"It's too wonderful!" cried Pansy Parkinson.
"A good job all around," declared Draco Malfoy, grinning from ear to ear. "I think I'll clip it for my scrapbook."
"I wonder if he knows yet?" said Blaise Zabini.
"Give me back my newspaper," said Beth dryly.
The fourth-years handed over Beth's copy of the Daily Prophet. It was still folded to the article of interest: HARRY POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS" by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.
"On the day of the third task!" Pansy gushed. "Draco, you're brilliant."
Draco nodded smugly. "Quite." He glanced across the Great Hall and noticed the three Gryffindors looking at him. "Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?" He grabbed back Beth's copy of the Prophet and shook it a little, in case Potter didn't realize yet what he was talking about. Everyone turned to watch Potter's reaction.
It was disappointing. Potter borrowed a newspaper from the redhead across the table and quickly read the article. He cast the Slytherin table a careless glance and carried on talking with his friends.
Professor Karkaroff swept up to the end of the table. "Your family is waiting for you in the side chamber, Viktor," he announced heartily. "No doubt they'll be cheering the hardest at your victory, eh?"
Viktor grunted in acknowledgement. He got up without looking at his headmaster and slouched out of the Great Hall.
Karkaroff turned back to the other Durmstrangers. "Back to the ship, all of you," he barked, sounding considerably less friendly than he had a moment ago. "Professor Viridian will be administering your final Zagovry exam via fireplace. Do not keep him waiting."
"Ve bow to your vishes," said Josef, bounding up from the table. His silverware clattered onto his plate. "Up, all of you! I vant to see tvo straight lines! Tuck in that chin, Dolohov! Now forward --!"
And he marched his classmates out of the Great Hall under his astonished Headmaster's nose.
The sixth-years were finished with finals, but most of the rest of the school wasn't, so the seven of them had the day off alone. It was a surprisingly nice day. Beth had been spending so much time with the Durmstrangers, the Society, her Alchemy classmates and Cedric that she hadn't been keeping up with her classmates. They strolled around the sunlit grounds in the afternoon -- Warrington and Antigone hand in hand, Aaron and Mervin a few steps behind making fun of them. They talked about the classes they'd gone through and adventures they'd had, mishaps and mischief, fights, tantrums, professors, assignments, meals, reports and games and conversations. Once more, Beth was struck by the passage of time. One more year, she thought to herself. Then Aaron began recounting the story of Warrington's splinching, well-elaborated for comedic effect, and she ignored the melancholy in favor of laughing with her friends.
In the evening they all wandered back to the Great Hall for the evening feast. The Head Table was full again, with Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge alongside the Headmasters. Viktor Krum looked much happier than usual after spending the day with his family. He had to be reminded by his classmates to start speaking in English again.
Finally, when the food had been consumed and the enchanted ceiling showed the fall of dusk, Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes time I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament," he said. "Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now."
The Great Hall was filled with applause. Viktor got up amid wishes of good luck from his classmates, enduring seven or eight handshakes from Josef before he managed to leave the hall with Ludo Bagman, Cedric, Fleur and Potter.
Five tense minutes later, the students were dismissed to the Quidditch pitch. The chattering mob crossed the grounds, a vast pack of excited students, flanked by professors to make sure they all got to their destination. They reached the Quidditch field.
Bruce staggered. "The pitch --" he managed.
The Quidditch pitch was covered in twenty-foot high hedges forming a strange organic maze. Aaron and Mervin picked him up and practically carried him to the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Ludo Bagman's voice boomed over the stands. "The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each -- Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!" Wild applause. "In second place, with eighty points -- Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" The Slytherins clapped loudly. "And in third place -- Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!" The cheering took on a distinctly masculine timbre.
The four champions were clustered around the opening of the maze, Mr. Bagman nearby. "So ... on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!" he said enthusiastically. "Three ... two ... one ..."
The sound of the whistle cut through the night and was drowned out by another round of cheering.
Potter and Cedric disappeared into the maze. Immediately, two beams of light sprung up at the maze entrance -- one with a yellow tint, the other silver. They traveled together like weird cylindrical ghosts for about fifty yards; then they parted ways and moved off in opposite directions.
"Yellow for Cedric again," Melissa figured. "Potter's silver -- Viktor'll be red, Fleur'll be blue."
She was proven right a few minutes later when the next two champions entered the maze.
When all of the contestants were inside, a fifth beam of light sprung up right in the center of the maze, this one a deep ethereal violet. "The violet light marks the end of the maze," Mr. Bagman announced joyfully, "and the Triwizard Cup! The first champion to reach the center will be declared our winner!"
The audience quieted down and began to watch the progress of the champions. Sometimes a beam of light would stop and turn around, apparently thwarted; sometimes it would stand in one place for a long time while the champion encountered some obstacle. No one was sure whether the champions could hear them, but the cheering and encouragement of the audience was nearly continuous. Night began to fall more deeply; the beams of light showed up brightly. It was a clear night, sprinkled with stars. Some of the audience began to get up out of the stands and walk around.
"Beth."
She looked up. Richard stood there, looking a little hopeful and a little haggard. She frowned and looked away. She had nothing to say to him.
"Beth, can I see you for a minute?"
Bruce nudged her from one side, Melissa from the other. Reluctantly, Beth got up and followed him out of the stands and across the cool grass. She would not look at him.
Finally he stopped and turned back to her.
"I want to talk to you, Beth."
"About what?" Very coldly.
"Gypsy."
Beth tensed at the sound of the name. Her cheeks flushed hot.
"Don't bother." Beth was astonished by the poison in her own voice but couldn't stop it. "I saw you two out by the greenhouses."
Richard's face cleared. "Oh, so then you know --"
"Of course I know," she spat, "and I can't believe it took me so long to realize it -- and -- I don't care, you can go on snogging her 'til kingdom come for all I care --"
Richard looked startled, then flushed a deep red. "Then didn't you hear --"
"I heard enough." Beth, fuming, found she couldn't hold his gaze. She looked away.
"Apparently not." Richard's voice was edged now. "Apparently, you didn't hear the part where I told Gypsy I didn't want to be any more than friends with her."
It was a moment before Beth realized what she'd just heard.
"She was all over you," she said, hating the way she sounded, so petty, so accusing.
"And I told her to stop it." Richard sounded distinctly angry. "I don't suppose you're interested in why I did."
This time Beth forced herself to take a breath before speaking. "I am," she said, trying to control her tone. She still couldn't look at his face.
"Because of you."
Beth was startled into meeting Richard's gaze. She had never seen the look in his eyes before. He was angry, frustrated, but ... there was something new ...
"You," Richard repeated. "I'd learn something about the Society and want to tell you about it. I'd see something interesting and want to show you. I'd come up with some theory about the Ledger and wonder what you'd think of it. Gypsy is pretty -- she's persuasive, and intelligent -- it took me all year to realize that it wasn't her I wanted to be around all the time. It was you."
Beth felt a hot flush rush across her face. She looked down at the ground.
"But," Richard's voice was now bordering on fury, "apparently you don't care. I could go on snogging Gypsy 'til kingdom come ..."
"I didn't mean that," Beth whispered. For the second time that week, she was ashamed to feel hot tears roll down her cheeks. She swiped at them furiously. There was no way she could look at Richard now.
Richard was quiet for a moment. "Then what did you mean?" he persisted, but more gently; the edge was gone from his voice.
"I meant --" Beth sniffed back tears, looked away, wiped her face. "Oh -- I don't know --" She took an unsteady breath. "I meant -- that I wish you looked at me like that sometimes, the way you look at her."
Silence.
"I've -- I've always wished that."
Richard leaned around her until she was forced to catch his eye. "How's this?" he said softly.
She looked into his eyes. The tears wouldn't come while she was holding his gaze. Behind his eyes she saw everything she'd ever liked about him, and everything that had driven her crazy. She wiped her eyes without paying attention. In his eyes were a little acceptance and a little longing, but above all confidence ... he knew exactly what he was looking at, and he liked it.
"Perfect," she said, and to her own surprise, she smiled.
Richard smiled too -- his familiar, proud, cocky, relieved grin. Beth started to laugh. Richard paused for a startled moment; then he too broke into laughter. That was something Beth had rarely heard. It only made her laugh harder. Soon they were leaning on each other's shoulders, practically howling with mirth for no good reason -- or perhaps the best reason of all, for they realized just then all the folly of the human race, and saw it in themselves.
Finally they drew apart, red-faced, profoundly relieved, both smiling from ear to ear. "Want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" said Richard, taking her hand.
"Okay," said Beth. She gave his fingers a squeeze. "We could go looking for the Ledger."
Richard shrugged. "I think maybe this time I'd rather just dance."
They strolled back to the stands, hand in hand. The audience was applauding wildly -- both Cedric and Potter were at the center of the maze. Neither beam of light was moving -- they stood fixed like spotlights. The professors roaming around the edge of the hedges were looking a little suspicious. Beth and Richard stopped and sat down on the ground beside the stands. The view was good enough from here, and the grass was cool.
As they watched, Professor McGonagall emerged from the maze. She was supporting someone -- Viktor Krum. There was a gasp from the audience. The Durmstrang students began to stand up and try to fight their way down to him. Beth cast a glance at Professor Karkaroff, at the head table. His lip was curled, his eyes narrow. He did not move.
A sharp pain shot through Beth's arm.
She jerked in surprise. Richard looked over at her. "What's wrong?"
"I think I just got stung by a bee," said Beth, with a short surprised laugh. "Ow ..."
She started to lift her sleeve to look at the sting, then stopped and instead rubbed it through the cloth. She didn't want Richard to see her ugly burn.
Viktor Krum was swarmed by his classmates now. Madame Pomfrey had joined the mix. He looked disturbed but unharmed. Beth looked back at the maze -- Potter and Cedric hadn't moved for several minutes now. It was as if the lights were fixed.
"Miss Parson, I must speak with you."
Beth looked up and squinted into the darkness. The unmistakable outline of Jules Rothbard, Society president, loomed over them, his white walrus moustache and bald head glinting slightly in the moonlight.
Richard scrambled to his feet, bringing Beth with him. "Mr. Rothbard --" he began, extending a hand.
"Just Miss Parson this time, Shaw," Mr. Rothbard said, in a slightly stiff manner. Beth noticed a silhouette behind him -- Evan Wilkes, his face nearly obscured.
Richard dropped his hand awkwardly. "All right," he said, visibly surprised. "I say, bring her back soon."
"Yes, of course. Please, come with me," Rothbard said to Beth, and she followed him and Evan across the grounds. Several hundred yards from the Quidditch pitch, Jules Rothbard turned to them. He took a deep breath.
"You are both feeling a pain in your arm," he said gently, bluntly. "I know why."
Evan met his eyes with a sharp gaze. Beth was baffled. "I got a bee sting --" she said, rolling up her sleeve to prove it.
She did not see the round raised mark of a sting. She saw a flat mark, burning red, in the shape of a skull.
Evan didn't bother to look at his arm. Apparently he knew what lay there. "The Dark Mark," he said, almost accusingly.
Jules Rothbard sighed. "Yes."
Beth stared down at the red skull on her arm. Didn't it mean -- how had she never seen it before -- when had it happened? "But -- when --?"
"I don't remember getting this," said Evan shortly.
"You wouldn't -- you were much too young," said Rothbard heavily. "Your father brought you -- your mother," he added, looking at Beth. "You've been dedicated to the Dark Lord since before you could walk."
Beth had heard those words before. Evan, too, remembered. He met Rothbard's eyes and said, "Moody. Moody knew."
The President looked startled. "Mad-Eye Moody? How would he ..." He broke off, calculating quickly. "Of course -- he would be able to see the mark beneath your sleeves. Or," he added, looking at Beth, "beneath your bandages. Not a bad cover, but a little suspicious."
"They're real bandages," Beth told him irritably. "I had poison ivy for the first half of the year, and a huge burn for the whole second half."
Rothbard's brow furrowed. "Curious ..."
There seemed to be something going on back at the Quidditch pitch, but Beth couldn't guess what, and she was still reeling from what Rothbard said. She thought about her injuries. Her burn had been an accident, pure accident -- reaching across a lit birthday cake towards her brother -- maybe she'd swung her arm a little too low -- he had taken her hand -- maybe her arm had been forced into the flame --?
And the Weasley twins had put poison ivy in her robes. But they claimed they hadn't -- who else had access? It could've been done on the train ... or at home?
She didn't say a word.
"Am I right," said Rothbard gently, "in guessing that your brother was involved in those accidents?"
"Yes," said Beth quietly.
"They were an adequate cover," said Jules Rothbard. "You were unsuspected by the one person who would have known -- Igor Karkaroff."
"My brother told me to stay away from Karkaroff," Beth said slowly, her mind reeling.
Rothbard nodded sympathetically. "Igor Karkaroff would have been there when you two were marked," he said. "Had he known who you were, he might have remembered."
"He remembered me," Evan said.
"You do resemble your father," said Rothbard softly.
Evan pretended not to react to that, but his lips thinned subtly nonetheless.
It was then that Beth's arm began to hurt.
It was a pain like she had never experienced -- quite deep, but very specific, like someone was grinding the lit end of a cigar into her forearm. At first she was too startled to realized just how much it hurt. She looked at Evan questioningly. A stiffness had come over his pale face; his dark eyes swam. He was clutching his arm. Then the full force of the pain sunk in, and Beth let out a cry.
"Ah - ow!" Beth's fingers dug into her arm, as if she hoped to pull the pain away. "Mr. Rothbard - what -?"
Evan's face was highly flushed. "It's the Mark," he said, cool voice trembling ever so slightly.
"Yes," said Rothbard. His white moustache quivered. "It is the Mark." He laid a hand on Evan's shoulder (Evan flinched away) and looked at Beth. "Follow me."
First calmly, then with longer and longer strides, Jules Rothbard led them away from the Quidditch pitch and across the Hogwarts grounds. By the time they reached the broad iron gates, both Beth and Evan were running to keep up with him. Evan's eyes were so dark they were almost black.
"Outside," ordered Mr. Rothbard. He strode through the gate and waited for the students to follow him. "Now come here." He took hold of Evan with one hand and Beth with the other.
"Mr. Rothbard," Beth panted, doubled over with pains from running and the pain in her arm, "why did we have to come out here?"
"Because," said Jules Rothbard, "you cannot Apparate from the Hogwarts grounds. Ceteris paribus!" he cried, and the three of them vanished into a whirlwind of light.
