Harry Potter and The Scholar of Mystery

by Matt of Ravenclaw

A re-make of Goblet of Fire, Harry and Hermione meet a mysterious Ravenclaw seemingly forgotten from history. Together, the three will face a threat that could destroy all of reality!

10. Pathways to the Past

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed their Fourth of July weekend. To you people living outside America and had to endure our little hullabaloo, my dearest apologies. We're two-thirds of the way through with this little puppy and allow me to say it's been quite a ride. I think it's high time for another disclaimer, don't you think?

Disclaimer: For those of you who haven't bothered to read the first ten chapters and decided to skip to the latest chapter of the story to see if you like it, (You know who you are.) then I don't own Harry Potter. For most of my readers, however, we've already got that down so there's no real need to develop it any further.

Chapter 10- Pathways to the Past

Matt used his wand to shoot a flare up through the cover of the trees while Hermione started ripping apart what was left of Barty Crouch's frayed wizard robes. A hideous gash about two inches deep marked his torso and much of the blood that had spilt from it now lay dry on his chest. His blonde hair, usually seen so well maintained and proper in his photographs in the newspapers, was matted with dirt and sweat. A thin trickle of blood from Crouch's broken nose was seeping into his moustache and his bare feet were festooned with scratches and bruises, many of them obviously not from the light terrain of the forest.

However, the most disturbing thing about Bartemius Crouch wasn't physical, it was his mental state that truly frightened them. The man who had begged for their help had faded away in a blink of an eye and was now replaced by a calm man who was speaking clearly and gesturing as if he were speaking at a Ministry conference. Matt and Hermione tried not to stare in shock as Crouch carried on a conversation with someone they couldn't see.

"That fool Fudge will never know what he's doing," Crouch said in an absurd tone. "I don't know what's on the Ministry's mind, to be brutally honest."

Hermione turned to Matt as she tried to close up the chest wound with a variety of charms, many of them combination of various healing charms she had learned in Professor Flitwick's class. She was desperate for an explanation and Matt was the only person she could find.

"Someone placed him under the Cruciatus curse," Matt said as he tore off a part of his robe, used a quick charm to douse the sliver of cloth with water and then used it as a cold compress. "Quite a while too, from what I can see. It's brought upon a bizarre case of schizophrenia. It's like he's just been taken out of a coma."

Hermione swirled around as she heard the sound of a broom coming to a stop above her. Viktor Krum was approaching the forest floor, leaping off his Nimbus 2000 with a very questioning look on his face. Harry and Fleur were the next to arrive, followed shortly by Ron, Ginny, Ivanova, and Zagrof.

"My goodness!" Fleur nearly shrieked when she saw Crouch, her fetching eyes as wide as saucers as she remained stuck to the broom. Ron and Ginny looked at one another, both of them silently asking questions that neither one had the answer for.

"Is that?" Harry asked as he leaped from his Firebolt. He knelt by Matt as he inspected the body, particularly on the man's cloudy, distant eyes.

"It's Crouch." Matt answered as Matt tore off yet another a piece of his robe, this time to wrap it around a large cut on Crouch's right arm. "Someone put him under the Cruciatus curse."

"The mental trauma and the loss of blood is causing him to fade fast," Hermione said as she continued to work intensely. "We're going to need to find Dumbledore or Crouch will die!"

"DUMBLEDORE!" Crouch screamed, his once faded eyes were now bright and alert. Crouch had grasped a handful of Harry's robes and dragged the black-haired Gryffindor closer and closer to his face, his voice a desperate whisper. Harry pondered over if he should break the grip, it would be simple enough to do, and back away as he strained to hear what Crouch had to say..

"I. . . must. . . see. . . Dumbledore."

"All right," Matt said decisively, his booming voice snapping the others to attention. "Fleur, get off your broom, I'm going to need it in a second."

A bit shocked that she was being spoken to in such a gruff manner, the half-veela slowly lowered herself to the ground without a word.

"Harry and I will use the Firebolts to get back to Hogwarts. Hermione, you tend to Crouch's wounds and keep him alive until we get back. I'm not sure if we can do anything about the trauma from the Cruciatus curse, but I also know that we have to help his body cope by doing some of the things for it. Ron and Ginny, assist her anyway you can and keep your ears open in case the people who attacked him are still out there. Viktor and you two," Matt continued, pointing to Zagrof and Ivanova, "go with Fleur and find Hagrid and Madame Maxine. I doubt they've gone too far into the forest. Maybe they saw something that we didn't."

None of the witches and wizards seemed to have an objection to all of this, although there was quite a bit of shock and surprise. Ron, for example, was looking as if Matt had grown an extra head.

"Well?" Matt said, the harshness of his voice increasing with every second he spoke. "What are you all standing around for?"

Matt raced for Fleur's broom while the others swung into action. Ron had his wand drawn and was peering into the Forbidden Forest while Ginny wiped Crouch's forehead tenderly. Fleur had taken Ron's Silver Arrow and flew off into another part of the forest with Viktor and his Quidditch teammates behind her. Harry gently slid his robes away from Crouch's fading grip and boarded his own Firebolt and zoomed off towards Hogwarts.

It appeared that Matt's dislike of Quidditch did not come from a fear of flying as he and Harry hurtled towards Hogwarts at breakneck speeds. Matt didn't have Viktor's skill or speed in the air, not even Harry's skill, The two had covered the 500-yard distance in just under a minute and skidded to a stop at the border of the Hogwarts moat. Students looked at them alarmingly as the two rushed past everyone searching for someone, anyone that could lead them to Dumbledore.

Meanwhile, back in the Forbidden Forest, Bartemius Crouch was continuing a rather enthusiastic conversation with an oak tree twenty feet away from where he was bleeding to death.

"Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. No sugar, please, just a hint of lemon. My wife and son will be arriving shortly as we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. And Mrs. Fudge. You are welcome to bring your lovely fiancé if you wish."

"What in the bloody hell is he talking about?" Ron said as he looked down at Crouch with a disturbed look on his face.

"The trauma's getting worse," Hermione said as she gritted her teeth in frustration. "His past memories are starting to mesh together. He may die from psychological shock even if I stop all the bleeding."

"At least I finally see what Percy sees in him," Ron said as he looked back up, his eyes searching for anything even remotely threatening. "That Crouch is nuttier than an outhouse rat!"

"Hush, Ron!" Ginny whispered harshly, tears threatening to pour from her eyes as she frustrated herself over what she was doing. "Can't you see this man is dying?"

Hermione tried her best to drown out Ron and Ginny's pointless bickering as she continued to tend to Crouch. It appeared that the man's bloodstream was overloading on his own endorphins, which combined with the mind-altering effects of the Cruciatus Curse, could cause an almost inconceivable amount of psychological damage if not treated soon. She hoped and prayed that Crouch's own body could mend the inside of Crouch, or at least keep the psychological shock in check so that it would not interfere with Crouch's physical repair. However, with every trick she tried and every new spell she pulled out of her head, she realized it was doing less and less good. As much as she wanted to slink away from the horrific scene, a voice in her head would tell her that she was holding this man's life in her hands. It may have been a man that she didn't care for very much, a man who enforced rules and regulations that lead to the deaths of dozens of innocent people, but a man nonetheless. So, fighting back her own fears and trepidations, she continued to her work, hoping against hope that Crouch would hold out long enough for Dumbledore to arrive.

It wasn't then until Hermione saw that Crouch's eyes were upon her once again.

"Who are. . . you?" Crouch asked, his suddenly clear eyes now on Hermione.

"My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a fourth-year student at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Hermione made sure to stretch out her answer as far as she could. The longer Crouch could maintain his normal psyche, the better off he would be in the long run.

"Granger. . ." Crouch mumbled, his mind obviously searching for recognition.

"Please try not to talk," Hermione spoke slowly while attaching a fresh bandage over the chest wound. "You've been beaten rather badly. It is best to simply save your strength."

"Granger. . ." Crouch continued to murmur, his eyes suddenly widening with realization. "You and Macnair," his tremulous voice increasing in volume. "The Dark Lord is searching for you!"

Hermione tried her best not to flinch at the idea of Voldemort searching for her as Crouch grabbed the front of her robes. His pale hands, still enveloped with dried blood and sweat, held onto her robes like a vice even while he continued to tremble madly. His eyes were bulging madly, as if it took a tremendous amount of effort just to speak.

"I escaped from. . . Hangleton. I must warn Dumbledore. . . It's all. . . my fault. . . all of it. . . my fault. . Bertha. . . dead. . Macnair. . . my son. . . Granger. . . Potter. . . dead. . . the Dark Lord. . stronger. . . Pettigrew. . . all my fault. ."

Ginny looked at Hermione with a petrified expression on her face, looking as if she were about to faint. Ron's eyes were insanely wide, looking from Hermione to Crouch with a stunned look on his face that mirrored his sister's.

"Where did you escape from?" Hermione cried, trying desperately to split her time between healing Crouch and trying to decipher Crouch's confusing information. "What is all your fault? You're not making any sense, Mr. Crouch."

"Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.L.s," Crouch responded, his eyes once again becoming glassy as he once again chatted with the oak tree. "We couldn't be more proud."

'Dammit!' Hermione wanted to scream as she cast another Eneverate spell.

Harry and Matt nearly bowled over a small group of second-year Gryffindors as they rushed up to the second floor of Hogwarts to Dumbledore's office. The heavy oak doors leading almost seemed to shatter as Harry shoved them aside, causing the doors to crash into the unforgiving stone walls.

"I'd hate to see the repair bill for this place after all of this," Matt said as he followed Harry up the stone steps. Harry was the only one who knew the way to Dumbledore's office.

"Keep moving," Harry nearly shouted as Matt matched him step for step. After several minutes of non-stop movement, Harry and Matt slid to a stop in front of a menacing stone gargoyle. It stood unmoving as the two students spent a few precious moments trying to regain their breath.

"Sher. . . sherbet lemon!" Harry panted urgently as Matt shook his head to clear out the weariness of the rest of his body.

Unfortunately, the intimidating gargoyle refused to move at Harry's request. Sherbet lemon was the password to Dumbledore's office two years ago but it appears that it had been changed since that time. It seemed that the malevolent glare that seemed to spring out from the gargoyle's face intensified at the incorrect password. Harry wanted to kick the dumb thing in frustration.

"I thought you said you knew what the password was!" Matt yelled his frustration slowly beginning to boil over.

"It was the password a while back!" Harry said in self-defense. "I didn't think he'd change it!" Harry slammed his hands against the gargoyle forcefully, trying to will the gargoyle away from the blocked passageway. "Move you stupid statue!"

"That's sure to help matters, Harry!" Matt said, the sarcasm clearly evident in his voice. "The sculptures around here are always intimidated when someone shouts at them."

"Shut up!" Harry hissed. "Where else could Dumbledore be?"

"Damned if I know," Matt mumbled as he racked his brain over the possibilities. "Well, he could be in the Great Hall. Heaven knows, how much time he spends eating in there. Or maybe. . ."

"The staff room!" Harry and Matt both cried in unison as they both rushed off back to the first floor. Matt and Harry had just reached the oak doors when. . .

"POTTER! McGONAGALL!"

Matt nearly fell over backwards while he and Harry skidded to a stop and whirled back around. Snape had just emerged from Dumbledore's office, his usual sour grin seemingly framed to his face. However, his eyes seemed to glint a bit when he saw the two "troublemakers" seemingly mucking about where they didn't belong. Harry and Matt were nearly halfway back to the gargoyle by the time the wall shut, leaving the two students back to square one and with an angry potions master to deal with.

"We need to see Dumbledore, Professor Snape!" Matt shouted, deciding to throw all caution to the winds. "It's an emergency."

"Albus Dumbledore has no time to do with you delinquents," Snape said with his familiar icy tone. "And I have no time for you as well."

"Professor!" Harry nearly screamed, causing the potions professor to turn a nasty gaze on the Gryffindor. "We found Bartemius Crouch in the forest. He's been attacked!"

"Once again, Mister Potter, the headmaster is busy. You wouldn't like the consequences if I have to repeat myself once again."

"He's been placed under the Cruciatus Curse by someone," Matt said, now almost pleading. "He said he had information to give to Dumbledore. Hermione's trying to keep him alive but she's not as skilled a healer as Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey!" Matt stopped to take a breath, exhausted by both his lengthy plea and his trip back to Hogwarts.

"We need to see him Professor Snape," Harry said evenly, a fierce look of determination in his eyes. "We'd like your help in this matter but we won't hesitate to stop you from interfering with this either."

A brief flicker of shock shone on Snape's face that both Harry and Matt would have paid money to see further. However, the slight bit of shock soon faded away and was replaced by a strange smirk.

"Is that a threat, Mister Potter?" Snape said, twirling the right side of his cloak around his shoulders and placing his fingers upon his chin. If Harry didn't know any better, he would have said that Snape spoke to him approvingly.

"Fair enough," Snape said as he twirled back to the stone gargoyle. "Snickers!"

While Harry and Matt looked at one another in confusion, the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance to Dumbledore's office crawled off its pedestal and leaped aside. Once the pathway was clear, Snape pointed his wand upwards and cast a small fire spell on his own wand, essentially turning it into a makeshift torch.

"Snickers?" Matt asked as Snape turned around to ask why they were still standing about.

"The man's a lunatic," Snape said as he slowly traversed the steps downward to Dumbledore's domain. "Are you coming or not?"

Harry and Matt needed no further prompting as they followed the most hated man at Hogwarts down the drafty staircase to speak with the most admired man at Hogwarts. Snape didn't even bother to knock on the door once they reached their destination; he simply flung the door open and strode into Dumbledore's office like he owned the place, as the Muggle movies would say. Dumbledore, instead of being alarmed by the sudden intrusion, simply had a mildly curious look on his face as he looked from Harry to Matt to Snape.

"Is there anything wrong?" Dumbledore asked calmly as he continued to feed his pet phoenix by hand.

"They claim that Bartemius Crouch is in the Forbidden Forest," Snape said quickly, not even allowing the two students the time to respond. Dumbledore continued to feed the last scraps of Fawkes' food before responding.

"Lead the way," he said simply with a rather flat tone, now moving at a speed that even men half his age could even hope to accomplish.

Some of the students that had been bowled over by Harry and Matt on the way up to Dumbledore's office were now able to witness yet another bizarre event. Snape, Harry, and Matt nearly had to run to keep up with Dumbledore's brisk strides through the castle's main corridor and through the castle gates. Matt had almost offered the idea of using the brooms to return to the Forbidden Forest, but the sheer determination in Dumbledore's stride quickly made that a non-issue.

"What did Mr. Crouch say, you two?" Dumbledore asked as the sun shone bright on their faces.

"It's difficult to figure out sir," Matt said as he ran up to Dumbledore's side. "It's obvious he's been placed under the Cruciatus Curse and undergone some physical abuse. One second he was panicky and desperate and the next he was calm and speaking like nothing happened. It almost seems like he's become a schizophrenic from the mental trauma.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore as the four of them quickened their pace into the Forbidden Forest.

"Anna is such a lovely young lass," Barty Crouch said to Hermione with the strident air of a nobleman before laughing shortly. "She would be perfect for our boy, Barty. Too bad my boy just can't keep his head out of the clouds!"

Hermione tried her best to tune out what had now become nothing more than random blabbering from the old warhorse as she her brain for any charm or incantation that would have any impact on prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. She had managed to heal Crouch of his physical maladies. His broken ribs had been set back together as best as possible and were sown up hastily, but safely. The many cuts on his face and feet were bandaged neatly, and the horrific gash on his left side had been stitched up and his arm placed in a makeshift sling. It was quite an impressive effort for a fourteen-year-old woman working with nothing more than a wand, her own knowledge, and two "assistants," whose help was now mostly extended to staring at Crouch, petrified.

But she was failing.

And she knew she was failing as well.

Hermione Granger despised failure more than anything else. She loathed it with a burning and undying passion. To her, there was not a single problem or situation that she could ever come across and not solve with her own abilities. No degree of mental or, at least in the last several months, physical strain would stop her from doing what was necessary to succeed. She would succeed at everything she did with her own capabilities, no one else's. Not Matt's. Not Harry's. Her own.

She couldn't help but shudder as the memories of Macnair and that fateful battle in Snape's dungeon raced back to her. She threw everything she had at the executioner, even something that she didn't even know she had, and it did nothing. Less than nothing, as far as she was concerned. She had failed that night. Failed miserably.

And Hermione Granger despised failure.

She wasn't about to fail again.

"Listen to me Crouch!" she hissed as she sent a frightening jolt of electrical energy into her patient's body. "You need to fight whatever is going on inside your head. I can't help you with this!" Crouch coughed noisily as he looked at Hermione with a sunken gaze, a gaze that could only mean a sharp dose of reality had hit home.

"It's too late for me," Crouch gasped, his skin turning paler. "You must. . . tell Dumbledore that the Dark Lord. . . he's growing stronger. Stronger. . ." Crouch retreated into a coughing fit, his shaking hands trying and failing to reach his neck to soothe the pain. "It's all my fault."

"You have to tell Dumbledore yourself," Hermione said soberly. "You have to hold on! The only way that you can die from this is if you let yourself die!"

With incredible strain, Bartemius Crouch placed his left hand on Hermione's wrist, his ring finger just touching the base of her wand. Hermione repressed a shudder as she felt the clamminess of Crouch's skin and the slightest grip that Crouch had remaining. Ginny was sobbing frantically on Crouch's right side, her wand now lay forgotten on the dirty forest floor. Ron was torn between comforting his baby sister and continuing to stay rooted to the spot, his wand raised but not going to be used anytime soon.

"You're a brave girl Granger," Crouch said while Hermione felt the slightest bit of strength in Crouch's grasp. "You. . . remind me of my son. . . just before. . . the Dark Lord." Crouch's pale hand slipped from Hermione's wrist and fell to the ground in an undignified crash. "My son. . .it's all my fault. . . all my fault. . ."

A deathly sigh escaped from Crouch's throat as his body slowly slumped lower towards the true base of the tree that would serve as his deathbed. His head slumped to the side lazily, some of the hastily applied bandages beginning to rip and tear from the sudden movement. Hermione slowly ran her right hand through Crouch's fair, blood-soaked hair before resting at the man's temple. With a resigned sigh, she slid her hand down her face, shutting Bartemius Crouch's eyes to the world forevermore.

'I should be crying right now,' she thought, her body remaining as motionless as Crouch. After all, it did seem like the most rational thing to do. A man had died today. She couldn't say that she admired the man, in fact everything that she had learned about him only made her want to despise him, but that man was dead. He was killed by a means so horrible and vile that sympathy just seemed natural.

But she didn't feel sadness, not the slightest trace of it.

She felt anger.

Pure, undiluted, unfettered anger.

Bartemius Crouch was dead because of her. Dead because she did not know enough. Dead because she didn't do everything she could.

She failed.

Hermione could feel her blood boiling as she slowly raised herself to her feet, a gaze upon her face so furiously determined that it might have made Voldemort himself think twice before troubling her. With long, even strides, Hermione moved out of the shade of the trees to the border of a small clearing, the slight heat of the spring sun beating down on her. A red field of energy surrounded her little body as she let her anger flow out of every vein, every pore of her body. A sheer amount of power the likes of which had not been seen in a hundred years was in the body of Hermione Granger as she unconsciously raised her arms above her head. Her body temperature had skyrocketed to nearly four times its normal rate as she gritted her teeth, her temples bulging and her normally pale flesh turning bright red from the strain. The surrounding trees and shrubbery were rustling about the Forbidden Forest, as if determined to get away from such a frightening force that not even nature could understand.

Then, with an almost inhuman roar, a twenty-foot ball of fire shot out from Hermione's hands and hurtled into the sky like a wayward comet. Even Draco Malfoy, who stood a mile away from where Hermione was standing, felt the wave of heat wash over him as the fireball soared higher. The awe- inspiring sight attracted the eyes of everyone within a mile radius as it flew into the clouds, looking as if it would never stop. Ron and Ginny stared at Hermione with a disturbing mixture of shock and uncontrollable fear as the product of Hermione's anger now soared into the upper atmosphere.

Dumbledore, Harry, Matt, and Snape were only fifty yards away from Hermione when it occurred. All four of them slid to a stop to watch the blistering bolt of fire blast emerge. Dumbledore grasped the hem of Matt and Harry's robes to prevent them from going any further, the headmaster's eyes still locked onto the forest and the scared, young woman who screamed within it. Snape, meanwhile, stared at the sphere of fire with an almost dull look on his face as it soared into the sky.

"Hardly a little spitfire," Snape mumbled.

"Holy shit," Matt murmured, not even paying attention to Dumbledore's tense grip on his robe. "That's near where we found Crouch!"

"Hermione!!" Harry screamed as he violently broke Dumbledore's grip and dashed into the forest. He didn't care who the source of the fireball was, although he feared that he had a distinctly good idea at just who was the source. Whatever the case, he wasn't about to allow Hermione to go through this one alone.

When Hermione Granger received her letter of acceptance to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she was thrilled that she would learn so many things. After all, it is a child's greatest dream to live in a world of magic and mystery, and a life at Hogwarts was as close to living a dream as one could get. As she stepped on the train at Platform 9 and ¾ for the very first time, she promised herself that she would learn everything there was to know about the wizarding world so that she could better understand her own, well, normal world.

However, as she stared at her red, smoking hands as violent gusts of wind flew around her chaotically, she never thought she would learn anything like this. This wasn't like Macnair, where her new "gift" was used to protect the people she loved from harm. This was nothing more than an irresponsible burst of cathartic anger in a form quite unlike any other. It was uncontrolled, instinctual, and horrifying.

She swerved around upon hearing the sound of footsteps behind her, quivering in fear over the seeming lack of control of her own body. That feeling only intensified when she saw that it was Harry that was dashing forward, a look of sheer sympathy on his face that nearly drove the young woman to tears upon sight of him. Matt was only a few steps behind Harry, a near mirror image of Harry's expression plastered on his face. They weren't scared of her, they were worried about her.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Hermione screamed as she shrunk away from Harry's grasp like a scalded dog. After all, it was only thirty seconds ago that her hands were scalding and smoking like a living oven. The sheer acknowledgment that her body could survive such bizarre conditions horrified her even more. She couldn't even hear the sympathetic words of her friends as she placed her hands to her temples, rubbing them furiously as if this were all just some bad dream that she'd wake up from anytime. This shouldn't be happening to her. She was Hermione Anne Granger, a simple Muggle-born witch. She was normal, this shouldn't be happening to her.

She turned to look back at Ron and Ginny, both of whom were staring at her like newborn chicks. She hesitatingly took a step towards the two of them, only to see the two of them slinking backwards the moment she made a motion towards her. Ron and Virginia Weasley, two of her few friends, were staring at her like she was a monster.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Like a dying soldier, Hermione dropped to her knees on the dirty, forest floor and cried her eyes out. All the shock, all the fear, and the last remnants of anger now flowed outward through her eyes and slid from her body. She could see Dumbledore lift Ron and Ginny off the ground as he told them to follow him to the infirmary while he cast a Mobilicorpus charm on Crouch. She could hear Snape's quiet voice telling her that she, Harry, and Matt would spend the night in his quarters. Most of all, she could feel Harry and Matt, who were now on the ground with her as they wrapped their arms around her shivering body.

A minute ago, she was hotter than the brightest star. Now she needed the warmth of her friends to keep her from being cold.

Professor Snape's living quarters displayed nothing that surprised Harry too much. It was a humble abode, a large stack of books piled high on an untidy book desk. There was no carpeting, just the feel of cool stone on his feet. The bed was made in such a matter that not too much or too little was spent on the deed. There was only one window in the room, standing above the professor's bed and shining a rather dismal light on his humble working area.

None of the four occupants of Severus Snape's living quarters said a word throughout the afternoon. Professor Snape walked in and out of his room, continuing his scholarly business as if nothing had happened while Harry, Hermione, and Matt were huddled around a work table placed near a small, active fireplace, all of them in a desperate, and quite futile, attempt to do some studying. Every minute or so, either Harry, Matt, or both would look at Hermione with concern in their eyes and each time the young woman gave a glum smile before she went back to reading her book.

Even as the four of them ate dinner in the dimly lit quarters, not a single word was said. The potions master had the house-elves make a modest meal for them but their efforts went mostly unappreciated. The three men all went at their food with undivided attention, much in the manner as the Durmstrang students would when Headmaster Karkaroff was around. Hermione simply poked at her food aimlessly, her unkempt hair occasionally swaying in front of her eyes, causing her to sigh before using her hands or her breath to remove the offending curl.

All of them snapped out of their own thoughts when they heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The door was opened slowly, as if the visitor was in no real hurry. Albus Dumbledore smoothed out his beard and a wrinkle in his robe before stepping into Snape's quarters. The amiable wizard's eyes made a brief gaze to the tiny window that tried its hardest to make Snape's room even the slightest bit more cheerful. With a patient shaking of his head, he slowly made his way to the makeshift dinner table where the four of them ate.

"I have contacted Arthur Weasley and informed the Ministry of Crouch's death," Dumbledore stated softly. "We both agreed that this news would best be spread on a wider forum than The Daily Prophet. Professor Moody is still touring the grounds looking for any one responsible." A briefest flicker of a smile appeared on Dumbledore's face. "The old man is having the most fun he's had at Hogwarts so far, I dare say."

Matt, out of appreciation for Dumbledore's attempt to brighten the mood, gave a quiet chuckle. The others remained silent.

"What about Ginny and Ron?" asked Harry, his voice hoarse and muted from lack of use.

"Professor McGonagall is seeing to them," he answered, frowning a bit at the sheer looks of dismay on his students' faces. "They've been through quite an ordeal as well. Give them some time to recover."

Upon seeing that nobody else seemed to want to contribute to the conversation, Dumbledore simply shrugged and went about his next order of business.

"Miss Delacour and the others are all safely back at Hogwarts. Professor Karkaroff has been making shouts of conspiracy and wants to take his students back to Durmstrang, but it seems that the good Mister Krum has matters well in hand on that end." Once again, no one gave even the slightest hint of responding to Dumbledore's statements, except for when Snape gave a deep sigh after finishing his second glass of Chablis. Unperturbed by the quiet response, Dumbledore took a seat beside Harry.

"Your minds are burdened by many things, my students." Dumbledore's voice did not even carry the slightest hint of his normal amiable behavior. Perhaps it was that which caused them to snap to attention and look at the headmaster of Hogwarts and the hero to the wizarding world. "You, Mister Potter, do not know what your future holds in store for you and you are afraid to find out for you also fear that you will not like the outcome. You fear for the lives of your friends and loved ones because you don't know if you can protect them from the storm that you know is coming. As for you, Miss Granger, you are suffering from your lack of knowledge, of understanding. You've always gone into everything you do two steps in front of everyone else and now you're walking blind. Destiny has thrown you something that you have no knowledge of, no way to truly control it or combat it. Most of all, you have been given something that you cannot face on your own and that frightens you. And you, Mister McGonagall, your problems are a mixture of the two. You wish to protect your loved ones but you have no idea how. You push away those that would be your friends and family while at the same time pulling them closer."

All three students gave a reluctant nod at the wise wizard, causing Dumbledore to perk up a bit as he rose to his feet.

"Perhaps your minds will be best relieved if you look into the mind of another," said Dumbledore as he beckoned Harry, Hermione, Matt, and Snape to follow him.

"Where are we going, Professor Dumbledore?" Snape asked, as they reached the door to leave Snape's quarters.

"Back to my office," replied Dumbledore before turning back sharply and continued to lead the way. "There is something that all of you need to see."

Matt had never been to Dumbledore's office save for the very short trip earlier in the day, and he was quite impressed with what he saw. It was a stunning, circular room that looked to be much larger than it actually was, lavishly decorated with colorful carpets on the floors and pictures of the previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts on the wall. Some of the men and women in the living drawings even said hello or offered a polite wave as Matt and his friends made their way to the center of the room. A loud caw broke through the room as Fawkes rose from his golden perch beside the door and made the short flight to the three students. Matt had heard rumors that Dumbledore had owned a phoenix and he had to pet the glowing bird a few times to prove it true to himself. The warmth given off by the scarlet and gold plumage of the phoenix combined with the safety and security that swirled around Dumbledore's office like a wonderful shroud seemed to settle him down a bit as Dumbledore and Snape fiddled with something at the center of the room.

Where Dumbledore's ornate work desk once was now stood a light-gray stone basin. Odd carvings adorned the broad sides of the bizarre structure. They were runes and arcane symbols that not even Hermione could hope to recognize. The three of them watched as Dumbledore would occasionally draw out his wand and place the tip of it to the middle of his forehead. As soon as he removed the wand, a thin stream of silver light would pour from the wand and into the basin.

"What. . . what is that?" Matt mumbled as Harry continued to watch on, absently continuing to pet Fawkes.

"A pensieve," Hermione whispered as they all moved closer to it.

The basin's contents seemed to flow gently and constantly as Dumbledore continued to add more of the peculiar substance into it. It was silvery-white in color, clear but murky at the same time. As the three young students peered into the pensieve, Severus Snape grunted a bit and backed away from it, his work apparently done. Harry half-expected to see the pensieve start to bubble wildly and for three witches to come circling by on their brooms screeching about toil and trouble. Dumbledore gave the three of them a bit of time to stare in wonder at the contents of the pensieve before elaborating.

"You are correct Miss Granger, as is often the case," Dumbledore said as he strode up to stand at the opposite side of the basin. "This is indeed a pensieve. It is a device that many wizards use when we find that we have too many thoughts and memories crammed into our enfeebled minds. A sensation that I'm sure all of you have felt at one time or another?" Each of the students grumbled an assent to Dumbledore's assumption.

"But why do you want us to see this?" Harry asked, struggling to choose between looking at Dumbledore and looking into the pensieve.

"As I stated before," Dumbledore responded, as he placed his long hands on the intriguing instrument, "I felt that it would be good for your minds to witness the struggles of another mind. To clear things up, as the old saying goes." Now all three of them looked up from the pensieve, each of them clearly have no idea what Dumbledore was talking about.

"Place your wands at the center of the pensieve," Dumbledore instructed kindly. "It is time that the three of you witness some of the events that bring us to this place and time."

As Harry and Matt both looked at one another in trepidation, Hermione calmly pulled out her wand from her robe pocket and placed the tip of it in the turbulent waters of the pensieve. Harry and Matt couldn't help but shockingly stare at their bushy-haired friend while Dumbledore gave a little laugh.

"The pensieve will only work if all who need to see it see it together," Dumbledore said, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. Not wanting Hermione to upstage them, Harry and Matt both hurriedly placed their own wands into the pensieve.

As soon as Harry's wand (his arms were shorter than Matt's) was immersed in the silvery liquid, the back of the room seemed to lurch forward violently, causing each of the students to be pitched headlong into the pensieve itself. Logic told the three of them that such a thing could not be happening, but it seemed that their eyes wanted to disagree with them. All of them braced for impact as they each expected to crash into the bottom of the pensieve. It took only a half a second until they all realized that they were dropping into something else, something that none of them could describe with words. It seemed icy-cold and black, but comforting and soothing at the same time, an unsettling mixture of cascading contradictions swirling about them before their bodies finally came to a stop.

The three of them unceremoniously crashed into a dimly lit room that was bustling with whispers and shouts. Two long rows of wooden benches were placed in the middle of the room, all of them packed with bustling witches and wizards. A worn, empty chair stood in the center of one of the far corners of the room. The amount of attention that was paid to it by the room's occupants made it obvious that it was going to play an important role in whatever was taking place. The borders of the chair were surrounded by thick chains, which gave the strange seat an even greater feeling of foreboding.

"Where are we?" Harry whispered.

"It's a public inquisition room," Matt said as he slowly guided his friends forward. "A courtroom to judge higher-level wizard crimes."

Hermione's eyes were darting about the room, seemingly wanting to take in as much as possible. It perturbed her a bit that she couldn't recognize a single person inside the courtroom save for the two wizards that came along with her, no matter how hard she racked her brain. However, that soon changed as the three of them neared the front row and found Albus Dumbledore sitting calmly at the far side of the bench.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry squawked as Hermione moved to try and stop him. "What is going on? Why are we here?" Dumbledore didn't respond to Harry's somewhat frantic inquiries. The affable headmaster of Hogwarts just continued to gaze forward, awaiting the events to come just as many of the other magicians were.

"Wait a minute, Harry!" Hermione said as Harry began to call to Dumbledore once again. "It won't do any good."

"Why not?" Matt asked.

"I read about this in 'The Secrets of the Pensieve'," she lectured calmly. "We've just been placed in one of Dumbledore's memories. Something that we either can't remember or was not around for. To everyone in this court room, we don't exist." Hermione amplified her point by waving her hands in front of a rather heavy-set wizard chatting angrily with his wife. Neither the wizard or the witch responded to her actions in the slightest form.

"So why are we here?" Harry asked, turning his attention to the front of the courtroom.

"To watch," Matt said as he took a seat on the wooden floor of the courtroom. "I wonder if I can get a program to find out just who's being interrogated?"

"Doubtful," answered Hermione as she and Harry took their own seats beside the Ravenclaw. All eyes were now focused on the heavy, metal double- doors on the opposite corner of the "confession chair," as Matt had called it. As soon as the door opened, a potent wave of fear seemed to waft through the room causing Matt and Hermione to shiver a bit. Harry, however, knew the source of this fear all too well and it caused his heart to nearly sink into his liver.

A pair of hooded dementors swept into the courtroom, their faces and bodies concealed with long robes that brushed the tidy floors of the courtroom with every step they made. The only portion of their body not covered by their cloak was their hands, which were horrifyingly pale, warped, and rotten. The hands of the dementors were clasped to the shaking arms of a middle-aged man with messy, black hair and a ragged goatee that looked as if it hadn't been maintained properly for weeks. The man was shaking from head to toe, although whether that was from either the man's own fear or the terrifying power that the dementors could have over the human mind, no one could really say for certain.

"Igor Karkaroff," Matt almost announced.

The future Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute was clearly a long ways away from his days of wearing elaborate furs and being pampered by any number of Bulgarian veela house workers. His tattered, wizard robes had numerous holes and tears and was filthy with dirt and sweat. His tattoo on his upper bicep of his left hand that signified his allegiance as a Death Eater was on full display in the interrogation room, causing some of the magicians in the front rows to whisper urgently and point at the tattoo.

The dementors forced Karkaroff into the foreboding-looking seat with little trouble, as was often the case. Karkaroff, indeed, was in no position to adequately defend himself from such monstrosities. The chains circling the arms of the seat, acting as if on some unknown order, snaked their way up Karkaroff's arms, effectively binding him to the spot.

"Well then Mister Karkaroff," a curt voice said to Hermione's left side. The students turned to the corner of the room to see Bartemius Crouch standing up from the same bench that Dumbledore was seated upon. Unlike Karkaroff, Crouch looked significantly better at this point than he did at the Triwizard Tournament. His hair did not have the slightest hint of gray and his face was quite handsome even in the drab lights of the interrogation room. However, the biggest change was in Crouch's eyes. They were filled with fire, a fire burning with determination to a cause, not the near-manic glint that was on his eyes in the Forbidden Forest or in the photographs of The Daily Prophet.

Crouch continued on. "You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."

"Information?" Hermione inquired, looking at Matt.

"Karkaroff's gonna rat out some of his partners from the looks of it," Matt said as he nearly growled at him. "No wonder the Death Eaters are so teed off at him."

"How on earth could Karkaroff become headmaster of such an established wizarding institution after all of this?" Harry asked.

"There's always been rumors that Durmstrang assisted Voldemort's forces in Eastern Europe during the latter part of the war." Hermione whispered hastily, a little too happy to finally have an answer pertaining to what was going on. "Nothing was proven, of course, but the suspicion has always been there." By the time the students turned back to the inquisition, Karkaroff had just concluded a disturbingly self-serving plea of mercy, a plea that made Crouch turn up his face in anger.

"You must understand," Karkaroff said hurriedly, "that He-Who-Must-Not- Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy." It was clear that Karkaroff was still stalling for suspense. "He preferred that we. . . er. . his supporters, which I regret to say that I was at one time."

"Get on with it," sneered a voice behind them. The three wizards all turned around to see a steaming Alastor Moody sitting behind Dumbledore, clearly enjoying Karkaroff's struggles despite his frustration. There were significantly fewer scars on the Auror's face and his magical eye did not appear to be necessary as of yet. The sight of Alastor Moody with his two normal eyes was quite unusual to Harry, as if it made him look like a completely different person.

"So Moody's here too. . ." Matt said as he turned back to the questioning.

"That makes sense," Hermione said as she turned around as well. "Moody probably caught Karkaroff himself." Harry spent a few lingering moments still staring at Moody, who now appeared to be arguing with Dumbledore about something that his ears couldn't quite catch.

"What are the names?" Crouch asked sharply, clearly wanting nothing more to do with Karkaroff's panic-driven antics.

"There was Antonin Dolohov," Karkaroff started. "He tortured countless Muggles at Voldemort's camp in Dublin. I believe he was undercover as a schoolteacher. Such a horrible fellow."

"So horrible that I'd wager that Karkaroff assisted him with the efforts," Matt grumbled in a voice quite similar to Moody's. Crouch, in contrast, seemed more than happy to inform Karkaroff that Dolohov had already been captured by Frank Longbottom and Amos Diggory and was sent to Azkaban. Karkaroff paled significantly at Crouch's smug demeanor as the dementors seemed to inch closer, almost biting at their nips.

"That's one strike," Harry murmured. Matt and Hermione both nodded.

"There was. . . erm. . . Evan Rosier."

"Rosier is dead," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after you were. Unlike you, he preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."

"Tough bastard," Moody grumbled in almost a respectful manner. "He took a bit of me with him." Harry watched as Moody leaned to one side and showed a hideous scar to Dumbledore where half of his nose once was. Hermione and Matt still continued to watch Karkaroff, who now seemed to be staring at the dementors while trying not to pass out.

"Any others?" Crouch asked, his arms crossed and his eyes glowing in anticipation.

"Yes!" Karkaroff cried, all thoughts of showmanship and suspense now thrown out the window. "There was Travers! He helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber! He specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced people to do horrible things! There's Rockwood! He was a spy in the Ministry!"

Karkaroff's nervous ramblings were clearly doing their damage, as Crouch motioned to a secretary sitting on the front bench, who began to write away furiously on a small notepad.

"Well then," said Mr. Crouch, obviously a bit disappointed that Karkaroff did indeed have some useful information, "if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide your fate."

"I wonder why Dumbledore sent us here?" Matt asked.

"What do you mean, Matt?" said Harry. Matt shrugged his shoulders and looked at his two Gryffindor companions.

"Well, so Karkaroff snitched off his friends to get released from Azkaban. That's all well and good, but what does that have to do with us?"

"Wait!" Karkaroff cried, his desperation not fading in the slightest. "I have another!" Harry, Hermione, and Matt all steered their eyes back to Karkaroff.

"Snape!" Karkaroff shouted, the name causing many of the courtroom's occupants to murmur excitably. "Severus Snape!"

Hermione gasped alongside must of the courtroom. Matt continued to look at Karkaroff with unabashed hatred.

"So that's why Snape hates Karkaroff!" Matt grumbled as he cracked his knuckles as if he was ready to attack. "He tried to rat him out!"

"Snape has been cleared by this council," Crouch said with disgust. "Dumbledore's testimony was proof enough of Snape's innocence."

"No!" Karkaroff shouted, the heavy chains crashing into the hard wood of the interrogation chair as he strained against them. "Snape is a Death Eater! I am certain!"

"Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater, Mister Karkaroff," Dumbledore said while rising to his feet. "However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and acquired information upon the Dark Lord that saved dozens of lives at great personal risk. He is no more a Death Eater than I am."

Harry and Hermione both looked at Matt expectantly. Matt just winked at them and smirked arrogantly.

"Well, that explains why we're here," Harry said as he stood up along with many of the occupants of the courtroom. Karkaroff was already being escorted back to Azkaban by the dementors and nobody really seemed to be paying any attention to them as they filed out of the courtroom.

"Yes," Hermione spoke as she dusted herself off. "Of course, the next question is," she continued as a large hole appeared several feet above the students' heads.

"Where are we going next?" Hermione finished as they were sucked into the portal and carried to another memory of Albus Dumbledore.

Despite quite a bit of effort, none of the young wizards could avoid crashing in a heap once arriving at their second memory. Harry groaned in frustration as he rubbed his temples, quite a bit perturbed that he had nearly fallen on his head once again.

"I wonder if we can get a parachute for the next time?" Harry quipped as he rose to his feet. Neither Matt or Hermione chose to respond to him.

"Where are we now?" Hermione inquired as she ran her hands through her messy, brown hair.

"Another day, the same interrogation room from the looks of it," Matt said as he made his way to the front. Indeed, quite a bit of remodeling had been done in this supposed den of justice, but it didn't appear to be any less gloomy or menacing. The same chair stood in the corner of the room and the huge metal double-doors stood as proud as ever. A different judge was presiding in this case but the prosecutor was still the same. Bartemius Crouch still looked much the same as he did at Karkaroff's inquisition, albeit with some dark circles around his eyes and fewer pounds in the gut. What truly attracted Matt, however, was the sight of a fair- haired wizard wearing very familiar magenta robes and scribbling away with a Quick Quotes Quill.

"I'll be damned," Matt said, twisting up his face as he took in the sight of a rookie reporter named Rita Skeeter. "I wonder if I can set fire to her."

"Kindly cease your vandalistic tendencies until a later time," Hermione said coolly, her familiar mood starting to return.

"I wonder if I can bum an aspirin off Dumbledore," Harry asked as he spotted Albus Dumbledore seated at the same place on the same bench as before.

"Let's just stick to the business at hand," Hermione said resignedly as she took a seat on the dusty, wooden floor. The wizards that were seated in the courtroom, with the exception of Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, were quite a different mix from the depressing lot that were here for the Karkaroff questioning. Some of the wizards weren't even wearing their robes, opting instead for typical Muggle shirt and long shorts sets. It was if the people of the courtroom were preparing for a picnic. . . or a show.

The double doors slid open and Ludo Bagman walked into the room. No dementors held his arms as he strode confidently to the chair that so frightened Karkaroff. This was not the portly Ludo Bagman that announced the Triwizard Tournament with such melodrama and child-like zeal, but a fetching man in his early-thirties. Bagman had a tall, lean, and muscular frame that drew its fair share of female admirers in the courtroom. Hermione clucked in disapproval as Bagman gave a young lady a friendly wave before seating himself into the chair. The chains on the sides of the chair did not snake around Bagman, much to the Quidditch star's relief. Crouch watched in utter revulsion as Bagman entertained the crowd like a trainer puppeteer before rising from the bench dramatically as the judge pounded his gavel.

"Ludovic Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters," Crouch began. "We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgment?"

"So we're at Bagman's trial," Hermione said. "This was just about fifteen years ago, if I recall correctly."

"It's almost like a circus," Harry muttered, staring at the audience. Harry spied a child who looked to be no older than eight wearing a mock Wimbourne Wasps uniform. A woman who appeared to be the boy's mother picked him up and pointed out Bagman in the crowd, speaking about him in reverent tones. Unlike the atmosphere with Karkaroff, it was obvious that the people clustered in the courtroom hoped that the accused would be set free. Of course, whether that was because of Bagman's athletic talents or because he was truly innocent of what he was accused of remained to be seen. Either way, Harry didn't like it too much. Harry jerked his head away from the crowd behind him when Bagman began clearing his throat.

"Well," Bagman began, his voice seemingly a professional mix of good- natured brevity and bashfulness, "I know I've been a bit of an idiot."

Quite a few of the people in attendance laughed at Bagman's humorous admission. Bartemius Crouch was not one of them. He drowned out the titters of the audience as he crossed his arms and stared at Bagman with a near malicious gaze. Dumbledore, meanwhile, continued to look at Bagman with a rather placid look on his face, the same look he had on his face when he was looking at a bat or a snail.

"Bagman's trying to charm his way out of imprisonment," Hermione whispered, a look on her face a slightly milder version of Crouch's thinly veiled anger. "I wouldn't be surprised if he actually did do it."

"Did what?" Harry asked.

"Just watch," Hermione instructed, gesturing to the front of the courtroom with a nod of her head.

"Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters," said Crouch. "For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than. . ."

Crouch's emphatic speech was abruptly cut short by numerous angry shouts from the crowd behind him. Many began to boo Crouch while others even suggested that it was Crouch who belonged in Azkaban. Hermione, looking at the scene with abject horror, shook her head in exasperation.

"As Voltaire once said," Matt said with a bit of mirth, "there's nothing worse than hecklers at a trial."

"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called out, shushing the angry crowd with a single gesture of his hands. "None at all! Old Rockwood was a friend of my dad's. It never crossed my mind that he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rockwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on. . . once my Quidditch days are over, you know. After all," Bagman added, a charming smile appearing on his round face, "I can't keep getting hit Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"

Much of the court audience roared with laughter, causing Crouch to grit his teeth and the judge to continuously pound his table with the gavel.

"The matter will now be put to the vote," Crouch said once the clamor in the courtroom had finally calmed down. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon towards the jury. The look Crouch gave to them seemed to hold the same fierce determination of the past, but it also had a bit of pleading within it. "Will the members of the jury in favor of imprisonment please raise their hands."

Harry, Hermione, and Matt were not the least bit surprised to see that not a single one of them raised their hand. Nearly the entire courtroom exploded with applause and cheers as an angry Bartemius Crouch made his way back to the bench.

"Don't look like it can get any worse for old Barty," Matt said whimsically. Just as he said that however, the forewoman of the jury rose from her seat and called for attention.

"On behalf of the rest of the jury," the kindly old-woman stated, "I'd like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday." Even more applause flooded the room as Crouch looked ready to explode due to his pent-up anger.

"Spoke too soon," Matt mumbled as Harry and Hermione once again stared at him expectantly. "I have to stop doing that."

"Despicable," Crouch whispered harshly, sitting down next to Dumbledore and Moody. The prosecutor didn't even bother to watch as Bagman walked out of the courtroom with his arms upraised and his legion of fans flocking behind him. "Rockwood get him a job indeed. The day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a sad day for the Ministry!"

Just as Dumbledore began to console Crouch, a smoky portal materialized above the students' heads. All three of them noticed it this time as they were ushered into it. Like in many instances involving unfamiliar experiences, the three wizards were slowly adapting to the black void that seemed to guide them from memory to memory.

"Wonder where we're off to next, Harry?" Matt said as he thrust his arms out as far as they could go, pretending to fly through the bizarre passageway.

"You're guess is as good as mine," answered Harry.

"With any luck," Hermione said, her arms seemingly strapped to her sides, "this next one will give us a little more information."

"I don't know," Matt said as he jokingly began to backstroke through the void. "I thought the last two trials told us quite a bit. Certainly told us more than we knew before."

"Karkaroff's hearing was fine," continued Hermione, "but we already knew that Bagman was a git. We could have figured that out just by looking at them."

The three of them were soon once again dropped into another pocket of the pensieve. This time, two of the students were able to land safely while one of them was not so lucky.

"Watch that first step, Hermy," Matt said with a wry grin, "it's a doozy!"

"Shut up," Hermione grumbled as Harry helped her to her feet. "Looks like we're back in the interrogation room," she resolved, her head shifting from side to side.

"Doesn't seem as friendly as it was with Bagman either," Matt said cautiously as he led the way back to their now usual seats. The benches were crowded with witches and wizards, even more so than during the Bagman trial. However, this time the benches were filled with stone-faced men and women, many of them wearing the traditional Auror uniforms. Harry even managed to spot Amos Diggory in the crowd, a look on his stern face not quite unlike what he saw when he accused Harry of performing the Morsmordre spell after the World Cup. The deathly silence that ran about was only broken by the heaping sobs of a frail witch in the seat next to Bartemius Crouch.

Crouch himself looked particularly frightening. The circles in his eyes at the Bagman trial seemed to spread out throughout his entire face, giving it a horrifying gaunt look about it, as if Crouch hadn't slept right in years. Significant tufts of gray had crept into Crouch's black roots, making him look far older than the forty-one year old should have been. The temples on his forehead seemed to be bulging outward, as if they were ready to push out from the brain from all the pressure.

"Bring them in."

The steel double-doors swung open once again, the crash that the doors made upon meeting with the stonewalls seemingly shaking the courtroom itself. Four magicians dressed in prisoner garb walked in, chained to one another. A half-dozen dementors, holding the chains together like a posthumous honor guard, surrounded them. Upon seeing the faces of the four on trial, Matt's face went pale, his throat suddenly drying and his hazel eyes wide with surprise.

"What is it?" Hermione hissed as Harry looked on.

"I don't recognize the thin one," Matt said as the dementors escorted the prisoners to their seats. "But I do know the other three."

"And?" Harry asked.

"The big one is Ryan Lestrange," Matt said, his eyes now locked on the youngest of the prisoners. "The woman is Crystal Lestrange, and the boy. . . the boy. . ."

"My God," Hermione muttered, her hands balling up into fists as she placed them under her lips.

"Crouch!" Harry shouted.

If there was any greater example of someone looking like a deer in the headlights than Bartemius Crouch Jr. this night, the three of them would have been quite surprised. Barty's tear-stained sky blue eyes were unblinking, like some kind of ragged doll, and remained focused on his father. The dementors nearly had to push Crouch towards his chair, visibly reveling in the fear and turmoil within the young man. His skin was as pale as milk, his bright freckles poking outward from his face making his face look hideously splotchy. The tiny, cowering witch, whom Harry now realized was the mother of the child, rocked back in forth at the bench madly, not having the strength to look at either her son or her husband.

"Look at her," Hermione said, as she stood up to touch Rosalind Crouch's shuddering shoulders. Her hands simply swept through the poor woman's body. "No wonder she passed away so soon after this."

"I'm more concerned about the father," Harry said. Indeed, the look of disgust that Crouch had in his eyes was now multiplied a hundred-fold. Harry was truly beginning to see the resemblance between Crouch and the near-dead man they found in the forest.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," Crouch said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you for your heinous activities!"

"Father," the child pleaded, his arms shaking despite the grasp of the inquisition stools. "Please!"

"We have heard the evidence against you," the elder Crouch continued, not even bothering to acknowledge his child's pleas. "The four of you stand accused of the brutal assault of Frank and Nancy Longbottom. You are further accused of subjecting these honored members of the wizard community to the illegal Cruciatus Curse, believing them to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"Father, I didn't" the younger Crouch nearly shrieked, the chains now giving quite a bit of strain toward the boy's impotent struggling. "I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the dementors."

"You are further accused of attempting to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named to power," Crouch bellowed, the sheer volume and magnitude in his voice causing Matt to wince and cover his ears, "in an effort to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. The jury will now announce its' verdict."

"Mother!" the boy screamed. "Please stop him! I didn't do it! It wasn't me!"

"Dear God," Hermione murmured, her brown eyes beginning to well with tears. Harry found Hermione's right hand and grasped it tenderly. Matt just continued to look on, his eyes glued to the complete destruction of a proud wizard name.

"You can see the entire Crouch family dying right in front of us," Matt whispered.

"I now ask the jury," Crouch announced, not a hint of wavering within his voice, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

Every witch and wizard rose their hands without a moment of thought. A roar of applause erupted from the throng of Aurors on the right side of the courtroom. The left row of benches also cheered, although some of the common wizard folk looked at the younger Crouch pitifully.

As the dementors strode forward to gather up the prisoners and return them to Azkaban, the female prisoner stood up, not even heeding the supposed indomitable chains. Many members of the courtroom murmured with shock while some of the Aurors even drew their wands.

"The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch!" Crystal Lestrange cried defiantly, speaking to the iron-hearted prosecutor with shocking confidence and certainty. "Throw my husband and I in Azkaban! We'll be happy to wait for our master's uprising!" The female Death Eater looked back at her husband, who gave her a filthy, splendid grin. "He will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"

The rest of the lady's speech was drowned out with boos and various threats of bodily harm. Crystal Lestrange just looked at the Aurors as if they were simple specks of dirt.

"I heard a lot of rumors about Crystal Lestrange," Matt said as he whistled in appreciation, "but I never expected anything like this."

"Look at the strength in her eyes!" said Hermione.

The young Barty Crouch, however, was hardly as calm as the Lestranges. The young man struggled madly to keep away from the grasp of the dementors.

"I'm your son!" he screamed at his father. "I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no son!"

A thin trickle of snot from the child's nose slid down the left side of his lips, his body surrendering as the dementors took hold of him and dragged his away. The father of the child continued to scream madly, denying having anything to do with his own son. The entire scene simply horrified Harry, Hermione, and Matt, like a nightmare that they couldn't get out of.

"Easy does it," a quiet voice said from beyond the pensieve. "There's only one more to go. Be strong, children."

None of them acknowledged Dumbledore's reassurances with words. They all simply nodded as another vortex appeared above them and dragged them off. A short trip through the void soon dropped them off at their final destination. This time, it was Matt who was unfortunate enough to land on his butt.

"Watch that first step, Matt," Hermione chided, "it's a doozy."

"I refuse to comment to such immaturity!" Matt said haughtily as he hefted himself up, dusting his robes off as he went along. It was apparent at first sight that they had not returned to the courtroom. The three of them were standing on a humble, cobblestone road that was littered with the occasional scrap of paper or the forgotten remnants of a meal. A light smattering of traffic noises seemed to accompany them as they proceeded down what appeared to be a side alley. The friendly glow of the streetlights seemed to follow them as they pulled away from the roads, not quite knowing where they were going but quite certain they were going in the right direction. As Matt's pricked up at the sound of a sewer rat upturning a garbage can, Harry grasped his shoulders and swung him to one side, his hands pointing into the horizon.

"I thought that you would only show them what occurred in the trials? What is the meaning of this?" Snape said as he hastily rose from his chair and stomped toward the pensieve. He had already taken to see that their physical bodies were safe shortly after their minds had poured into the penseive. Snape had simply presumed that the three trials would be shown, he never expected for something else. Simply put, Snape was becoming worried for the three students' safety, although he would never admit it.

"This is for your eyes as well, Severus," Dumbledore said as he continued to stare into the murky material within the pensieve. "You must remember, however, that you are not to share what I am about to show you to anyone. Do I make myself clear?"

Dumbledore's suddenly authoritative tone took Snape aback a bit, surprised to see such a firm and solid order from the kindly headmaster. Instead of arguing the point, Severus placed his pale hands on the edge of the pensieve and stared inside without a word.

"Look, it's Big Ben!"

Indeed, the magnificent clock tower that seemed to signify the magisterial glory of London was ticking away as patiently as ever. It also was kind enough to tell them it was one o'clock. It was also safe to say that due to the sight of the full moon high above them, it was one o'clock in the morning.

"So we're in London," Matt said as he placed his thumb on his chin in a vaguely Snape-like fashion. "Question is, why are we here?"

"Look over there," Hermione said as she began to cautiously walk into a dark recess that drifted from the main alleyway. As Harry and Matt followed the bushy-haired Gryffindor, they were both sorely tempted to cast a Lumos spell before remembering that their wands were still held by their physical bodies, no use to them in the confines of the pensieve. After spending a good minute of searching through a network of dark alleyways, the three wizards finally reached their destination.

An open grate spurted out a healthy portion of steam from one of London's many sewer ways, covering the dead end with a shroud. A man leaned against a brick wall casually, as if waiting for someone to arrive. The man wore a beige trench coat wrapped around his body and a matching fedora that completely covered his face from view. The unknown fellow looked at his watch with impatience and began whistling a little tune that none of them could recognize.

The impromptu musical performance was interrupted with the familiar sound of a racing broom lowering to the ground. The rider was wearing a night-black cloak over his dark green Quidditch robes, his long, blond hair fluttering about in the breeze. The man's chiseled face seemed to be a mask of superiority as he lowered himself to the ground, his blue eyes gleaming.

"Malfoy," Harry spat.

Lucius Malfoy stepped off his racing broom in an absurdly melodramatic fashion as he smoothed out a lonely wrinkle in his fur-trimmed cloak. With a practiced motion, the Death Eater held the middle of the levitating broom with his well-manicured hand, causing it to go slack in his firm grip. Malfoy kept the same smug expression as he pulled his wand out of his robes and cast a Reducio charm on his broom. After placing both the broom and the wand in his side pocket, Malfoy gave the trench coat wearing man a once over, seemingly trying to hold back a look of disgust.

"What a truly ridiculous get-up," Malfoy spat. "I dare say that the mere sight of you is a speck of mud on my boots."

"Forgive me," the man said in a tone that obviously meant otherwise. "I've always had a soft spot for Casablanca. Wonderful acting."

"Spare me," Malfoy drawled coldly. "Let's just get on with our business."

"Couldn't agree more. The sooner I get away from you the better I'll feel." Malfoy sneered as he marched to the man, stopping just inches from the man's shrouded face.

"You listen to me," Malfoy said, his voice dripping with venom. "The only reason that you remain alive to this day is because my master chooses for you to be alive."

"And who would be my killer?" Trench Coat asked dully, prodding a finger onto Malfoy's broad chest. "You're a little too prissy and sheltered to be doing such a dirty deed. Always hiding behind Avery and Goyle back in school. Probably the same way now, I imagine."

"Shut up," Malfoy whispered, nearly shaking with fury.

"Of course, you always had a penchant for picking on people smaller than you," Trench Coat drawled, twisting his finger like the blade of a knife. "Maybe you should find some school children and torture them for a while. From what I heard in Reykjavik, that appears to be all you're good for anymore."

Malfoy leaped back from the man like an angry wolf, pulling his wand out of his hand with one sloppy motion. Trench Coat simply folded his index finger back into his fist and folded his arms impatiently.

"Perhaps you need a lesson in just who holds the power!" Lucius bellowed as the tip of his wand glowed a violent shade of red. "Stupefy!"

A red bolt of light shot out of Malfoy's wand and made a screaming path towards its victim. Harry and Matt both instinctively rushed towards the man to warn him but Trench Coat did not even move as it hurtled towards him. Then, just as the vicious shot was within inches of his chest, the hex smashed into some invisible barrier, scattering the particles of light like harmless specks of dust.

Before Malfoy could even react, a hand was on his throat and Trench Coat lifted him several feet into the air. Like he was holding a newborn child, Trench Coat slammed the fair-haired Slytherin into the brick wall, his covered face looming just inches from Malfoy's.

"Now you listen to me you little troll," Trench Coat sneered menacingly as Malfoy tried his best not to quiver in fear. "I'm not a kid you can just bully around like you did back in our old school days anymore. I've grown up a bit, and so have my talents. Although I wish I could say the same about you, it seems that you just bummed a free ride off old Voldemort. Like I said before, very typical of you." With a snap of his fingers, Malfoy's wand flew out of the death eater's inert hands and flew into Trench Coat's extended left hand, his right hand still maintaining a death grip on Malfoy's throat.

"Never try and threaten someone better than you," Trench Coat said coolly as he touched Malfoy's sweating forehead with the tip of the wand.

"I think I've seen enough," grumbled another voice.

Harry and Hermione both froze at the sound of the voice. Matt's brow began to furrow as his shoulders began to tense and the muscles in his neck began to strain outwards. Trench Coat, meanwhile, simply threw Malfoy's wand to the ground calmly and looked at the newest visitor.

"I was wondering when you'd make yourself known," Trench Coat said sharply as he leaned back against the brick wall next to a petrified Malfoy. "I was getting bored playing with the second stringers, Macnair."

"My apologies, Mister Pettigrew," the hulking executioner said as he emerged from the shadows. The Macnair of fifteen years ago was quite different from the Macnair that hunted them today. There didn't seem to be an inch of fat on the assassin's body, his massive arms and towering legs looking as if they had been borrowed from a Spartan god. The blond hair was not messy, but closely cropped and well trimmed, making Macnair look much like a fitness model. However, those eyes, the eyes that reeked of power, of hatred, of bloodlust, had the same eerie glow as they had in the present day.

If Pettigrew was even intimidated in the slightest from Macnair's impressive form, he didn't show it in the least. He too was quite different from the sniveling, sobbing mass that Harry met at the Shrieking Shack just ten months ago. He was hardly as physically impressive as Macnair or even Malfoy, but there was something in the way Pettigrew moved, the way he responded to Macnair, that seemed to make up for the unimpressive physique. His straw-blond hair seemed fully intact, not thinning in the slightest, as he removed his fedora and placed it on Malfoy's frozen head with a smirk. His face was still a bit chubby, an obvious indication that he hadn't lost all of his baby fat, but his dark- blue eyes were not watery, but calm and steady.

"I'd like to know why you've called me to visit you here," Pettigrew said turning his body to meet Macnair. "I do have appointments that I need to keep."

"Perfectly understandable, Pettigrew," Macnair said, speaking to the Marauder as if they were sitting down for a cup of coffee. "I'm certain that you will find what I have to say most interesting."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were about to make me an offer."

"You're quite on your game tonight," Macnair said grinning, his bright white tooth giving him an almost beastly form. "I'm here on behalf of my lord to offer you a truce proposal in exchange for information."

"And what do I have that would be so valuable to Voldemort, Macnair?" Macnair chortled a bit as Peter narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Why, the key to the Potters' Fidelius Charm, of course," he replied. "We're well aware that you're their Secret Keeper." Peter broke out in laughter as he used his wand to break the body bind curse he had used on Malfoy and removed the hat off the Death Eater's head.

"Your information network is a little off," Peter said with a mirthful grin. "I'm afraid that you're looking in the wrong direction."

"Are you now, Pettigrew?" Macnair said, throwing Malfoy a look of disgust as he marched towards Petergrew, a distressingly calm look on his face. "It hardly seems wise that magicians as skilled and smart as the Potters would place their faith in such a, how should I say it, loose cannon?"

"Do you even know what you're talking about, Macnair?" Peter said as his eyes narrowed even further.

"Quit the act, Pettigrew!" Malfoy spat. However, a quick look from Macnair put the former Slytherin prefect in his place.

"As gifted as Mister Black is," Macnair said as he slowly walked towards the Marauder, "he's unreliable. Unsafe. I'm not saying that Black would betray the Potters out of a need for power, per say. I don't know the man well enough personally to say for certain, but I believe that the good Lily Potter knows that your friend is hardly the sharpest knife in the drawer. He might even give away his most precious secrets if he could get in the bed of an attractive harlot at the end of the night, I would imagine." Macnair ignored Peter's growl as he continued on. "So, instead of placing their hope in a brilliant, but flawed, best friend. . . why not place it in the hands of the last person that anyone would expect? Quite impressive, yes, but not anybody to worry about in the whole scheme of things. A black sheep."

Peter sighed deeply as Macnair looked him straight in the eyes. His left hand slowly dove into one of the pockets of his trench coat to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Pulling his wand out with his right hand, Pettigrew placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his wand. After taking a slow drag of the popular Muggle pollutant, he blew a steady stream of smoke from his lips, his eyes never leaving Macnair.

"You never struck me as a detective, Macnair." Peter said as he casually held the cigarette between his ring and index finger.

"So you admit to it?" Macnair asked with the slightest glint of triumph.

"I think it's safe to admit that you were well-aware of it before you arrived," Peter responded simply. "Of course, if you know this then you probably also know that I'd sooner die a thousand deaths then aid you in your master's mad hunt of my friends."

"Indeed I do," Macnair said, giving Peter a look of appreciation, "and that's something to be respected. Need I remind you that James and Lily Potter are wanted for crimes against my lord? They'll die no matter what you do, Pettigrew. You and the Potters have made some rather, original, efforts in avoiding our traps thus far, but your luck will run out. They will die at Voldemort's hand and you will be held responsible for not letting it come sooner. As for you, you'll die just because you knew them."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, Macnair," Pettigrew sneered, stretching his legs to look Macnair in the eyes. "I'd sooner die then help you. We'll find a way to stop you! Even if it takes our lives!"

Once again, Macnair nodded to Pettigrew respectfully, even looking back at Malfoy to further express his appreciation. Malfoy didn't bother to reply.

"It's a shame that you've chosen the wrong side, Mister Pettigrew," Macnair said, placing a huge hand on Pettigrew's small shoulders. "I would have enjoyed working with someone of your talents."

"Spare me your flattery," Pettigrew said as he angrily turned away from Macnair and began to take off back down the alley.

"How's your wife, Pettigrew?"

Those four words froze Pettigrew in his tracks. There was no way they could have learned about that. It wasn't possible. They had kept everything a complete secret! They held the ceremony at Hogwarts just to make certain that it wouldn't catch the eyes of the Death Eaters! Peter could just make out Malfoy's cold laugh as Macnair continued on.

"I imagine that she is quite worn out after her struggles with labor. It must have been hard for you to leave your wife's side just as your child was being born."

Harry, Hermione, Matt, and Peter all paled at Macnair's words, although they did so for completely different reasons. The three young wizards simply stared in shock at the entire scene as Pettigrew's body began to shake very slowly, a small tear falling from Pettigrew's eyes.

"Who told you?" Pettigrew asked, his voice a far cry from what it was just moments ago.

"A beautiful baby girl. It was fortunate that James was there to keep you from fainting as soon as you arrived back at home. Lily and Remus, of course, were all too happy to help with the delivery. After all, it's not everyday that one of your dearest friends has a child. I was told the child has your eyes, is that true?"

"Who told you?" Pettigrew asked again, his voice not trembling anymore.

"And let's not forget the wedding ceremony. You must have been thrilled when James volunteered to be your best man. For so long you wanted to be accepted by him. Remember when the two of you first met? You two were five years old if I recall. Ever since you went to Hogwarts and met Black and Lupin, you wanted to be appreciated as an equal among your circle of friends and it finally seemed like your wish was coming true."

"WHO TOLD YOU!" Pettigrew roared as his wand flew out of his trench coat and into his right hand. Malfoy stepped forward and drew his own wand, almost daring the Marauder to make the first move.

Macnair didn't move a muscle.

"Does it matter who told us, Mister Pettigrew?" Macnair sneered. "I think the important thing is that we know." The executioner made a motion with his hands telling Malfoy to stay put as he walked towards Peter.

"Oh, you can sacrifice your own life for your friends, Pettigrew. However, can you sacrifice the lives of your friends and loved ones?" Macnair slowly stepped towards Peter, every one of his heavy steps on the cobblestone alley feeling like a punch in the gut. "Your wife? Your child? Your dear mother and father? Black? Lupin? Their lives are in your hands, Pettigrew. Tell us what we want to know and we will spare them. If you refuse and continue to go about your childish rebellion, then everyone you know will die. I will see to it myself. I assure you that their screams will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Tears streamed from Peter's eyes as Macnair once again placed his massive hands on his shoulders, the sudden clap of pressure on his body shaking his diminutive form like an earthquake. His mind raced as he tried to find a solution, anything that could help him, anything that he could use to ward away the horrible crime that Voldemort had forced upon him. There had to be something! Anything! Images of his wife and child flashed before his eyes, his tiny body shaking as his mind stretched as hard as it could. However, as soon as he had done all he thought he could do, when he could think of nothing more, he finally discovered the true truth of the matter.

He had to do it. There was no right or wrong, just two disgusting choices that would plague him for the rest of the days. There would be no happy ending. No riding off in the sunset. Peter Pettigrew only prayed that what he did would be better than what he didn't do.

"What do you want to know?"

Not a word was said as Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Matt McGonagall were hurtled out of the nexus that was the excess thoughts of Albus Dumbledore and back into the physical plane. Hermione's lower lip was quivering, her chocolate-brown eyes glistening with forming tears. Harry's eyes stared at the red carpet covering Dumbledore's office, not even capable of looking upwards. Matt placed his pale hands on the floor and lifted himself upwards like an automaton. His eyes blinked rapidly as his neck creaked to look at Dumbledore, who continued to stand at the far end of the pensieve.

"Why did you show us this?" Matt asked softly.

"You must know what you are about to face," Dumbledore replied. "We cannot shy away from what has happened in our past, we must focus on correcting our mistakes for the present. You just looked at how good men lost their lives, their very souls, due to Voldemort's influence, his power. You must be strong." Harry and Hermione both hefted themselves to their feet, Hermione still sniffling and biting back tears.

"The road that the three of you are about to embark upon is one of frustration and satisfaction, of happiness and grave sorrow. You will be asked to push yourself to your physical and mental limits on countless occasions and you cannot fail. I would never wish any of this upon any of you, but it is out of even my control. Destiny has begun its dance and the three of you are at the center of it all. The only way that you can survive these terrible hardships is that you believe in one another! You must draw upon your strengths! Draw upon the bond that the three of you share and never stray from it. If you fail, then the world may very well fall with you."

Dumbledore looked at the three young wizards, the people destined to be at the head of the time of troubles, the first line of defense against the darkness that would soon arrive. He saw fear in their eyes, in their hearts. Not just fear of failure but fear of what was to come. But the aged wizard saw something else in the youths as well.

He saw courage, he saw love, and he saw hope.

And Albus Dumbledore smiled.

"What do you want us to do, Professor Dumbledore?" asked Hermione, a small lump at the top of her neck. A long silence filled the room, only to be interrupted by the soft snoring of Fawkes, who had not even seen what had occurred. Dumbledore removed his hands from the pensieve and walked towards the three students, walking slowly as if not to frighten them. He stopped within one foot of them and lowered his head gently, gathering the three students in with his eyes.

"To be prepared."

I'm not really sure how all of you are going to respond to this one! I'd ask you to forgive me for my treatment of Peter Pettigrew, but Wormtail is my favorite character. Flame me if you want, but I still stand by it. I hope and pray that the next few chapters aren't as long as the previous three have been, but knowing my sudden explosion of ideas, I'm not making that a certainty. Once again, I would appreciate your reviews and criticisms and I will be more than happy to respond in kind. I hope you've all enjoyed reading my humble story thus far and I hope you'll continue to enjoy it, as well as my future works. And now, the next chapter preview.



The first day of June has arrived at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and its many students are rushing about to prepare for their finals and have a great summer. However, our two heroes (and one heroine) have quite a bit more on their plate. How will they respond to Dumbledore's revelations? Can they find Voldemort's supporter within Hogwarts? How will they choose to cope from the incredible responsibilities that have been forced upon them? Find out in the eleventh installment of Harry Potter and The Scholar of Mystery: Marauders: Past and Future. Don't miss it!