Chapter Eighty-Six - The Servant of Voldemort
Harry slammed flat into the ground. His face was pressed into the grass, the smell filing his nostrils. He had closed his eyes as the portkey transported him. He kept them closed now. For a moment, all ways still and silent. Then, all at once the volume returned, and a torrent of sound engulfed him. There were voices shouting everywhere.
After the experience he just had in the graveyard, his disoriented mind thought at first that they were screams of terror. He finally opened his eyes, and realized the noise came from the delighted crowd of spectators, who were now converging on the Quidditch pitch. Harry stared blankly at the smiling faces that surged around him. Exhausted and confused, he knew only one thing. They must not touch the portkey.
Harry lifted the Cup high above his head, out of reach of the eager students who pressed against him. He felt himself being raised onto the shoulders of several Slytherins in a strange pantomime of victory, but Harry was not raising the Cup in triumph. He was terrified that someone in the crowd would reach out, touch the portkey, and transport them both back to that distant graveyard, into Voldemort's waiting arms.
Harry stared wildly over the heads of the cheering students, searching for Blaise or Millie. But they, like Sirius and Remus, were beyond his sight. Instead, he saw Cornelius Fudge, who pushed through the swarming students with a tight smile on his face, looking pale but relieved.
"There you are, my boy! You gave us quite a fright for a moment, didn't you? Congratulations on your victory!"
Behind him, Harry spied the other champions. Fleur appeared to be fine, though her white-blonde hair was slightly disheveled. She was standing next to Madame Maxime, the pair applauding him politely, though their expressions were guarded. Cedric was standing not far from their side. His father was saying something into his son's ear, but Cedric did not seem to hear him. He was staring back at Harry, a look of confusion on his face.
Only Krum was distracted from the celebrations being carried out only a few yards away. He was sitting down, holding his head as he attempted to explain something to Professor Dumbledore. Karkaroff hovered nearby, but his attention was not on his champion. He was glaring at Harry with open malice.
Dumbledore looked up and met Harry's eye as Fudge instructed Harry's fans to set him down. Harry maintained his grip on the cup as the headmaster made his way toward him. Although he felt no desire to relive the nightmare he'd just experienced, he knew he needed to tell Dumbledore what had happened. But he couldn't seem to make his voice work, couldn't even catch his breath…
"We have our victor now, Albus," Fudge was saying with forced cheerfulness, "Should we proceed with the award ceremony?"
"Not until Harry's injuries have been treated," Dumbledore cautioned, "The boy has been hurt, Cornelius."
With everything else that had happened, Harry had forgotten all about the cut on his arm. He thought the wound had been a slight one, but the sleeve of his robes was soaked with blood. Harry could feel it throbbing now, but the pain was minor compared to what he'd lived through only moments before.
"Professor!" Harry finally managed to gasp, "The Cup… It's a portkey…"
"Of course," Fudge interrupted, "A portkey to bring you back to the start of the maze."
"No!" Harry argued, his gaze still focused on the headmaster, "It didn't bring me here... Not at first... I went… somewhere else…"
His words failed him, though he continued to plead with Dumbledore using his eyes. Dumbledore's own blue eyes stared back at him through their half-moon spectacles. He made a slight gesture, as if asking Harry for patience. He then turned his attention to Fudge, saying, "I have just been speaking to Viktor Krum about his actions against Cedric Diggory and Miss Delacour. It sounds as if he was under the influence of the Imperious Curse, Cornelius."
Fudge looked incredulous, "The Imperious Curse? Nonsense. Who would have been foolish enough to use an Unforgivable Curse on a Triwizard Champion?"
Dumbledore directed a keen glance at Harry, and he felt his stomach drop. Did the headmaster suspect Harry of cursing Krum in order to take out the rest of the competition?
"It was Voldemort," Harry said quickly, unable to keep the words back any longer.
Dumbledore froze, staring at Harry in mute shock while Fudge looked around them nervously and asked, "What was that? What did he say?"
"Harry is hurt, Cornelius," Dumbledore said again, "And he seems to have experienced a severe shock in the maze. All of our champions have. Alastor?"
Professor Moody sauntered toward their group, leaning heavily on his walking stick. He stood at attention while Dumbledore addressed him.
"Can you escort Harry to my office? I will speak with him there."
"But the Cup…" said Harry weakly.
Dumbledore raised his wand, pointing it at the Triwizard Cup. He tapped it three times, murmuring a series of incantations under his breath. The Cup felt no different in Harry's hands, but Dumbledore nodded to him and said, "It's alright, Harry. I will take it from here."
Harry's hands were shaking as he gently released the Cup. For a split second, he feared that the spell had not worked, and that Dumbledore himself would be whisked away to face Voldemort's wrath. But whatever incantation Dumbledore had used rendered the Cup harmless, and he stood inspecting it with sharp eyes.
"My office, Alastor. If you don't mind," he repeated.
Moody took Harry gently by his uninjured arm, but Harry still refused to move.
"Sirius and Remus…" he said with urgency.
Dumbledore nodded his head in understanding, "There are here. I will ensure that they and the rest of your friends meet you in the castle."
"Come along, Potter," Moody whispered to him even as Fudge continued to protest.
Harry wordlessly allowed himself to be propelled along by Professor Moody. He was so tired. He no longer had the energy to think or move on his own. It was simpler to walk with the Professor, allowing him to take the lead.
Moody walked with him across the grounds, away from the still cheering crowd on the Quidditch pitch, and toward the castle. Its windows glowed gold and welcoming in the night. Harry gazed at them, allowing himself to picture a warm fire, a block of Remus's chocolate, and the security that Dumbledore's office would provide. When they were sufficiently far from any prying eyes, Moody chanced speaking to Harry.
"What happened, Potter? We found Viktor stunned and Cedric jinxed. He said you had taken the Cup and vanished. Where did you go?"
Harry ran his tongue over his dry lips before speaking, "I… I'm not sure… But Professor, I tried to tell Dumbledore… Voldemort… Voldemort is..."
"Get down, Harry!" Moody suddenly shouted. He pushed Harry roughly to the ground just as a green arch of light passed over his head. Moody's magical eye had tipped him off to an attacker behind them. Harry hadn't even heard the man approach. Now, as he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding Moody's carved wooden foot as he pivoted to return fire, Harry looked up into the face of Karkaroff.
The Durmstrang headmaster's mouth was set in a grim line as he fired curse after curse at Moody, never needing to utter a word. Moody had skill and experience, but he was not as fast on his feet. He fended off each of Karkaroff's curses, but could not seem to fire off any hexes of his own. Karkaroff was closing in…
Harry, realizing he still had his own wand gripped in his hand, raised it toward their attacker. But Karkaroff was faster. With an angry swipe of his wand he screamed, "Expelliarmus!" and sent Harry's wand flying from his feeble fingers.
Without his wand, Harry was vulnerable. Karkaroff directed his wand against him, preparing to fire another curse. Harry was already weak from fighting Voldemort. There was no way he would be able to dodge this attack. He braced himself to the spell that would surely kill him...
"Harry! No!" Moody shouted, throwing himself in between Harry and the bolt of green light that erupted from the end of Karkaroff's wand. The spell struck him in the chest. Professor Moody dropped to the ground, dead.
"NO!" Harry screamed as he scrambled forward, trying to reach for Moody, as if there were something he could do to take back what Karkaroff had done. But Moody was beyond his help now, and the man who had murdered him was still there. Karkaroff seized Harry by the collar of his robes and hauled him off the ground, dragging him not toward the castle, but to the still waters of the Black Lake. He was taking Harry to the ship.
Harry struggled against his grip, but he could not break free. Karkaroff seemed imbued with a strength unnatural for a man his age. He kept Harry in check with a sharp slap across his face, then pressed the end of his wand into Harry's neck.
"Stop struggling, or you will meet the same fate as the Auror," he threatened.
A small boat was waiting on shore to carry them to the ship. It looked abandoned, the portholes dark and ominous. Every Durmstrang student would still be on the Quidditch pitch, celebrating the finale of the tournament with the rest of the spectators.
He was forced into the boat at wand-point. With a flick of his wrist, Karkaroff sent them gliding rapidly over the water. For a moment, Harry considered plunging himself in the lake. Perhaps a passing merperson would offer him assistance. But Harry didn't know if Karkaroff's spells would be able to reach him underwater, and he knew from experience the lake contained many creatures less friendly than merfolk.
As Karkaroff hauled him out of the boat and onto the deck of the ship, he began demanding answers from Harry.
"What did you see?" he asked with a furious whisper. Harry noticed that his accent had disappeared, as if it were a mere affection he had now abandoned, "Was it the Dark Lord? Has he returned at last? How did you escape?"
Harry felt powerless to answer, even if he had wanted to. Karkaroff's questions came quickly and without pause, overwhelming him with their force and intensity. Impatient at Harry's silence, Karkaroff shoved Harry into a cabin on the deck of the ship. Forcing Harry into a chair, he conjured several tick ropes to bind him.
It was like being in the graveyard with Wormtail all over again. But when Harry had been in the graveyard, his fear had been tinged with anger. He had been facing Wormtail, the man who betrayed his friends and Harry's parents, and Voldemort, their murderer. Karkaroff was an unknown enemy. Harry was alone with an unpredictable foe, a man who had just killed one of Harry's professors before his eyes, and he was terrified.
Karkaroff's frenzied manner and the sudden attack had left Harry feeling dizzy and overwhelmed. He watched, petrified as Karkaroff searched the shelves of the cabin frantically. There was something wrong with his face.
With a snarl of satisfaction, Karkaroff located a tiny glass vial and turned to Harry, pressing the draught to his lips.
"Drink," he commanded, "Drink it!"
Harry had no idea what the potion was, but he knew that if this madman wanted him to drink it, it could not be for his benefit. He turned his face away, pressing his lips together firmly so as not to let a single drop pass them. Cursing, Karkaroff stepped back and pointed his wand into Harry's face.
"Imperio!"
For the second time that evening, Harry felt a delightful wiping of his mind. Gone was his terror, confusion, and exhaustion. All that remained was a kind of vacant bliss. But Harry had experienced this sensation before, and Karkaroff was not nearly as skilled at the curse as Voldemort had been. When he demanded that Harry drink the potion, the stronger voice in Harry's mind refused. Harry shook his head from side to side, fighting off the curse easily. Karkaroff, frustrated and enraged, threw the vial to the floor, where it shattered.
"Do you think you are more powerful than me? Than the Dark Lord?" he shouted, "You think that because you somehow escaped that I won't kill you now?"
With the mystery potion lying in pieces of broken glass on the floor, Harry opened his mouth to shout, "You were the spy the whole time! You're the Death Eater Voldemort sent to Hogwarts! The one who put my name in the Goblet of Fire!"
"Yes, yes, yes…" Karkaroff said with impatience, "But you've found out too late, Potter. The wound on your arm… Yes, that must be it. The spell worked, didn't it? The Dark Lord has returned… With your blood, just as planned..."
"Dumbledore expects to see me in his office," Harry challenged, "When they find Professor Moody, they'll know something is wrong. It's only a matter of time before they come looking for you. You'll be thrown in Azkaban for this, Karkaroff!"
"Karkaroff!" he repeated with a hollow laugh, "Yes, Potter. I expect they will come after Karkaroff. He was nothing but a traitor... But he could serve the Dark Lord in other ways… By providing me with the entry I needed into Hogwarts…"
Harry continued to stare into the man's face as he spoke. It seemed to melt and reform before his very eyes. He knew the truth then. The man before him was not Karkaroff, but someone else using a polyjuice potion!
"Who are you?" Harry asked, but Karkaroff, or rather the impostor pretending to be him, continued his ravings as if he hadn't heard.
"I alone have been the most faithful of servants… Who else would take such steps to ensure Lord Voldemort's return? Who else but I would wait in the forest until the Durmstrang delegation arrived? Who else could have sneaked aboard this ship the night of the welcoming feast and caught that coward Karkaroff unawares? I put the boy's name into the Goblet of Fire… I ensured that he would win the tournament…"
"You placed Viktor under the Imperious Curse, didn't you?" accused Harry, "You used him to attack Fleur and Cedric, so that they wouldn't reach the center of the maze before me…"
"You should have died in the graveyard!" the imposter snarled, "Everything went according to our plan… It was my master's wish to kill you himself... How did you escape? But no… It doesn't matter now. I have you, and I will dispose of you, myself. My Master will reward me for doing what no one else could… Killing you will be my crowning achievement…!"
He raised his wand again. Harry struggled against his bonds, but it was useless. He was powerless…
Without warning, the cabin door burst open and a voice shouted, "STUPEFY!"
The imposter was ill prepared for the intrusion. He was knocked to the ground, unconscious from the force of the stunning spell. Harry looked into the black hole of the open doorway, expecting to see Dumbledore or even Sirius standing there. Instead, Snape stepped forward into the light.
He ran quickly to Harry's side, kneeling down and severing his bonds with a swipe of his wand. He tried to help Harry to stand, but Harry pushed him away.
"Stop! Don't touch me!" he screamed.
Snape ignored his protests, pulling Harry to his feet. Harry began to shove and strike him, though his weak limbs did little to actually harm the duplicitous Potions Master. Harry wished he had his wand. Snape suddenly seized him in a bear hug, pinning Harry's arms to his side to prevent him from fighting. Since Harry could not harm him physically, he attacked with his words.
"Liar! Bastard!" Harry cried, his voice cracking as a sob threatened to choke him, "You lied to me… You said you loved her!"
Snape, incensed by Harry's recriminations, turned away abruptly and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
His patronus burst from the end of this wand. Harry's sobbing protests were silenced as he looked at the familiar shape of the doe. He knew what she represented to Snape. Her presence was as calming as the shadow of his mother in the graveyard had been protective. The patronus looked at him with large, limpid eyes before turning and cantering out of the open doorway.
"How?" Harry managed to ask with a shaking breath, "How can you still love her... And be one of them?"
"Later, Harry," Snape said in a quiet voice, "I'll explain everything, but now we have to…"
"No," Harry said, a hard edge to his voice, "No more secrets. You'll tell me now."
He expected Snape to reprimand him, to find some excuse to delay his explanation again. Instead, he took one look at Harry's face, and heaved a deep sigh.
"I joined the Death Eaters during the early stages of Voldemort's rise to power," he explained, "I was young, ambitious… And ashamed of my own weakness. I wanted power that I did not possess. Voldemort offered that and more. That was his game, to prey on the fears and insecurities of others to gain his following… Those who felt they were neglected or underappreciated…
"By the time I realized how dangerous he really was, I was already a member of his inner circle. To try to leave would mean certain death… And I was a coward. But when I learned what he had planned for the Potters… For your mother… I turned to Dumbledore for help. He recommended that they go into hiding, and I became a spy for those who would resist Voldemort and his Death Eaters…"
"But you were there tonight," Harry said, struggling to understand, "You returned to him when he called."
"I knew something was wrong when you didn't return from the maze at the same time as Krum and Diggory," Snape explained, "They found Diggory and revived him. He said you had grabbed the Cup and vanished. The Cup should have taken you to the start of the maze instantly, but you were gone. Soon after that, my mark began to burn…"
Snape rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and held it out toward Harry. The same Dark Mark he had seen on Wormtail was there, black and sinister looking.
"I knew what it meant," Snape continued, "Voldemort had returned. And that could only mean that you were in danger."
Snape covered the mark again, as if ashamed to even look at it. Harry watched him perform the simple task in silence. If Snape was telling the truth, then he had gone to the graveyard to save him… Again. Harry remembered the way the Cup had flown into his outstretched hand before he'd had a chance to utter the summoning spell. Had that been Snape? Was he the one who tried to get Harry to safety? Had he lied to Voldemort, or was he lying to Harry now?
He decided to trust Snape. He didn't believe that the Potions Master cared what happened to him, but the patronus proved that Snape still cared for his mother, and he would not fail Harry so long as he kept her memory alive. He was still angry that Snape had become a Death Eater in the first place, but that was an issue that could wait. Right now, they had to deal with the impostor.
Harry directed his attention to the unconscious man laying on the floor. He no longer bore any resemblance to Karkaroff. The effects of the polyjuice potion had completely faded away. The man who was before them was much younger than Karkaroff, with sandy blond hair and a freckled complexion. He had a boyish, almost innocent appearance - when his face was not screwed up by zealotry.
"Who is he?" Harry asked.
Before Snape could reply, they heard voices from the deck. It was Dumbledore, calling out Harry's name.
"In here!" Snape called back, "It's alright! He's been stunned!"
Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Professor McGonagall.
"We received your message, Severus," Dumbledore said with worry in his voice. "I came immediately."
"Karkaroff was an imposter," Snape said, stepping aside to reveal the prone form on the ground, "He has been working in secret all year to ensure Ha… Potter's success in the tournament."
"Good gracious! Is that Barty Crouch Junior?" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, "But how is that possible? I thought he died!"
"We all thought so," Dumbledore said calmly, "It would seem there is more to this mystery yet… Minerva, Sirius and Remus will want to know that Harry is safe. Find them and take them to my office. And Mrs. Zabini, as well."
McGonagall accepted the errand without question. Dumbledore then turned to Snape.
"We will need to make a thorough search of the ship," he said, "Barty will have needed a continuous supply of hair for the polyjuice potion. Karkaroff may still be alive… I don't suppose you have any Veritaserum on hand, Severus?"
Snape frowned. "My supply was stolen the night my office was broken into, though it seems we now know who was responsible for that, as well."
"He tried to make me drink a potion," Harry volunteered, pointing to the smashed bits of glass laying on the ground. Clear liquid had long since soaked into the wooden planks of the deck. "When I refused to drink it, he smashed the bottle."
"That is a pity," Dumbledore replied, "But I am sure Severus is prepared with an emergency supply?"
Snape looked irritated by the assumption, though he admitted that he might have a few extra bottles stored away in a secure location. Snape entrusted Harry to Dumbledore's care while he went in search of this potion, and Harry finally had a chance to speak to Dumbledore about the topic that was uppermost in his mind. But first, his eyes were drawn to the unconscious man on the floor.
"Is this really Mr. Crouch's son?" he asked.
"I am afraid so, Harry."
"But how is that possible?" Harry asked, "Everyone thought he died in Azkaban!"
"A convincing trick that fooled us all. But do you know of no other servants of Voldemort who convinced the world they were dead?"
He was referring to Wormtail. Harry could not deny the truth of these words, and he was silenced until Professor McGonagall returned, stating that Sirius and the others were waiting on Professor Dumbledore in his office. Snape arrived moments later, another small vial in his hand. Dumbledore accepted the potion and poured three drops of the liquid into Barty Crouch's open mouth. He then pointed his wand at the man's chest and murmured, "Ennervate."
The man awoke instantly, though his gaze was unfocused. With a lazy gesture, he reached for a wand that was not there. It would have been pointless for him to fight, anyway. Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore all had their wands drawn on him.
"Are you Barty Crouch Junior?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry thought the question an obvious one, but it seemed he was merely testing the efficacy of the truth serum. Barty looked as if he was trying to resist Dumbledore's question, but he was compelled to respond, "Yes…"
"How did you escape from Azkaban?"
"My mother saved me," Crouch explained in a flat, expressionless voice, "She was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. They came to visit me. They gave me a draught of polyjuice potion that contained one of her hairs. She took a draught containing one of mine. We changed places. She continued to drink the polyjuice potion until the end… My mother died in prison and was buried under my name. Everyone believed her to be me."
"And what did your father do with you, when he got you home?" Dumbledore asked.
"He staged a funeral for my mother. Her grave is empty. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father used the Imperius Curse to subdue me. He kept me under an invisibility cloak day and night, with only a house-elf to keep me company."
"Did anyone else know that you were still alive?" Dumbledore persisted.
"Yes," Crouch replied, his eyelids flickering, "A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house looking for my father. The house-elf let her in and returned to me. Bertha Jorkins heard her speaking to me. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the invisibility cloak. When my father returned, he put a memory charm on her to ensure her silence. It was powerful. Too powerful. My father said it damaged her memory permanently."
"Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup," said Dumbledore.
"The house-elf talked my father into it. She said my mother had not died for me to live a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end, but only under certain conditions. I was taken to the Top Box early in the day. The elf remained with me. I was to remain under the cloak, invisible. But I had been fighting the Imperious Curse for months. At times I was almost myself again. It happened at the World Cup, in the Top Box. When I came, I was in public, in the middle of the match. I saw a wand sticking out of a boy's pocket in front of me. I took it. The elf didn't know. She is afraid of heights. Her face was hidden."
"So you took the wand. What did you do with it?"
"We returned to my father's tent. Then we heard the Death Eaters. The ones who had never been to Azkaban. The ones who had turned their backs on my master. Their voices awoke me from the spell I was under. I was angry. I wanted to punish them for their disloyalty. But the elf stopped me. She used her own brand of magic to bind me to her, pulling me from the tent. I wanted to return. I wanted to show those Death Eaters what loyalty to the Dark Lord really meant. I used the solten wand to cast the Dark Mark into the sky.
"But then the ministry wizards arrived. I was stunned. When the elf was discovered, my father searched the area and found me. He placed me under the Imperius Curse again and took me home.
"The elf was gone. It was just my father and I. But then… Then… My master came for me. He arrived in the arms of his servant, Wormtail. He had found Bertha Jorkins, tortured her until he broke the memory charm my father placed on her. She told him about me, and he came. My father answered the door…"
A strange smile spread over Crouch's blank face, as though he were recalling a sweet memory. He continued, "He placed my father under the Imperius Curse. My master forced him to go about his business to judge the Triwizard Tournament. I was free to serve my master once more…"
"And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?" interrogated Dumbledore.
"I was sent to Hogwarts. I made sure that my father, controlled by my master's curse, placed Potter's name in the Goblet himself. I needed to make sure that he won the tournament, so that the portkey I prepared would transport him away from the protection Hogwarts and to my master. But I needed a disguise. Karkaroff was the obvious choice. He had betrayed us. He betrayed the Death Eaters to save himself and avoid imprisonment. He needed to be punished…"
"Is he alive?" Dumbledore prompted, "Is Igor Karkaroff still alive?"
"Alive, yes," Crouch admitted, "I needed him… to keep up a steady supply of polyjuice potion for my disguise."
"Where is he?"
"On the ship. In a trunk. Hidden in the hold…"
Dumbledore nodded to Professor McGonagall, who instantly left the cabin, presumably to search the ship for the trunk he mentioned. Snape remained, his wand still drawn on Barty Crouch Jr.
"And after you had captured Karkaroff, what became of Wormtail?" Dumbledore pressed.
"He returned to care for my master and to keep watch over my father. After a while, my father began to fight the Imperius Curse, just as I did. Wormtail neglected his duty. My father escaped. My master guessed where he was going. Hogwarts. To confess everything. It would have been the ruin of all our plans. My master told me to stop him at all costs. I waited for him to arrive, searching the grounds for a week before I spotted him entering the Forbidden Forest. I followed him under my invisibility cloak. Then Potter came. And Krum. I waited. I could not harm Potter yet. My master needed him alive for the ritual. Potter ran for help. I stunned Krum. I killed my father."
"You killed your father," Dumbledore said in the same soft voice as before, though Harry could see his eyes blazing behind their half-moon spectacles, "What did you do with the body?"
"I carried it into the forest. Covered it with the cloak. Then I went back, disguised as Karkaroff, to collect Krum. When everyone else had gone, I returned to my father's body. I transfigured it to a bone. I buried it."
Harry noticed that Barty Crouch's eyes were not as unfocused as they had been before. His voice was more animated, and he kept darting angry glances at Snape. It seemed he was regaining some control over himself, but the effects of the potion had not quite worn off.
"I approached you as my master's powers grew," he continued, his words now for Snape alone, "I was testing you. I wanted to see if you were still loyal. But you are nothing but a coward and a traitor. The Dark Lord will hear of your deceit. He is returned to power. I will be honored beyond my wildest dreams. But you, Severus… You will suffer untold horrors before he kills you…"