin to greet the class.
"We'll be workin' with nifflers today," he cheerfully informed them, "Treasure seekers, they are. Thought we'd give 'em a chance to find some gold pieces I've buried 'round the grounds. They'll be a prize fer whoever has the niffler who finds the mos' coins."
The lesson went over much better than any of the classes involving Blast-Ended Skrewts. Nifflers had long pink snouts and were covered in smooth dark fur. They were quite cuddly when not sniffing out gold or shiny objects, and they moved through the freshly tilled earth prepared by Hagrid like they were moving through water. By the end of class, Harry had a tidy pile of gold coins in his lap.
Hermione and Millie finally returned from the hospital wing as their classmates were preparing to leave. Hermione's hands were both heavily bandaged. Harry felt a wave of protective instinct wash over him, but he was powerless to know how to help. It seemed like saying anything to Rita Skeeter would only make matters worse for his friends.
"Why Miss Granger!" Hagrid exclaimed, noticing the bandages on Hermione's hands, "What happened?"
"It's nothing, Professor Hagrid," Hermione started to say, but Millie gave her a sharp look and immediately explained, "It's that Skeeter woman again. She's written an article about Hermione and I, and we both got hate mail for it."
Hagrid gave them both extremely sympathetic looks and said, "Aye, I know what tha's like. Got my fair share of angry letters when she wrote abou' me. Never mind what they say, Miss Granger! But yeh'd better throw 'em away as soon as they come."
Hermione's eyes grew wide. She hadn't been with Harry and the others when they visited Hagrid after Skeeter's first article. She didn't know how hard Hagrid had taken the news.
"But that's terrible!" Hermione exclaimed, "She can't just do whatever she wants without consequences! People are getting hurt!"
Harry knew that she was not talking of herself alone. She had people like Millie and Eleanor on her mind. Although Hagrid did his best to reassure her that the letters would stop on their own, she and Mille began talking in urgent whispers on the walk back to the castle. Harry was reminded of a similar conversation he witnessed between Millie and Nell after their last run-in with the reporter.
"Let the girls handle it," Blaise advised with a sage nod, "We'd probably just get in the way."
Harry and his friends made their way to the owlery after classes ended that afternoon. Blaise's letter from his mum had given Harry an idea. After sending a letter to Mrs. Zabini himself, letting her know how he was doing, and confessing a certain amount of anxiety over the tournament, Harry led Blaise and Millie back down the stairs. They made their way to the lower levels of the school, but rather than follow the familiar path to the dungeons, they traced a new course.
Dobby had given Harry instructions on how to visit the kitchens, and it was lucky that he did. Professor Moody still had the Marauder's Map, and without it, Harry might have never found the hidden entrance.
The corridor was located below the school's main entrance, but not as deep as the submerged Slytherin common room or the dank potions classroom. This hall was dry, paved with stone, and brightly lit. Harry knew he found the correct path when he saw the paintings, all depicting different foods. He found one which showcased a large bowl of fruit and tickled the pear as Dobby had mentioned. The two-dimensional pear giggled, then transformed into a door handle.
Harry wasn't sure if it was against the rules to visit the kitchen, but they checked the corridor before proceeding, just to be safe. When they had stepped through the entrance, they were immediately greeted by several officious elves, who welcomed them in high, cheerful voices. Harry noticed that their uniforms, all made from pillowcases bearing the Hogwarts crest, were pressed and pristine. Some even wore aprons made from tea towels.
Dobby was the only elf among them wearing actual clothing as he pushed past the others, gripping Harry's hand like an old friend.
"Harry Potter!" he said, and for a moment Harry was afraid the tears standing in his eyes would give way to another demonstration of his extreme gratitude. But Dobby pulled himself together and ushered them further into the room. "I am so glad you have come!"
Dobby led them across a massive room toward a large brick fireplace, blackened by time and use. The ceiling arched high above their heads, and below it were five long tables, identical to the dining tables in the Great Hall.
Dobby invited them to sit, and before Harry could ask for a chair, the industrious elves appeared behind him, pushing a stool against his legs. They also brought several trays of snacks, and as Harry turned away a plate of tarts, he nearly sat on the socks stuffed in his back pocket. They were a last-minute gift for Dobby, pulled from Harry's trunk, but the elf was not aware of this. He was delighted by the paltry gift. Harry noticed that the elves around them looked on with judgmental eyes. The trays of food and drinks were quickly withdrawn, and they scuttled away, as if afraid of being contaminated by Dobby's influence.
Harry was sorry to see it. He didn't see why the elves should look down on Dobby for earning wages and wearing clothes if it pleased him. The subjugation of house-elves was a facet of the wizarding world that had always bothered Harry. He was beginning to realize it might be a more difficult subject to resolve that he originally thought.
Thinking this, he wasted no time asking after Winky. Dobby answered his questions with a sad look.
"Winky is doing well, sir," he said, slipping back to the formal address that was familiar to him, "She works hard."
Harry could read from Dobby's expression that there was more he wasn't saying. After pressing a bit more, Dobby reluctantly brought him to a distant corner. Winky sat next to an old-fashioned washtub, scrubbing away at bed linens by hand while the finished sheets lifted themselves from the water, rang themselves out, and went to dry on a nearby clothesline. Harry knew that elves were capable of magic, even without the use of wands, and assumed this was all Winky's doing.
Her outfit was a strange combination of regular clothes and items from the Hogwarts pillowcase uniform. While the few articles of clothing she wore were shoddy and fraying at the seams, the uniform itself was neat and tidy, as if she took some pride in her work, if not herself. She did not look happy, but neither was she the sobbing, miserable mess he remembered when Crouch had dismissed her.
"Hullo, Winky!" Dobby said, a forced cheerfulness to his voice, "Look here! Mr. Harry Potter has come to see you!"
"How are you, Winky?" asked Harry.
Winky raised her large, brown eyes to him, her hands never straying from her work as she replied, "Harry Potter? What does Harry Potter want with poor Winky?"
It was a fair question. Winky was found in possession of Harry's wand after the events at the Quidditch World Cup, but he had never exchanged words with the elf before. Harry tried to think of something to say, but at that moment Blaise stepped in. Winky had been in his mother's service briefly, and he knew the elf better than Harry.
"Hello there, Winky! See you're getting on well?"
Winky gave Blaise a glowering look and replied, "Master Blaise… Winky is doing the best Winky can… But Winky is still disgraced."
"Still going on about that? I keep telling you, Winks, working for a man like Crouch is no way to live! You're better off here at Hogwarts."
Winky slapped the sheet she had been cleaning against the water's surface with a loud smack, sending water spraying onto their robes and sloshing over the side of the tub. She jumped to her full height, which was not considerable, and glared at Blaise.
"Mistress Zabini was kind to poor Winky," she said in a high, tremulous voice, "But Winky will not listen to her son insult Winky's master! Master Crouch is… Master Crouch was…"
"Tyrannical?" Blaise suggested, almost amused by Winky's outrage.
"Blaise, stop," Harry said, laying a hand on his friend's arm before he could anger the elf further. A thought had just occurred to him. Winky had been mistreated by Crouch, it was true. But all she had ever known was being in service to him.
Harry could relate. He remembered what it was like living with the Dursleys. He had been thrilled to leave them when the day finally came, but they were his only family. For years, Harry had done his best in school, completed all his chores, and tried to be as accommodating as possible, hoping they would like him. It hadn't worked, but Harry remembered that feeling of wanting to be liked… To be needed by someone.
"You must miss him," Harry said to her in a soothing voice, "It must have been very hard to leave Mr. Crouch after working for him for so long."
A bit of fire left Winky's expression, and her lip quivered.
"What does Harry Potter know of my master?" she squeaked.
"He's a judge for the Triwizard Tournament," Harry explained, leaving out the fact that Harry didn't care for him at all, "But he hasn't been coming to work, lately. His assistant is filling in. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
A look of worry passed across Winky's face.
"Master Crouch needs Winky," she said anxiously, "Master is not well because Winky is not there to care for him."
"Do you mean the housework or the cooking?" Millie asked.
Winky shot her a dark look and shook her head, her large ears flapping from side to side. "Winky had other responsibilities. Winky did not only cook and clean. Winky's family needs her!"
"Family?" Harry asked, "But doesn't Mr. Crouch live alone?"
Winky let out a gasp of anger. "You is sneaking, you is!" she squeaked, "Harry Potter is sneaking into my master's private business!"
"Winky! You shouldn't talk to Harry Potter that way!" Dobby chastised.
Harry tried to tell Dobby it was alright. Winky could say whatever she liked. But it was no good. Winky refused to say anymore to him. She would not betray her master's secrets. But Harry found the whole conversation very interesting. After saying goodbye to Dobby, he asked his friends what they thought about it, but their insight wasn't very helpful, either. What had Winky meant by "family" when Crouch's wife and son were both dead?
The start of the summer term would usually bring about practice for the final Quidditch match of the year. Harry wished he was on his broom instead of preparing for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Though his teammates - Warrington, Bole, and Derrick - did their best to offer him pointers, it was difficult for Harry to prepare when he still didn't know what to expect.
Derrick offered to teach Harry a charm that would allow him to use his wand as a compass.
"You just lay your wand in the palm of your hand, and it will always point you in the right direction," he explained as he demonstrated.
"Brilliant," said Harry, who appreciated any help from his upperclassmen, though he couldn't hide his confusion, "Just one question. Why is that helpful?"
Derrick shrugged, "Dunno. I just have this feeling you might need it."
This prediction, like so many others that Derrick had made, turned out to have some truth to it. The last week of May, Snape kept Harry after class to deliver a message.
"You're needed on the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock," he stated curtly.
Harry smiled and asked, "Are we finally going to duel out our differences? Because there's this great hex Millie's just taught me, and I'd love to give it a go."
Snape couldn't keep the smirk from his face as he replied, "Perhaps another time. Bagman is meeting the champions on the pitch to tell you all about the third task."
Harry considered asking him about Karkaroff, but he decided against it. The fact that Snape was joking with him was a sign of progress. Harry didn't want to jeopardize all his hard work.
Following Snape's instruction, he made his way toward the Quidditch field at ten to nine that evening. He met Cedric on the way, coming up the stairs from the dungeons. Judging from the direction he had come from, Harry deduced that the Hufflepuff common room must be located rather near the kitchens. He wondered idly if Cedric had ever snuck in for a midnight snack as they exchanged greetings.
"So what do you think it will be?" Cedric asked as they made their way across the grounds, "If they're having it on the pitch… You don't think it will involve flying, do you?"
There was a hopeful note in his voice. Cedric was the Seeker and captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. It made sense that he would like a challenge that played to his strengths.
Harry shrugged, "I've already shown the judges that I can fly during the first task. I don't think Karkaroff or Maxime would want to give me an advantage."
"You aren't the only one who can fly," Cedric said with a cheeky grin, "But you do have a point. Especially since you're leading in points…"
He trailed off before he could say any more. They had just walked onto their beloved pitch, and were horrified by the changes that had overtaken it. Instead of smooth, green grass, the field was now covered by a network of low hedges. Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of it all, already talking with Viktor and Fleur.
Fleur smiled when she saw Harry. Her attitude toward him had changed since he'd fished her little sister out of the lake. But Krum, once on rather good terms with Harry, now scowled at his approach.
"And there are our two Hogwarts Champions!" Bagman said in his trademark booming voice, "Step over the hedges, boys! Gather 'round! Make sure you mind your step. They'll be twenty feet high by the time we reach the third task! Now, can anyone tell me what we're making?"
"A mess?" Harry suggested, looking at the ruins of the Quidditch pitch.
Bagman laughed and replied, "Fear not, Harry! We'll have everything back the way it was in time for try-outs next year."
"It's a maze," Krum grunted.
"Correct!" said Bagman, now rubbing his hands together with excitement, "Now, the third task is quite simple. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first one to touch it receives full marks, and will be the winner of the tournament."
Of course, it wouldn't be as simple as solving a maze. Bagman went on to say that there would be obstacles they would face along the way.
"What sort of obstacles?" Fleur asked fearfully. Harry wondered if she was remembering her encounter with the grindylows.
"Creatures, spells…" Bagman replied vaguely, "Mr. Potter will know all about that! From what the Hogwarts faculty have told me, Harry, you've got experience with this sort of challenge."
The other three champions turned and stared at Harry, who felt his face grow warm. Harry wasn't sure what Bagman was referring to, until he remembered his exploits in the forbidden corridor during his first year. Bagman had clearly been seeking information on how Harry might fare in this final task.
After they were dismissed, Krum approached Harry and asked if they could talk. Harry was grateful for the excuse not to speak with Bagman again, though he was concerned about Krum's serious attitude. He informed Harry that he didn't want to be overheard, and Harry accordingly followed him toward Hagrid's cabin, where they stopped in a small thicket of trees. They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the lights flicker behind the windows of Hogwarts, before Krum began to speak.
"I vonder… Is there anything between you and Hermione?"
"No!" Harry exclaimed in shock, "We're just friends."
He tried to ignore the pang in his chest as the admission left his mouth.
Krum studied him carefully before he added, "She talks about you a lot."
"Really? What does she say?" Harry replied before he could stop himself.
Krum must have heard the hopeful note in his voice, as he looked as if he wanted to take the conversation a step further, but at that moment, Harry noticed movement behind him. He grabbed Krum's wrist, tugging him away from the trees just as Mr. Crouch staggered out of the darkness toward them.
Harry almost hasn't recognized the minister. His usually meticulous appearance was dirty and disheveled, as if he had been travelling by foot for several days without rest. And he was wounded. His face was scratched, his robes torn and bloody.
Krum started to speak, but Harry held up a hand to silence him. Crouch was already talking, but not to them. He seemed to me muttering to himself. While Krum looked on, Harry slowly approached the older man.
"And when you're done with that, Weatherby, make sure you send that memo to Bagman," Crouch was saying in a hoarse but authoritative voice. He appeared to be talking to a tree. "We've only got a few weeks left before the start of term, and I still have not received word from Karkaroff of the list of students he's bringing."
Before Harry could speak, Crouch suddenly staggered, falling to his knees. Harry rushed forward, holding the man steady before he completely collapsed.
"Viktor! You'd better go find Dumbledore!" he called over his shoulder.
At the sound of the headmaster's name, Crouch looked up. His eyes lost their strange cloudiness, only to be replaced with a manic shine.
"Dumbledore!" he cried, gripping on to the edge of Harry's robes and staring into his face, "I must… find… Dumbledore! I've done… terrible thing… Must tell… Dumbledore…"
Crouch didn't seem to recognize Harry at all. Harry tried to disengage himself with promises that he would go fetch Dumbledore if Crouch would release him. For a moment, Crouch's eyes seemed to plead with him, then he abruptly snapped back to senility. He released Harry's robes and turned back to the tree, addressing someone named Weatherby once more.
"Yes, my wife and son will be arriving shortly," he said in the same crisp tone he'd used before, "We'll be dining with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge…"
Harry, alarmed by this strange behavior, decided it would be best if he went to find Dumbledore instead. Krum had not moved from his spot.
"You had better stay with him," Harry suggested, "I'll go get Dumbledore. I know where his office is located."
"But what is wrong with him?" Krum asked.
Harry didn't have time to answer. The moment he tried to step away, Crouch suddenly grabbed him by his legs, begging him not to go. It was all Harry could do to retain his balance as Crouch continued to murmur in an urgent whisper.
"He escaped!" he rasped, "Have to... Tell Dumbledore… My fault… Bertha... Dead... My fault… My son… Voldemort… getting… stronger… Harry… Harry Potter…"
Crouch had said his name, but not as if he now recognized him, only as if there was something truly awful he needed to report, and it concerned Lord Voldemort.
"Help me!" Harry pleaded with Krum, who reluctantly complied. Kneeling on the ground next to a delirious Crouch, he looked up at Harry and said, "Be quick about it, won't you?"
Harry raced to the school, sprinting past the massive oak doors and into the hall. He was making his way toward the stone gargoyle which concealed the headmaster's office, when he turned a corner at breakneck speed and nearly collided with Dumbledore and Snape, who were conversing in the hallway.
"Sir, Mr. Crouch is here!" Harry blurted immediately. "I think he's ill."
That was all he managed to explain of the strange circumstance of the minister's appearance, but that, coupled with Harry's breathlessness and urgency, was all Dumbledore needed to hear.
"Lead me to him," he said, gesturing to Snape to follow. The Potions Master glided along behind them, his expression inscrutable, but shadowed with a deep frown.
On the way, Dumbledore asked Harry what Crouch had said to him. Harry told him everything, though there wasn't much.
"Then he mentioned Bertha Jorkins and his son," he recounted, "He said they were dead. That it was his fault… And then he said something about Voldemort getting stronger."
He saw Snape flinch at the name. The Potions Master exchanged a quick look with Dumbledore, and their steps quickened. Harry wasn't sure if he should mention that Crouch had also referenced himself by name.
"He isn't acting like himself," Harry warned as they drew closer to Hagrid's cabin, "He keeps talking to someone who isn't there. It's as if he's under some kind of enchantment."
Harry was reluctant to say that Crouch was acting mad, although this was exactly how his behavior appeared.
They arrived at the clearing where Harry and Krum had been talking, but Krum was not there. Dumbledore and Snape both raised their wands, setting the tips alight with a wordless charm. It was then that the bright white glow fell across Krum's face. He had been stunned. Crouch was nowhere to be seen.
Dumbledore knelt by Krum's side and directed his wand toward him, murmuring, "Ennervate."
At once, Krum's eyes opened, though he still seemed drowsy. Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to prevent him from sitting up too quickly.
"That crazy old man knocked me out!" Krum complained, rubbing the side of his head, "I was looking for Harry to come back, and he must have hit the back of my head!"
Dumbledore raised his wand once more, this time casting a Patronus. Harry was familiar with the charm, having mastered it himself only last year. The headmaster's was a large, silvery phoenix, like his pet Fawkes. Harry watched as it glided gracefully toward Hagrid's cabin door. A moment later, Hagrid himself, armed with a crossbow and accompanied by his dog Fang, joined them under the trees.
"Headmaster! I got your message, what is it that… Blimey, Harry! What're you doin' here?"
"Hagrid," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice light but commanding, "I need you to find Karkaroff. One of his students has been attacked. After that, find Alastor. Alert him that we have an intruder on the grounds."
Hagrid agreed readily and set off toward the school. Karkaroff arrived first, and he was alone. He took one look at Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape standing over Krum and asked in a cold voice, "What is this? What is going on here?"
"That man… Mr. Crouch… He attacked me, sir!" Krum reported, his tone still one of shock.
"Crouch?" Karkaroff repeated, his voice not betraying quite as much surprise as Harry felt the situation warranted, given the strangeness of the whole affair. "The Triwizard judge?"
Dumbledore could see where his line of thought was taking him and tried to intervene, but Karkaroff was faster.
"I can see now what you have been playing at," he said nastily, drawing himself up, "This whole tournament has been corrupt from the beginning. After all your talk of forging international ties, of rebuilding old connections, forgetting the past…"
He spat in the dirt at Dumbledore's feet. Snape, coolly but quickly, stepped in between the two men, his wand raised against the Durmstrang headmaster. He didn't say a word, but a dangerous energy seemed to emanate from the Potions Master. Harry had no doubt he would cast a curse on Karkaroff if he made another move against Dumbledore.
Karkaroff's eyes flashed in the face of this wordless threat. "So the rumours about you are true, after all," he hissed, "You really have become one of Dumbledore's dogs…"
Snape made no reply, but Dumbledore spoke in a calm but insistent tone.
"Lower your wand, please Severus," he said, "There's really no need for violence. Professor Karkaroff is only concerned for the safety of his student. Very rightfully so, I may add."
Snape, still silent, complied with Dumbledore's request, though his dark eyes never strayed from Karkaroff. Dumbledore then turned to face Harry and Krum, his smile kind, but not quite reaching his blue eyes behind their half-moon glasses.
"Harry, you did the right thing by coming to me tonight. I am only sorry we were not fast enough to meet Mr. Crouch. But now I think it would be best for you to return to the castle while I speak with Viktor and Professor Karkaroff. Severus, will you see to it that Harry makes it back to the castle, safely?"
"I think I had better stay with you, headmaster," Snape replied, his eyes still on Karkaroff. The Durmstrang headmaster was looking back at him with reproach, seemingly unaware of the conversation currently taking place between Dumbledore and the Potions Master.
"Your concern is touching, but I really have nothing to fear. I am afraid that Mr. Crouch is already long gone, and at any rate, I'm sure Alastor will be along shortly…"
At the mention of Professor Moody, Karkaroff gave a sudden lurch and seemed to recall himself. He snarled something about taking Viktor back to his ship. Snape motioned jerkily toward Harry to follow him.
"Oh, and Severus," Dumbledore called before they had moved many steps away, "Do make sure that Harry makes it all the way to his common room. Minerva let me know what happened the last time you left Harry unattended when there was a mystery afoot."
Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant by this, unless he was referring to Harry's adventure in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year. Harry had tried to warn Snape about the Chamber during Dumbledore's absence, only he'd thought Snape hadn't believed him. Harry had then decided to visit the Chamber himself to rescue Millie. Snape hadn't been too pleased with him after that. He was busy remembering the furious lecture he'd endured after Snape had gone into the Chamber to fetch him when Snape addressed him.
"What were you doing in the woods with Krum?"
"Nothing," Harry replied, surprised that Snape started the conversation, "He just wanted to talk."
"Well, it was stupid of you," Snape airly informed him. "Krum is a Durmstrang student. They are known for teaching the Dark Arts, not just the defense of it. He could have jinxed you on the spot, and you would have been powerless to stop him."
"Viktor wouldn't do that," Harry argued. He wanted to say more, but he was unwilling to admit the reason for their conversation. He wouldn't be able to avoid mentioning Hermione's name, and he could just imagine the sneer on Snape's face if they began discussing Harry's girl troubles.
Instead, Harry countered further questions with one of his own.
"What about you?" he said. "You've been pretty chatty with Karkaroff lately."
He could tell Snape was grinding his teeth as he replied, "That is none of your concern."
"What did he mean when he called you Dumbledore's dog?"
"Enough of your prying!" Snape said as he roughly pushed Harry forward. They had reached the common room entrance. Snape uttered the password himself and gave Harry strict orders to remain there the rest of the night. He waited in the hallway for Harry to proceed, making doubly sure that Harry actually entered the common room this time. Harry was quite happy to remain. Blaise and Millie were waiting for him by the fireplace, and Harry wanted to tell them everything.