A/N: Standard disclaimer. See chapter 1 for details.

It was the latter part of May when the champions were escorted onto the formerly pristine Quidditch pitch. Angry shouts came from the throats of the three seekers.

"Desecration!"

"Unvarranted."

"Bogus."

Fleur raised an eyebrow, her calmness contrasting with the fuming males and inquired of the official, "I am certain zat zis labyrinth eez temporary, n'est ce pas?"

"Er, yes?" Ludo Bagman was almost wringing his hands at the raging testosterone currently on display as the boys stomped about. Indeed, as a retired professional player, he too thought that it was a sacrilege and wondered that another location had not been selected. The pit where the dragons had been, for example. Ah, well, he still had to do his job. "Now," he managed a grin, "these hedges are nothing to what they'll be by the third task. Why, Hagrid'll have 'em up to twenty feet high by then."

"Hagrid's involved in this?" Cedric asked, and he and Harry exchanged a worried look.

"Well, of course," he boomed. "He's the groundskeeper, ain't he?"

"So ve just haff to navigate this maze?" Viktor sniffed. "Not much of a challenge."

"Well, it won't be as simple as that, y'know. Got to make it entertaining."

"For whom?" Cedric argued. "No one's going to be able to see over these bushes, which will be the size of trees by then, according to you."

"Er, I'm sure Barty'll come up with something," Bagman stammered. "Now, to answer our Bulgarian friend, there will be obstacles in the passages. Creatures, spells, that sort of thing. At any rate, you'll enter in order of score rank, and the one who touches the Tri-Wizard Cup first wins the thousand galleons and eternal glory."

"About that, Mr. Bagman," Harry folded his arms, "can you list a few previous winners for us? Just so we'll know how long that 'eternal' glory lasts."

"Now, Harry, m'boy, that question's more in Barty's line." His eyes shot from side to side. "Heard he'd been a bit under the weather, but I expected him to make this meeting. I'll let him know your question when I next bump into him. Oops, is that the time? Gotta run, important meeting."

"Important meeting vith a glass of ale, maybe," Viktor muttered.

"Oui," concurred Fleur. "Quel imbécile!"

"So, Harry," Cedric turned to him, "you're good friends with Hagrid. What's your best guess?"

"Based on my history with him, it's bound to be ultra dangerous. We've already had dragons, so Norberta is out. And ever since the Buckbeak fiasco, he's been keeping the hippogriffs close. Hmm, maybe I'll see Fluffy again."

"Fluffy?" Fleur scoffed. "Zat doesn't sound dangereux."

"You don't understand Hagrid and his naming rationale," Cedric attempted to explain. "Although I haven't had the pleasure…?"

"Cerberus," Harry intoned with a straight face, "with sharp teeth in all three mouths. However, drowning in the drool was also a hazard. And he's had us walking his blast-ended skrewts to try and keep them from killing each other."

"I know," Cedric acknowledged with a sigh, "our year flew over the forest to study the acromantula nest."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about his old pal Aragog. Fun times during second year, but I suppose I can't blame him for the basilisk." He shook his head and gestured toward the gaping Fleur and Viktor. "Come on, guys, this event is supposed to be about international cooperation. We'll fill you in on the ever-surprising course of Care of Magical Creatures according to Professor Hagrid. I'm pretty sure Ced will agree that we don't want your deaths at the hands, er, claws, of one of his 'misunderstood' monsters on our heads."

"Albus," McGonagall entered the headmaster's office, "Professor Moody did not show up for his fifth year defence class."

"Did you check his room, Minerva?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do ye think I am incompetent? I knocked and received no reply. Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Well, Alastor said he had some family business yesterday and left the grounds, but I am certain that I saw him later in the day." He rose and walked around the desk. "I will have Hogwarts open his chambers and see if he is in distress of some sort."

"And if he isn't there?"

"Perhaps there will be a clue."

"Are you senile? That paranoid man does not leave anything out in the open."

As it turned out, both were surprised. There were no notes or hints, but the room was in some disarray, clothing strewn about and books on the floor. Of the retired auror there were no signs until Dumbledore cast Hominem Revelum. Nonplussed when a glow appeared from a trunk, they opened it to discover that another person had been misleading them for most of the school year.

Madam Pomfrey banned them from the infirmary but not before the gruff man admitted that he had been ambushed and had never seen his assailant. Food and drink had been provided, but a stunning spell had been sent his way before each meal.

Aberforth Dumbledore stumbled over the custom eye and pegleg while throwing out dishwater behind the Hogshead, but from there the trail fizzled out.

By that time Barty Crouch, Jr. had stowed away on the first available tramp steamer, not caring where it was headed. Discovering the Nagini detritus and getting no sense from Pettigrew, he had fled the Riddle house in panic. With his dark mark completely vanished, he thought it was time that he did likewise.

His father, meanwhile, having finally thrown off his son's Imperius, lurked in the Forbidden Forest, hoping to spy his offspring and stun him from a distance. Alas, he lost his direction and wandered into Aragog's territory. The acromantula feasted well that evening.

Harry looked up from his Slugs and Jiggers catalogue; Neville had come through for him with a list of magical plants which could be used defensively. "Hermione," he asked while adding a rasher of bacon to his plate, "have you noticed something weird lately?"

She lifted her eyes from a book and reached for a triangle of toast. "Can you be a little more specific? I've noticed a lot of things 'weird' the last four and a half years."

"Look at Malfoy."

"Must I?"

"For that matter, look at all of the darker Slytherins." He gestured in their direction without pointing at any in particular. "Every last one of them has been pretty quiet lately."

"You're right," she mused as her gaze, now alert, drifted over the green-clad students. "No blatant insults, no confrontations–violent or otherwise–and even Professor Snape has been subdued."

"Don't know why I still have to go to his buggering class if I've already passed EM's test," he groused.

"Language, Harry." She swallowed her toast and reached for another piece. "Mlle Claire thought," she began, "that we'd never have proof the Baron succeeded that night. These things, although circumstantial, can give us hope and perhaps assurance that You-Know-," she gulped, "Voldemort is gone for good."

"D'you think so?"

"Basic logic. All Draco does is parrot his father. If something happened to Daddy Dearest–say, his Dark Mark suddenly faded or disappeared–then Malfoy's key to power and dominion has slipped his grasp."

"Even if that's the case–and I truly hope it is–Lucius Malfoy is plenty powerful without Voldemort."

Hermione waved, showering him with crumbs. "Money and bribery, Harry, and eventually either the money runs out or someone comes into office who won't be bribed. Besides, I suspect that many of his...associates were only allied with him due to his position with Voldemort and may be reconsidering their life choices and telling their children to lie low. If so, soon he'll be on his own, without anyone to magically," she giggled, "wipe his record clean."

"Won't they reckon I was involved with the Dark Dickhead's disappearance–again?"

"That's all they'll have–suspicions. As for attacking the," her fingers made air quotes, "Boy-Who-Lived? If any of these cretins get the drop on us, Mlle Claire will ride our arses so hard that we..." Her eyes stared into the distance before she shook her head. "I'm sure that she would have some colourful American colloquialism to describe that situation."

"At times I'm not sure it's English they speak over there."

"In some areas of the country, the accent is closer to that of Shakespeare's time... Sorry, I went off on a tangent. Look, Harry, I believe that we will be leaving Britain in better shape than it has been since 1981. Not that we'll be here to see it, of course."

"Yeah," he glanced down the table, where Ron was exaggeratedly 'not noticing' them, "and without anyone really knowing what we did."

She laid a hand on his arm. "It will be enough that we know. As you are well aware, celebrity has its pitfalls. I suppose," she sighed, "this means Malfoy won't give me a reason to smack him another good one before we go."

Harry and the other champions stood together and watched the verbal skirmish taking place at the judges' table. Minister Fudge and a square-jawed woman (whom Cedric had identified as Director of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones) were squabbling with a stuttering Bagman and a Percy Weasley whose complexion was rapidly acquiring the same vibrancy as his hair. Dumbledore observed with a calm expression while Karkaroff grimaced at the delay. Tekamthe and Madame Maxime kept an eye on the situation as they maintained an amiable discussion; perhaps their conversation was not quite innocent, for the Beauxbatons Headmistress gave the American a flirtatious tap with her fan.

Harry shuddered. "Did not need that image circling around my head."

"Why?" Fleur tossed her head. "I think it eez très romantique."

"Yeah…nah," Cedric countered. "Oops, looks like they finally got their shite together."

"About time," rumbled Viktor.

"Ahem, ahem, is that sonorous charm on, Albus? Yes, er, I, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic would like to welcome you to the third and final task of the 1994-1995 Tri-Wizard Tournament! What's that you say, Mr. Tekky-whatty? Tetra-Wizard? Oh, stop distracting me with niggling details! As I was saying, this, the final task, will determine the winner of the…Several Wizard Tournament. Happy now?

"Due to the mysterious disappearance of Bartemius Crouch, Head of International Cooperation, his spot on the judging panel will be taken by Director Bones of the Ministry of Magic."

The coordinated shout, "Go, Aunt Amelia" had the grey-haired woman send a brief acknowledging wave towards the Hufflepuff bleachers. "Susan's aunt," Cedric informed Harry.

"Um, yes, very well. We would like to, er, thank Mr. Perseus Weatherby for stepping in on an earlier occasion but a full department head is more appropriate. With that taken care of," his hands fluttered, "get on, Mr. Willoughby." After Percy was nudged off the platform, he continued. "Now, a rundown on how the points stand. In first place is Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts." A mighty roar came from the bleachers. "Ahem, yes. In second place is Viktor Krum of Durmstrang." More cheers were heard, but the noise was not as robust as for Cedric. "Third place, Harry Potter of Eckle Magis. What's that, Albus? Well, you can't expect me to pronounce all these foreign words correctly."

"He did for Durmstrang," Harry murmured to Fleur. "What do you want to bet he can pronounce Beauxbatons?"

She spat on the ground. "Zat pig eez a fool."

"Won't argue with that." He returned his attention to the Minister, who indeed had managed to announce the French school correctly.

"Behind these verdant walls are challenges of a most fearsome sort. Each student will enter in the order of highest points first. Thus, Diggory, Krum, Potter and Delacour. Their object is to make their way to the centre, where resides the Tri-Wizard Cup!" Cheers once more rose when a greatly magnified image of the cup was projected into the air above the maze.

"You know," Harry spoke to Cedric, "that's sort of like a movie screen. Do you think they're going to show the audience what we're doing inside?"

"No," he shook his head, "my father overheard that Fudge's Undersecretary put the kibosh on it, saying it was 'too Muggle'."

"Darn," he chuckled, "in that case, I hope she's in the audience so she can be bored to tears like the rest of them."

"Remember, if any of you are unable to continue, send red sparks into the air."

"Well," Harry saw the minister raise his hand to signal Filch to fire the opening cannon shot, "good luck, Cedric. Bring home the trophy for Hogwarts."

The other boy quirked an eyebrow. "Not hoping for an École de Magie win?"

"Nah, I just want to survive long enough to actually attend there. Now, go!" He gave him a shove as the boom echoed throughout the stadium.