HELLO GUYS *waves excitedly* I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK. I am so so so-a thousand times so- sorry that it has been a whooping two months since the last chapter. I didn't mean for that to happen. But then school came up. First were assignments-a lot of projects due before Thanksgiving break. Then after Thanksgiving break, which was really finals gear-up, was the last week of classes/pre-finals crunch week. Then the next week after that came the dreadful, agonizing, mind-numbing finals week. So the first two weeks of December, me and my friends were pretty much stuck in our rooms, the library, the computer lab going over notes, typing up papers-sooooooo many papers-and putting together projects.
By the dear grace of God, I managed to survive it. More than that, I actually PASSED ALL MY FUCKING FINALS, which was a great HALLELUJAH moment for me and made my winter break all the more sweeter. So now, I'm on break for the holidays and among my list of things to complete for the holidays is finish 4th year of Stages. We are sooooo close to the ending (4th year that is). According to my outlines, I have 2 more chapters left.
This chapter actually dethroned chapter 34 as the longest Stages chapter, to my amazement. Chapter 34 came out with 9,000 words. 38 was over 11,000. But hey, more Stages to read for you guys. Plus, the long chapter could be my way of saying so so sorry for the late chapter. Also if any reader is currently/about to head into finals week, I wish you the best of luck. So without further ado, let's get to the story.
Chapter 38: Connect the Dots, Connect the Past
The mirror looked just the same as it was the last time he saw it. Sterling silver fogged up with patches of dust or mist, encrusted around a thick, light-gold frame with clawed feet at the bottom. Engraved onto the frame was Erised straehru oy tube cafruoyt on wohsi. Harry wondered if there was a pull between him and the mirror, a tug that summoned him out of bed, told him go down this hallway and through this room, turning here and there, until he eventually stumbled into the room where it was being kept. Almost as if it were waiting for him.
He felt like he was eleven years old again, running into a random room to avoid getting caught by Flinch who was on the prowl for students out of bed. When he saw the mirror, it appeared the same as any other, showing him a boy a bit on the skinny side, with messy black hair and glasses that were always crooked no matter how often he tried to fix them.
Until he saw his parents beside him. His dad, his elder twin, pride and mischief glowing in his eyes. His mum smiling at him with so much love in those familiar emerald-greens, it almost felt like he was back in her arms again.
They reappeared again, almost like clockwork. His mum first, her smile so gentle a twinge pricked his chest. His dad a second later, a hand placed on the shoulder of Harry's reflection.
"It's astonishing how much you two look alike."
Harry blinked, and then turned over to his left. No one was there. He looked over to his right. Nothing.
"You've always been slow, Potter. How you managed to actually stay on a broom and not fall on your arse is a mystery to us all."
There was only one person he knew that could mix teasing and taunting into words with the same measure.
Harry turned back to the mirror, his jaw nearly dropping.
His parents were still there, only now they stood a few feet away, leaving room for Harry and a guest who decided to invite himself to their little soiree. "Draco."
He smirked in reply.
"But-" Harry's eyes did a quick sweep across the room. No one else was here but him. "But how-"
"Think, Scarhead. This mirror shows one their greatest heart's desires. So if I'm here…"
Harry's heart thudded like a stone tossed onto the lake.
Draco's smile broadened and softened at once, melting the cold Malfoy exterior shown to the rest of the world, revealing the genuine boy only Harry got to see. His hand reached out from the mirror, his cool fingers brushing against Harry's lower lip, sending a sharp jolt of heat that burst through his veins.
A sound that was a cross between a wordless mumble and a groan slipped from his mouth as he woke up, stretching out his stiff body, popping one green eye opened, then the other.
For a second, Harry thought it was just another morning, getting too little sleep and waking up too soon, his mind only beginning to push away the fogginess of sleep. Till he stretched out his left arm and felt something heavy pinning it down. He turned his head to the side to find Draco still asleep, a slight frown touching his face that soon smoothened out as he pressed himself more into Harry.
Looking at his best friend, everything-the moments, the emotions-came rushing back. Finding out Draco was the hostage; the thing Harry would miss the most. Fear churning his stomach as he raced over to the lake, his mind painting various scenarios of what was being done to Draco, each picture more bone-chilling than the last. That fear intensifying, beating inside him like an eerie crescendo, when he found Draco tied to the statue, his pale stillness so similar-too similar-to his mother's that Harry felt like he was reliving that horrible Halloween night all over again.
Then the aftermath. Draco a soggy mess, ranting on about how he'd destroy everyone involved in his "kidnapping". Harry huddled on the floor, watching him, his head running a hundred different directions, the pieces branching out and overlapping. The anger he felt when he found out about Draco and Pansy, the jagged hurt that cut into his chest like a knife when Draco scoffed at him were knocked out like a blow, replaced by paralyzing terror. Terror melting into sweet relief when he picked up the faintest trace of a pulse humming underneath the pale stillness.
Those emotions rushing inside him, overwhelming and disorientating. He looked back at their relationship that was much different, far deeper than most friendships. How connected they were to each other, two halves that made up a whole. The unbelievable but undeniable fact that no matter what, no matter how hurtful their words or painful their actions were to each other, they always came back together. All of it boiling down to a simple conclusion.
I love him.
A shiver swept across him like a wave, creating a chain of ripples that pulsed throughout his body.
He was in love with Draco Malfoy.
He, Harry James Potter, was in love with his best friend.
And-and-and it was astonishing, frightening even how the fact didn't terrify him the way it should have.
A frown marred Draco's head as he shifted, arching out his body and settling back down, head nestled half on his pillow, half on Harry's arm. Heat pooled in Harry's stomach while watching that frown change into a soft smile as Draco moved in closer, practically curved around his body.
Harry smiled, brushing a loose strand of white-blond hair away from his eyes, noticing Draco's sleepy smile grow a bit bigger.
His attention was turned away at the sound of the floo, roaring from the fireplace. Quickly untangling himself from Draco, Harry climbed out of bed, threw on his robe, and walked over to the fireplace.
Flames hovered from the mantle, levitating midair, coming together to form a ball that morphed into a face. A familiar face with shaggy hair and laughter glowing in his eyes.
"Kiddo!" Sirius exclaimed; his voice extra loud in the quiet, early morning.
"Sssh!" Harry hissed, taking a peek at Draco. He was sprawled on his back, arms stretched out, the frown back on his face. He muttered something under his breath but didn't move.
"Sorry." Sirius said, dropping his voice to a low mumble. "Got a bit carried away. Can't be blamed though. It's not everyday I get to be the godfather of a two-time winning Triwizard Tournament Champion." Sirius's eyes were bright in amusement. "Who made quite a splash-in more ways than one."
Harry's mind drifted back to the vicious pests that tried to make his ankle their chew toy. The merwoman who got too cozy to Draco and a foot to her face. Draco's body so still, so pale, floating around like a corpse. A shiver lashed through Harry's body, his skin bitten by goosebumps. "Not quite," he murmured underneath his breath, then said in a normal voice, "How's Remus?"
"Good, good. He wanted to talk to you too, but, well," A smirk curved Sirius's mouth. "I kinda wore him out."
There was no way to avoid the implication reeking from those words. A grimace pulling his face, Harry commented, "I could have lived my whole life happily not knowing that."
Sirius winked playfully. Harry rolled his eyes, morphing that wink into a snicker. "When you're happy and in love, kiddo, hardly anything can faze you."
Warmth spread across Harry's cheeks. He fought against the urge to look over his shoulder. He was still trying to process what was going on inside his own head. The last thing he needed was Sirius speculating.
Merlin must have granted him his wish because Sirius said nothing about his pink cheeks. His face, though, grew more somber, less playful. "Anymore appearances from Crouch?"
Harry shook his head. He sent a letter to Sirius telling him about Bartemius Crouch's name appearing on the map, disappearing as soon as it appeared.
A thoughtful, almost-troubled frown marred Sirius's face.
"Maybe it's nothing," Harry offered weakly, though his heart knew that wasn't the case. Why would a Ministry employee, too sick to make public appearances, show up at Hogwarts of all places? Add that to the fact Severus was ranting about missing potion ingredients, it was too much to dismiss as coincidence.
Sirius didn't look anymore convinced than Harry did. "That's actually why I wanted to check in. Well, partially anyway. It's about Crouch and…certain past mishaps."
Past mishaps? Harry's brows ceased. "Like what?"
"I think this is a conversation better face-to-face. When's the next Hogsmeade trip?"
"I think maybe next month, first weekend of March."
"Perfect." Sirius's frown cracked into a smirk. "I'll meet you there."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. While Sirius took full advantage of his renewed freedom by exploring all the must-see sights in the Muggle world, he barely showed his face in wizarding one. Other than St. Mungo's to see his therapist Remus suggested he keep seeing even after Aunt Cissa's mandatory three-session ended. "Really?"
"Really."
They talked for a few more minutes before Sirius had to go, ending their chat with a harebrained comment that had Harry laughing long after the flames were gone.
"Why can't Black be like anyone else and send a letter via owl?"
Harry looked over his shoulder, his heart skipping a full three beats. Draco sat up in their bed, rubbing the sleep from his eye, the duvet falling onto the floor. His nightshirt was scrunched up to his stomach, revealing a band of milk-white skin Harry tried hard not to look at.
It was a sight he came across more times than he could count. Now it was hard to look and not pull away his gaze.
When Harry found his voice again, he cleared his throat and said, "You don't seem to mind when Uncle's the one on the other end."
"That's because Father has useful things to say."
"Depending on whom you ask." Harry smirked at the withering glare Draco shot him.
The smirk quickly disintegrated when Draco rolled onto his stomach, stretching out his limbs, causing his shirt to raise higher, exposing more skin and drawing attention to his arse that was arched high in the air.
Harry bit his bottom lip, warmth coiling inside his stomach like a twisted snake, his hands shaking with a great, frantic need to touch. He balled them into tight fists and tucked them underneath his elbows to keep himself from doing something stupid.
"I think I'll go take a shower." Draco said nearly a century later, stretching around in bed like a cat. "I can still feel that mucky lake water on my skin."
Harry nodded weakly, his tongue dry and useless.
Draco climbed out of the bed and did one more stretch, expanding his limbs so far, glimpses of porcelain skin turned to masses from front to back. Harry took note of the flatness of his stomach, the curves of his lips, and again his arse his eyes couldn't stop staring at.
"Give me twenty minutes and we'll see what they have in the Hall." Draco said.
"You do that." Harry mumbled.
His eyes stayed glued to Draco's arse till he went to the bathroom. The second it was gone from sight, Harry's knees nearly gave out, a stammered breath blowing from his lips, as he grabbed onto the chair to keep his balance.
He was so screwed.
He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For lightening to tore through the sky, pointing to the severity of the matter at hand. For an earthquake to strike. For someone to look right at his face and scream, "You're in love with Draco Malfoy!"
It felt like the words were printed onto his forehead like the scarlet A. The words were lodged in his throat, ready to erupt. He was so sure all anyone had to do was just look into his eyes and the truth would be known.
Only no one said anything. Not his friends, not Hermione, not even Draco. His best friend continued on with life as if things were normal, smirking and snarling and grumbling and smiling, having no idea how most of the time Harry's eyes fell on his lips, how badly Harry wanted to take that bottom lip and bite it, how much he affected him.
Harry read, not as much as Theo or Hermione, but he read his fair share of books. He read countless stories about the main character finding themselves falling hard for the jerk they despised with every fiber of their being, the unattainable outsider who managed to get underneath their skin and attach themselves to their heart, the loyal friend who had always been by their side and just beginning to understand how much that friend meant to them. Harry started to feel like one of those characters, falling for someone who was definitely a jerk (no question), scoffed at those who dared stand even twenty feet near if he deemed them unfit, and had been by Harry's side for as long as he remembered.
It was maddening and terrifying and confusing and again terrifying-but all at the time not as much as it should have been.
Gender definitely had little to do with it. He recently came to the realization that he was attracted to both girls and guys, instantly captivated by Kilia as she sashayed away from their table with a wink and also understanding why the girls in his school were so smitten with Cedric. So that was out. It was all really a matter of two things.
The first: age. He was only fourteen years old for crying out loud. On less than one hand, he could sum up the number of people he had been with, not even all the way, with their hands strictly at the waist. He heard stories of people finding the one after they graduated from school, when they were in their wild-and-sometimes-plain-stuck twenties, even at sixteen like his parents did. But never fourteen. Hell, at fourteen, people were just settling into puberty, curious about their new developments and what attracted their eyes.
The second, more importantly, was whom. Looking back, Harry can easily admit that his friendship with Draco definitely wasn't like other friendships. Something ran much deeper between them, something that was almost similar but completely different from being like family. He couldn't imagine being that close to his other friends. Like deciding to try the serpent salute with Blaise, knowing it may make things awkward between them. Not to mention giving Draco a valid reason (at least in his head) to fulfill his wish of sending the boy to the hospital. Harry tried imagining falling asleep close to Theo's side and shuddered at the thought.
Back then, they never talked about it. Maybe they should have, maybe it would have cleared things up. Made things different. And he wanted to, he really did. He'd always look at Draco and wait for him to say something, give him a hint as to what was going through that head of his, those glowing gray eyes burning with so many questions. But Draco would clamp his mouth and stay silent, either out of embarrassment or frustration, though his flushed cheeks pointed to the first. So, for the sake of his best friend's sanity, Harry dropped it, continuing on as if things were normal between them. As if they didn't hold onto each other tight when they were entangled in bed, sometimes needing the warmth, other times because it just felt nice. As if Draco biting into his neck when his nerves were set on high was the same as checking for scratches, needing reassurance that Harry was alright. As if kissing your best friend because of curiosity, fear, anxiety, want, was nothing. Except it was everything.
It took him nine years to finally admit it. Nine years and one hell of a scare that still made him shudder wherever he thought about it.
If there was one good thing that came out of this, it was the fact things were looking up for him socially. His victory from the second task won rave reviews from the judges, despite protests from the other headmasters. The fact he went out of his way to save a little girl who wasn't his hostage melted away any remaining frigid the school had over his name being picked from the cup.
February eased into March, the weather drier but the wind still cold enough to skinned their faces and hands with frostbite. Teachers assigned them mountains of work that took most of the day to finish. People's attention jumped from one latest scandal to the next.
"YOU KISSED HIM?!" Ron exclaimed.
Harry blinked down at the clear liquid bubbling away in the Potion cauldron and looked up. Several tables away, Hermione's eyes were glued to the potion she was stirring with Ron leaning close to her, his face just as tight as Hermione's was annoyed.
"You kissed him?!" Ron repeated, oblivious to the audience he was attracting.
"Not that it's any of your business," Hermione snapped, cheeks bright pink. "But yes!"
"What the hell is going on?" Harry wondered.
"You don't know?" Pansy said, handing over her stirring rod to Daphne. She walked over to their table, pulling out a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Draco snorted. "Don't tell me you actually read that garbage."
Harry's thoughts exactly. Pansy smiled, tucking one hand underneath her chin while the other hand flipped opened the page. "You know what they say, Dray? One can't refuse a good love story. Or should I say love triangle?"
Harry glanced over the page, inwardly groaning when he caught Skeeter's name, barely resisting an eye-roll as he read on. Skeeter was continuing with her ridiculous story of Harry and Hermione's secret romance, adding a third player into the mix. She featured a picture of Victor and Hermione dancing at the ball next to a picture of Hermione holding Harry back, cleverly cropping out Ron's head.
Oh dear god.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think Skeeter is trying to push you two together, Potter." Draco commented. Harry winced from the acid burning in his neutral tone.
"It's not like that." Harry protested.
Severus wasn't anymore amused by the story than Harry was. "Ten points from Gryffindor for classroom disturbance. Another ten will be taken if you two don't-"
A knock at the dungeon door interrupted them.
"Enter."
The class looked around as the door opened. Karkaoff came in, eyes drawn to him as he walked up towards Severus's desk, twisting his dark beard around with his finger, looking agitated.
"We need to talk." He looked so determined, so frantic that he was speaking in tongues, barely moving his lips.
"I need to teach. I'll speak to you after my lesson, Karkaoff." Severus said.
Karkaoff wouldn't hear of it. "I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."
"After my lesson." Severus snapped.
Harry and Draco traded a look. Draco casually reached over for the ingredients sitting near the edge of the table. Harry held up a measuring cup as if to see if he poured enough armadillo bile, sneaking a sidelong glance at the pair. Karkaoff looked worried. Severus looked angry.
Karkaoff hovered behind Severus's desk for the rest of the period. He was determined to keep Severus from slipping away. Keen to hear what Karkaoff had to say, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to the bell, which gave him an excuse to duck behind the cauldron and mop up while the class noisily moved towards the door.
"What's so urgent?" Severus hissed.
"This!" Peering around the edge of his cauldron, Karkaoff pulled up the left hand sleeve of his robe and showed something on his inner forearm. "See? See it? It's never been this clear, never since-"
"Put it away!" Severus snarled, black eyes sweeping the classroom.
"But you must have noticed-" Karkaoff began in an agitated voice.
"We will discuss this later!" he spat. "Potter! What are you doing here?"
Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back for not flinching at the harsh tone. "Cleaning up my armadillo bile, Professor," he answered innocently, straightening up and showing him the sodden rag in his hand.
Karkaoff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon, his face a mixture of rage and anxiety with fear rising through the cracks. Anger radiated from Severus, boiling like a cauldron ready to explode. Harry quickly shoved his books and ingredients into his bag and offered his uncle a weak nod as he zoomed over to the door.
The morning of the Hogsmeade trip, nerves built and twisted inside Harry like knots. Partially because his mind kept going back to the conversation between Severus and Karkaoff, which his uncle hadn't breathed a word about since, although he did threatened to have Harry's neck if he thought about eavesdropping on him again. Partially because of Moody who kept hovering, kept watching, dropping more hints about the third task and insisting he could help. And the way the sun seemed to be drawn to Draco, heightening the smooth, pale texture of his skin, blond hair shining white gold underneath the bright rays.
He almost looked like an angel, if angels had tight frowns.
"I don't see why the hell Black wanted to meet you here." Draco complained.
Sirius sent a message via owl this morning requesting for Harry to meet him near the outskirts of the village instead of the square or one of the shops. Draco's face slumped into a sulky frown when he read the letter over Harry's shoulder. Crumbling the note in his hand, Harry commented that Draco, of course, didn't need to follow. It was hard to contain his smirk while hearing footsteps and murmured curses trailing behind him.
"Maybe Sirius has a surprise or something."
Draco snorted. "Like what? Actually shopping for decent clothes?"
"Sure, junior, right after I have my way with that pretty head of hair of yours."
The look of pure horror on Draco's pale face was so daunting, laughter sprouted from Harry's lips. Sirius joined along, tossing his head back, laughing loudly with no shame.
"Oh, jump in the lake!" Draco snapped. "The both of you!"
"Bye Draco." Harry practically sang to his retreating back.
Draco snuck out his tongue at him, still peeved. He still warned Sirius he'd be joining Headless Nick in the no-head band if Harry wasn't back on time.
"A minute later, Black, and your severed head will be rolling on the ground before you can blink."
Sirius snorted. "He's definitely Cissy's boy. Right down to the teeth."
That he was. It was both a peeve and a quirk that made Harry's cheeks pink as he thought about it.
He stole a glance at Sirius. The last time he saw him was at the Malfoy manor for dinner. His hair was longer than last time, past his shoulders. His face scruffier, sporting new goatee. His jeans were more tattered than put-together and the picture on his red t-shirt looked like the skin of someone's head was melting off. "You look good, Sirius."
The words brought a smile to his face. "Thank you, thank you. I do try."
Rolling his eyes with a smile, Harry jerked his thumb towards the village. "Ready to go?"
"Um…" Uncertainty crept into his voice.
Harry lowered his thumb. "Or we could go somewhere else?"
Sirius looked like he was tempted to take him up on that offer, but he clenched his jaw and let out a slow breath. He shot Harry a weak smile. "I think it would be a crime to deprive them from this beautiful treasure." He waved a hand around his face.
Harry returned the smile and gestured for Sirius to lead the way.
People stared. Of course they stared. Harry was used to it, but this time he wasn't the one under the spotlight. Sirius held all the attention and it wasn't kind. Some stares were innocently curious, others baffled, most hostile and cold.
Sirius returned those looks with smirks. The place he picked was a small, practically buried underground and dimly-lit like a bar with only a few people inside. While they didn't have butterbeer, they did have some pretty good burgers served with a large platter of fries and thick,tall mugs of bubbly, sweet ale that trickled Harry's nose when he took in a sip. Sirius picked a private booth table in the back and placed a one-way hearing charm around them to ensure they wouldn't be overheard...
Harry painted loops of ketchup over his fries, making sure not to have too much or little. Once satisfied, he placed down the bottle and looked up at Sirius. "So how much do you know about Crouch?"
"You mean beside him being a tight-wad twit?" Sirius's face darkened. "He was the one who issued the arrest warrant against me. To be sent to Azkaban without a trial."
Harry's jaw dropped. "You're kidding?"
"Wish I was kiddo, wish I was." Sirius picked up a piece of a handful of cashews from the bowl the sever dropped off at their table, crushing them in his fist. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"
Harry shook his head.
"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic. He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magically and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldermort supporter," he said, reading the look on Harry's face. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people were against the Dark Side….well, you wouldn't understand…you're too young."
"I'm not a child!" Harry protested.
The hardness in his tone snapped Sirius from his dark memories. He stared at Harry considerably. "No. No you're not."
The regret in his eyes made Harry wish he could take back his words. Despite the summer long visit, the firecalls, the letters, Sirius still felt like it wasn't enough to make up for lost six years.
Sirius picked up a fry from his plate and drowned it in ketchup.
"Voldermort is a big enough threat as he is now. Back then, he was much, much worse, thanks to his large fanbase," He spat out the word like it was acid. "Couldn't tell who supported him, who worked for him, who was under his control. Another specialty of his. He could bend people at his will and make them do horrible things-unspeakable things. To themselves, to their friends, to their families. Whatever and however he saw fit. Every week, news came of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing. The Ministry was a mess. Practically killing themselves-and us-by trying the shield the public from the truth, trying to keep Muggles from learning about us. Meanwhile they were dying too-by the lot of them. Terror everywhere…panic…confusion." Sirius ran his hands through his hair, sighing deeply. "It was a mess."
Once more Harry wondered how his parents, his aunt and uncles managed to shield him and Draco from all that.
"Times like that brought out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning-I don't know, can't say. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering harsh measures against Voldermort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers-powers to kill instead of capture, for instance. I wasn't the only one who was sentenced without a trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. He became as ruthless and cruel as any Death-eater. He had supporters too, mind you-plenty of people thought he was doing the right thing. He was gaining so much popularity; he was a bound shoo-in as the new Minister of Magic." Sirius smirked grimly. "Until his own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters."
Harry could only imagine what a blow that must have been for Crouch-and how the press must have gobbled up that scandal like a Christmas ham. "Was he a Death Eater?"
"No idea," Sirius shrugged, abandoning his half-eaten burger to pick and crush more cashews in his hand. "It's hard to get news when you're on the run and living eighty percent of the time as a dog." He dropped the crushed nuts in his mouth, swallowing them whole. "What I do know is what Crouch wasn't easy on anyone supposedly on the Dark side. Didn't show mercy to anyone, not even his own son."
"He…he sent him to Azkaban?"
"First class all the way. Kid died a year after they brought him in. Mum followed him to the grave not too long after. The grief was too much for her. Wasted away like her son."
Sirius dropped away the cashew nuts and decided to finish his burger. "And so Old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he made it. One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic…next, his son dead, his wife dead, family name dishonored. To say that his popularity took a hit would be putting it mildly. Once the boy died, people started feeling a bit sympathetic towards the son and asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. Their theory: father never cared much for him. So Cornelius got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
A long silence fell between them, Harry sliding his plate of ketchup-drenched fries over to Sirius, appetite long gone, Sirius picking at them.
"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards." Harry told Sirius minutes later.
"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of an obsession with him. Most likely the buggar thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."
Harry stared down at the table, his mind spinning in a thousand different directions.
"The dreams. My name being added to the cup. Crouch's past. The missing potion ingredients. They're all connected somehow. I just…I just don't know how."
Sirius's frown deepened. He polished off the fries and washed it down with his drink, calling the waiter for a refill.
"Well, nothing like a good trip to the past to really sour an afternoon," He took a gulp of his drink. "Not exactly what I had planned for our godfather-kiddo trip."
Harry couldn't help but smile at that, just a bit, which made Sirius smile back tentatively.
"So," he inquired. "Other than dragon-chasing, hostage-saving activities, what else has been going on in your life?"
Harry's mind drifted back to his dream of Draco appearing in the mirror, his heart's greatest desire. One of many dreams that followed after that, consisting of touching, kissing, so much kissing and more touches, peeling off layers of clothes, caresses and scratches on bare skin. These past few weeks of trying to sort everything out, trying to act as if things were normal, resisting the urge to touch, feeling as if the truth was stamped on his forehead for all to see.
His hands started to sweat again. Harry wiped them on his jeans. "There-there is something else."
"Oh."
"A question really."
Sirius stared at him, a curious brow arched questioningly.
"W-what…what…" It was like all the heat transferred from the room to his cheeks, burning them up. "What made you realize that Remus was the one?"
Ale spilled from the corners of Sirius's agape mouth, splashing onto his shirt. He blinked once, twice, seven times, trying and failing to keep his mouth shut.
"W-wo-wow," he muttered, crossing one leg, and then unwinding it. He slouched forward in his chair. "Okay. That definitely isn't what I expected."
Harry kept his eyes glued to the mug, the heat spreading from his burning cheeks to his face.
"Well," He looked up at Sirius, who was only beginning to recover from his shock. "Um…wow, I really didn't expect that type of question."
Harry might have been impressed he made Sirius so flustered if he wasn't dying from embarrassment.
"Me and Remus, kiddo, we…we go back. Long back. Us and your dad." A distant, almost-dazed look came over his eyes. "Can hardly remember a time when they weren't in my life. Your dad was my best friend in the world. My twin. My brother in every way except in blood. Moony, though, was something else, something different. He was my other half, my better half. On the surface, it didn't make much sense. We couldn't have been any more different but somehow we just…clicked. I always knew when his head was too far off and how to pull him back to Earth. He knew how to distract me when the daily howler from dear old mum came in. We've seen each other at our worst, our lowest, and always built each other back up. Despite everything, fights and arguments and annoyances, he always stayed by my side and me his."
Those words stuck something in Harry, something deep. "What made you then realize…or decide…?"
Sirius's cheeks puffed out as he took in a slow, deep breath. "Realization started creeping in fifth year. Always, in the back of my mind, I knew that what I had with Remus was different, much different than the relationship I had with your dad or anyone else. Still, I chose not to say anything. After all, it wasn't anyone's business but our own and as far as I know, labels were useless, annoying buggars that only complicated things. Of course that didn't stop me from wanting to cut off the tongue of some giggly Hufflepuff who babbled on and on about getting a sweet snog from Remus under the mistletoe. I looked at him. His whole face was bright red and he didn't look at any of us, but I knew. And it royally pissed me off, to the point that I wanted to rip off that girl's head and use it to clobber him. Then I got even more pissed when I realized I had no reason, no right to be feeling that way, to feel so jealous and hurt. Remus wanted an answer for cold-shoulder treatment but I couldn't give him one."
One would have to be a complete idiot not to pick up similarities between what happened to them and what happened between himself and Draco.
"Realization finally hit home sixth year, all because of me and my lack of sense." Sirius let out a small sound that sounded like a laugh, but it was too dry, too brittle. Almost strangled. "Sixth year…I made a big mistake, a really terrible mistake, that nearly cost someone their life and exposed Remus. I only meant it as a joke, a harmless prank. But then everything went to shite. When Remus found out what we did, what I did, he…he...furious cannot even begin to describe how he looked. He charged up to me, knocked down with a punch to my face, said right there, 'You're dead to me.'" Sirius swallowed. "My father used every insult in the book against me; my mother never wasted an opportunity to remind me how worthless I was. But words never hurt me that much as Remus's did."
"Just the same as every other kiss I received: completely, utterly irrelevant."
"Yea," Harry murmured. "I know the feeling."
"I thought things would pass. We've been through some sloppy messes but we always came back together. Then he disappeared. For weeks. No one had any idea where he went off to. Your dad checked the Shrieking Shack but he wasn't there. Ratbrain thought he might have gone off to his parents' house but Moony hadn't stepped a foot inside since they died. I was going out of my mind. My head couldn't stop picturing horrible scenarios. Finally, he came back, smiling as if everything was alright, brushing off our questions, pointedly ignoring me. Everyone else seemed satisfied but I wasn't. I knew Remus like the back of my hand. I couldn't name it, couldn't explain it, but I knew something was off. That night I followed him. I found him at the Astronomy tower, standing close by the ledge, one foot already out."
Harry's jaw dropped so abruptly, he was surprised he didn't hear a clatter from the floor. Remus-Moony-"You mean...he-"
"You're gonna have to ask him that yourself, kiddo. I can only tell you my side. I don't know how, hell I barely remember moving-that's how shocked I was-but the next thing I knew I was on the other side of the room, pulling him back. He fought me all the way. He was like a wild cat or something, scratching me, hitting me. I learned the hard way that a scrawny little thing could pack a mean punch. Still, face-and parts-bruised and bloody, I held onto him for dear life. He screamed. Kept saying why not, give me a damn reason. I told him that kid wasn't hurt. He said the next one most likely won't be as lucky. I told him he wasn't thinking clearly, that he was being stupid. He said his mind never felt clearer. I told him that he would be missed. He said no one misses a monster. Then something in me just snapped. I screamed, 'I FUCKING WOULD MISS YOU! I LOVE YOU, YOU GREAT THUMPING, BROODING IDIOT!'"
Harry blinked, and then did so again. Slowly.
"I know, I know. Not the most romantic gesture, definitely not in the right place. But once the words were out, they were out. I couldn't stop. I kept saying it over and over again, that I loved him, until my screaming lowered to whispers. Remus's shaking eventually stopped. I held onto him tight, saying that I loved him till my voice gave out. We stayed together in that tower the rest of the night, holding onto like we were about to be separated. Years later…here we are."
Harry smiled softly.
"I do have two regrets though." Harry's smile fell. "The first is what I done. My stupid idea of a prank that started all this in the first place. Second is the fact it took me forever to realize what exactly Moony meant to me, but longer for me to actually have the guts to say what I feel."
The waiter came back to refill their empty mugs. He replaced their plates with a basket full of cherry scones. Harry wolfed down one scone, then another before Sirius spoke again.
"Do I happen to know this person?"
Harry nearly choked on the next bite, swallowing too soon without chewing thoroughly.
"Is it a she?"
Still trying to clear his clogged windpipe, Harry shook his head.
A heartbeat later and, "A he?"
Harry bit his bottom lip and looked up. There was no judgment or skepticism in Sirius's eyes. Only curiosity. His reply was a quick jerk of the head.
"Do I know this person?"
Well, he definitely loved antagonizing him. Harry gave another quick nod.
Sirius, for once, matched his namesake. Harry couldn't remember him a time he looked so solemn, so somber. It was like a war was unfolding in his head and he was caught between the two sides, unsure which side he wanted to fight for.
Finally, minutes later, the sides ceased fire and Sirius looked up at him. He leaned across the table to ruffle his hair, a hint of smile on his face that dissolved when he pulled his hand. "Then I want you to promise me two things, Harry."
He listened carefully.
"Don't be like me and wait till shite hits the fan before you finally have the guts to say what you feel. There may be a chance it may be too late before you find the courage."
Harry swallowed down a hard lump forming in his throat.
"And be careful."
What other reaction could Harry give than another nod? He did so and toyed with his knife.
"Now I have a question for you." Sirius waited till Harry looked up again. "You sure? About the way you feel?"
"Yeah," Despite everything he had been told, despite the heaviness of Sirius's story, a smile took hold of Harry's mouth, curving it into a soft smile. "Yeah, I do. I think-I think I always felt this way. It just took forever to finally click."
"Well then," Sirius said. "I give you my blessing. And I will give the person, whoever he may be, whatever pale color hair he may have, a lovely pike for his severed head should he break your heart."
Harry gawked. Sirius smirked. Then the two laughed so hard, tears streamed down their faces.
Weeks later, the conversation was still on Harry's mind as he walked back to his dorm after another late homework and tournament task-prep session at the library. It was the only bright side given everything else. Days were whining down, the third task approaching so close. Hermione was worried enough for him, Theo alongside her.
If that wasn't enough, he had other worries. Such as a distressed Crouch who appeared out of the blue one moment, demanding to see Dumbledore, and then disappearing by the time Harry came back with a professor, an unconsciousness Victor lying at the same spot where they found Crouch with no memory as to what happened. Severus was growing more irritated, more irate from the potion ingredients that continued to disappear in his office. Last class, he held up a bottle of Veritaserum and threatened to slip in any one of their drinks if anymore items turned up missing to find the culprit. Worse of all, Harry was starting to have visions of Voldermort again, hissing orders, inflicting pain with a flick of his wrist, more fallen bodies slumped around his throne meant to feed his pet snake.
Harry looked into newspapers to see if there was something, any more sightings of the dark mark, any trouble at Azkaban. Still nothing, not a peek. He couldn't shake off the feeling though that something was wrong, incredibly wrong. Couldn't shake off the feeling that Pettigrew had to be involved. The minion tending to Voldertmort, often getting barked at, getting struck, bore a strong resemblance to him.
Maybe not in height since his face was usually blurred out in the visions, but the height was similar, the mannerisms the same. And yet Harry hadn't heard anything. No break-ins at Azkaban, no attempts of escape. Nothing.
"I can tell you've been in the library. The grimace says it all."
Harry paused mid-step and looked over his shoulder. Moody emerged from the corner, leaning against his cane. "Sir."
"Dumbledore wants you in his office."
"Oh," From the hardness of the man's face, Harry had a good feeling he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of postponing the meeting. "Alright."
Moody jerked his head towards the opposite end of the hall. Harry had no other choice but to follow.
The two walked in silence. Every now and then, Harry glanced over at Moody, his jaw strung tight, bewildered by the glassy eye that spun around and around. Occasionally, Moody would meet those glances with careful ones of his own.
"Must say, Potter," he grunted minutes later. "I'm surprised I actually got a hold of you. You're a hard man to find."
Harry gave a one-shoulder shrug. "A lot of homework. And preparing for the tournament."
"And late-night wandering." Moody injected, looking right at him.
Unease tightened around the muscles of his stomach. Harry swallowed but made sure the rest of his composure was normal and steady. "Just got lost trying to find a quicker way back to my room."
"Strange how that way lead you to Snape's office, right in the middle of our conversation." Harry kept silent. Another thorough glance and Moody continued, "Even stranger that no one could see you, no one who doesn't have an modified eye that is." His good eye narrowed suspiciously. "How did you manage to do that?"
"Just the same way we do everything else: with magic." Moody's mouth formed into a displeased frown.
"I don't seem to recall any spell that can act as a map and make someone invisible."
Just as Harry didn't seem to recall a teacher being so interested in his magical methods. "The wonders you can find in a library."
Moody grunted. Harry thought that was the end of that, until, "Whatever you're doing seems to be working. You won the first task, saved two hostages in the second one. Judges might as well save everyone the trouble and give you the trophy already."
Harry tried chuckling to ease the tension coiling in his stomach, but the sound was weak and brittle to his own ears. "Not too sure about that."
"I see you got your mother's humility, Potter. And your father's bravery. Still can't understand how you were sorted into the snake pit."
Harry could barely resist rolling his eyes. Like he hadn't heard that one before.
"Ever consider following in your dad's footsteps? Becoming an Auror?"
"Um…no, sir." Funny how the thought didn't cross his mind till now. "Can't say that I have."
"I think you'd make a fine one."
Harry hummed in reply. He was never more grateful to see Dumbledore's office doors, feeling Moody's eyes pinned on him as he delivered the password to the portrait and entered the room.
One step into the office and it was like tension slipped off Harry's shoulders like a discarded cloak. Something about the room eased his mind a bit, comforted by the heavy scent of lemon drops and tea. Dumbledore wasn't inside but everything else was accounted for. His pet bird, Fawkes, sleeping on his post. The sorting hat and the sword of Godric Gryffindor Harry used to kill the basilisk second year posted on the very top of one of the many bookshelves overflowing with books.
Across from the fireplace, housing a large fire, sitting in front of the other bookshelf was a shallow stone basin with odd carvings around the edges; runes and symbols Harry didn't recognize. Silver light glowed from the basin's contents. Harry walked over to it. It was hard to tell whether it was liquid or gas. Whatever it was, it was bright, whitish-silver, like melted starlight moving ceaselessly in the pool. The surface of it ruffled like water beneath wind, and then like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. Like light-made liquid or wind-made solid.
Harry bent closer, his head inside the basin. The silvery stuff became transparent; it looked like glass. He saw a room inside it, dark and filled with people seated on benches, faces drawn and tight, pointing at one thing, then another.
The tip of his nose touched the strange substance.
Dumbledore's office gave a strong lurch-Harry was thrown and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin.
But his head didn't hit the stone bottom. He was falling through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool-
And suddenly Harry found himself sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. He looked up at the high stone ceiling, seeing nothing but dark, solid stone.
Breathing hard and fast, Harry looked around him. Not one of the witches or wizards in the room (and there were at least two hundred of them) looked at him. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that a fourteen-year old boy had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. Harry turned to the wizard next to him on the bench and uttered a loud cry of surprise that reverberated around the silent room.
He was sitting right next to Dumbledore.
"Professor!" Harry said in a kind of strangled whisper. "I'm sorry-I didn't mean to-I was just looking at the basin in your cabinet-I-where are we?"
But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored Harry completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.
Harry gazed, nonplussed, at Dumbledore, then around at the silently watchful crowd, then back at Dumbledore. And then it dawned on him…
Once before, Harry had found himself somewhere that nobody could have guessed. That time, he had fallen through a page in an enchanted diary, right into somebody else's memory…and unless he was very much mistaken, something of the sort was happening again…
Harry raised his hand, hesitated, and then waved it energetically in front of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore didn't blink, look around, or moved at all. Dumbledore wouldn't ignore him like that. He was definitely inside a memory. Not too long though, given the fact the Dumbledore sitting next to him now was silver-haired, just like the present-day Dumbledore. But what was this place? What were all these wizards waiting for?
Harry looked around more carefully. The room, as he had suspected when observing it from above, was almost certainly underground-more of a dungeon than a room. There was a bleak and forbidding air about the place; no pictures on the walls, no decorations at all. Just these serried rows of benches, rising in levels all around the room, all positioned so that they had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms.
Before Harry could reach any conclusions about the place they were in, he heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered-or at least one man, flanked by two dementors.
Harry's insides went cold. The dementors-tall, hooded creatures whose faces were concealed-were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint not that Harry could blame him…he knew the dementors couldn't touch him inside a memory, but he remembered their power too well. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.
Harry looked down at the man sitting the chair, shocked to find that it was Karkaoff of all people.
Unlike Dumbledore, Karkaoff looked much younger; his hair and goatee were black. He wasn't dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. Even as Harry watched, the chains on the arms of the chairs glowed suddenly gold and snaked their way up Karkaoff's arms, binding him there.
"Igor Karkaoff," said a curt voice to Harry's left. Harry looked around and saw Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside him. Crouch's hair was dark, his face much less lined, he looked fit and alert. "You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You claim to have some important information for us."
Karkaoff straightened himself up as best he could, tightly bound to the chair.
"I have, sir," he said, and although his voice was very scared, Harry could still hear the familiar unctuous note in it. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I-I know that the Ministry is trying to-to round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can…"
There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaoff with interest, others with pronounced mistrust. Then Harry heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledore's other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, "Filth."
Moody seated beside the headmaster, years younger, without his magical eye but his face still hard, marked with fainted scars. Both looked down at Karkaoff, eyes narrowed in intense dislike.
"Crouch is going to let him out," Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. "He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors."
Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose.
"Ah. I was forgetting….you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?" said Moody with a sardonic smile.
"No," Dumbledore answered back calmly. 'I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."
"But for filth like this…" Moody said softly.
"You say you have names for us, Karkaoff," Crouch leaned forward in his chair, distrust in his eyes. "Let us hear them then."
"You must understand," said Karkaoff hurriedly. "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy…He preferred that we-I mean to say, his supporters-and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them-"
"Get on with it," sneered Moody.
"-we never knew the names of every one of our followers-He alone knew exactly who we all were-"
"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaoff, from turning all of them in," muttered Moody.
"Yet you say you have some names for us?" Crouch questioned.
"I-I do," Karkaoff insisted. "And these are important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounced him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely-"
"The names!" Crouch demanded.
Karkaoff drew in a deep breath. "There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I-I saw him torture countless Muggles-and-and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."
"And helped him do it," Moody murmured.
"We have already apprehended Dolohov," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after yourself."
"Indeed?" Karkaoff's eyes widened in shock he barely tried to conceal. "I-I am delighted to hear it!"
But he didn't look it. Harry could tell this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names turned out to be worthless.
"Any others?" said Crouch coldly.
"Why, yes…there was Rosier, Evan Rosier."
"Rosier is dead," Crouch stated. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."
"Took a bit of me with him, though," whispered Moody to Harry's right. Harry looked around at him once more, and saw him pointing to the large chunk of his nose.
"No-no more than Rosier deserved!" Karkaoff said, a real note of panic in his voice now. Harry could see that he was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaoff's eyes darted towards the door in the corner, behind where the dementors stood still, waiting.
"Any more?" Crouch asked.
"Yes!" Desperation slithered into his tone. "There was Travers-he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber-he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"
He could tell that this time Karkaoff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together.
"Rookwood?" Crouch repeated, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"
"The very same," Karkaoff said eagerly. "I believe he used a rework of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect-"
"But Travers and Muclciber we have," said Crouch. "Very well, Karkaoff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide-"
"Not yet!" cried Karkaoff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"
Harry could see him sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the lack of his hair and beard.
"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"
Chaos descended around the room, murmurs heightening to yells and heated protests, Moody loudly adding his own input. Crouch trying to restore the order with thunderous pounds of his gavel. In the midst of all that chaos was Harry who took in a sharp, very sharp breath.
A sharp breath that felt like a massive pound of lead.
Lead that dropped on his heart.
Dropped to his stomach.
Plunging them all the way down to the depths of abyss, falling with a hard clack.
Causing him to let out that same lead-stiffen breath that was better suited for a fatally-wounded animal barely holding onto life than a fourteen year old boy.
No. Harry's head slowly moved back and forth like a pendulum rusted from years of unused, brought out for another swing. No, no, no. No, it couldn't be true. It wasn't true. Karkaoff was lying; he was just trying to save his arse-
"Snape has been cleared by this council," said Crouch disdainfully, his voice a near scream over the noise in the noise. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."
Vouched. Dumbledore. Snape, Severus. Death Eater. The words spun around and around in Harry's head like a mad carousal.
"No!" Karkaoff shouted, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"
Acid, vicious and ice-cold, laced with salt tore through Harry's insides.
Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.
"I have given evidence on his matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."
Then why did it feel as if a silent bomb went off inside Harry, blowing everything into a numbing, freezing oblivion? Why was a ringing still going through his ear, barely heard over the roar of blood rushing to his head?
He turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody, who wore a look of deep skepticism behind Dumbledore's back.
"Very well, Karkaoff," Crouch said coldly. "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime."
Crouch's voice faded. Harry looked around. The dungeon was dissolving as though it were made of smoke, everything fading away. He could only see his own body-all else was swirling darkness…
And then, the dungeon returned. Harry was sitting in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different; relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. Harry noticed a witch halfway up the row of benches opposite. She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. Rita Skeeter, years younger and still so vile. Harry looked around. Dumbledore was sitting beside him again, wearing different robes. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter…Harry understood. It was a different memory, a different day….a different trial.
The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room.
A Ludo Bagman clearly at the height of his Quidditch-playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken now; he was tall and lean and muscular. And looked nervous, almost terrified, as he sat down in the chained chair but it didn't bind him as it had with Karkaoff, and Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.
"Ludo 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 announced. "We have heard evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgment?"
Harry couldn't believe his ears. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater!
"Only," said Bagman, smiling awkwardly. "well-I know I've been a bit of an idiot-"
One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Crouch didn't appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo Bagman with an expression of utmost severity and dislike.
"You ever spoke a truer word, boy," someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore behind Harry. He looked around and saw Moody sitting there again. "If I didn't know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain…"
"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-"
An angry outcry burst from the surrounding benches. Several of the witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their hands, and even their fists, at Crouch.
"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's babble, his round blue eyes widening. "None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of my dad's….never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on…once my Quidditch days are over, you..I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"
There were titters from the crowd.
"It will be put to the vote," said Crouch coldly. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon. "The jury will please raise their hands…those in favor of imprisonment…"
Harry looked toward the right-hand side of the dungeon. Not one person raised their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One of the witches on the jury stood up.
"Yes?" Crouch barked.
"We'd just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday," the witch said breathlessly.
Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman got to his feet and bowed, beaming.
"Despicable," Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. "Rookwood get him a job indeed…The day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a sad day for the Ministry…"
And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Harry looked around. He and Dumbledore were still sitting beside Crouch, but the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands.
Harry looked up at Crouch and saw that he looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple.
"Bring them in," he said, and his voice echoed through the silence dungeon.
The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. Harry saw the people in the crowd turn up look up at Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another.
The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood up on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch. A thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd. A frighteningly-beautiful woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne. And a boy in his late teens, who looking nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy-little witch beside Crouch began to rock back and forth in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.
Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, pure hatred carved onto his face.
"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he stated. "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous-"
"Father," said the boy with straw-colored hair. "Father…please…"
"that we have rarely heard the likes of it within this court," said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice. "We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror-Frank Longbottom-and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have the knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-"
"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in the chains below. "I didn't, I swear it, Father don't send me back to the dementors-"
"You are further accused," bellowed Crouch. "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury-"
"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking back and forth. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"
"I now ask the jury," shouted Crouch. "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"
In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream.
"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!"
The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"
But the boy was trying to fight off the dementors, even though Harry could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued to struggle.
"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"
"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"
The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.
"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"
"Father! Father! I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"
"I think, Harry, it is time to return to my office," said a quiet voice in Harry's ear.
Harry started. He looked around. Then he looked on his other side.
There was Albus Dumbledore sitting on his right, watching Crouch's son being dragged away by the dementors-and there was an Albus Dumbledore on his left, looking right at him.
"Come," said the Dumbledore on his left, and he put his hand under Harry's elbow. Harry felt himself rising into the air, the dungeon dissolving around him. For a moment, all was blackness, and the he felt as though he had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing on his feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of him, and Albus Dumbledore was standing beside him.
"Professor," Harry gasped. "I know I shouldn't've-I didn't mean-"
"It's quite alright, my boy. I understand." Dumbledore said. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it up the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Harry to sit down opposite him.
Harry did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath his gaze.
"I'm sure you are familiar with a Pensieve." said Dumbledore.
Harry was more so used to seeing them from the pages of books Severus sent him. He knew Uncle Lucius had one at the manor, kept under heavy lock and key.
"I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind. At those times," Dumbledore nodded towards the basin. "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's lecture. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."
"You mean…that's stuff your thoughts?" Harry stared at the swirling white substance.
"Thoughts, memories."
Harry's blood ran cold. He gripped onto the arm rests so tightly, he felt the bones stretching out the skin of his knuckles.
Dumbledore examined his face. "You look pale, my boy. Think you could use some tea." He snapped his fingers and a tray of hot tea and tiny handless mugs and a plate of scones whirled over to them.
Harry bit into the scone, the pastry sawdust in his mouth. "So what I saw...what I heard…it was real?"
Dumbledore cocked his head to the side, watching him closely. "What did you see?"
"Crouch and his son." The boy's desperate pleas still echoed in Harry's head. "Those people who were with him…Bagman…Karkaoff and what he…"
Dumbledore inclined for him to go on with a soft nod of his head.
"What Crouch said…about what his son and those people did to Neville's parents? Was that actually true?"
Dumbledore let out a sigh that sounded like it came from deep within. "It is absolutely extraordinary and tragic how two boys, both born at the end of July, suffer similar heartbreak early on in life. One whose parents lost their lives, the other whose parents lost their minds."
Poor Neville. Harry's heart went out to his friend. He knew his parents were gone, which was why he lived with his less-than-warm grandmother, but Harry thought gone as in dead, like his own were. But knowing what happened to them, reading about the effects the Curse could have, especially if inflicted repeatedly for hours at time, death would have been a mercy.
How long ago did that happen? Crouch said they captured Neville's father because they believed he had information that could help bring back their master. Did it happen shortly after his parents died? Months later? A year?
Questioned burnt at Harry's tongue, but one look at Dumbledore's face told him that he wouldn't say much on the subject of Neville's parents. It wouldn't have been right anyway. That was between Neville and his family. Still, Harry had other questions, one that related back to the first trial he witnessed, where the startling information, Karkaoff's words, resurfaced and lashed like a slap against his face.
"Karkaoff-he-he was trying to make a deal with Crouch. Gave up the names of Death Eaters he knew. In-including Severus."
Dumbledore blinked once but didn't move.
"He…he was lying, right, sir? He had to be. There's no-no way Severus would ever do that. He-he…"
He waited anxiously for Dumbledore to cast his fears with a smile, to agree that Karkaoff was a liar, of course he was a liar, to say that it wasn't true.
But Dumbledore simply stared back at him; eyes clear as a cloudless sky.
From the faint consciousness of his mind that wasn't spiraling into a void, Harry picked up the sound of shattered porcelain. He could feel the spilled tea seeping into his shoes. But most of his attention was focused on the snap he felt break inside him like a bone, a snap that went on and on, bending this way and that, the cracked fragments dropping all the way down to the pit of his stomach.