Cornelius Fudge stood in front of the fireplace, his lime green bowler hat clasped to his chest. Behind him, the emerald flames spurted out high before subsiding. He looked around him, sniffing the air for a whiff of perfume.

"Rita is gone, is she? You haven't told her anything important, I hope, Dumbledore?"

"I declined all comment until the official interviews take place," Albus assured him. "She eventually left. Please, have a seat, Cornelius."

The portly wizard shuffled towards the chair in front of the desk. At this early hour, he appeared harried, though not as bad-tempered as the situation might have warranted. Albus flicked his wand, and a pot of tea with two cups and a plateful of biscuits materialised between them. It was to no avail: even as Fudge eyed them, he touched nothing.

"Bad times, Dumbledore," he started, shaking his head. "These are very bad times. Two Hogwarts champions! It's an international scandal; I don't know where to even begin addressing it. Karkaroff has made sure to reach out to the Ministries of Magic in Bulgaria, Ukraine, and Norway, as well as the Durmstrang board of governors—I've been bombarded by owls since six o'clock… Talk about Sunday being a day of rest—barely got any sleep. How do you think it came to pass?"

The headmaster held his gaze. It was essential that he choose his words cautiously, for any indiscretion could bring about devastating consequences. The Ministry was an ever-changing web of political alliances; certain resentments, however, never faded, and Fudge's favour protected Hogwarts from the ambitious individuals who would have liked nothing better than to claim it.

"I believe someone wishes to harm Harry, Cornelius. This wasn't done by a teenager. Not only did the perpetrator submit the boy's name under a fourth school; he also managed to evade the attention of all the ghosts and portraits on duty."

"Merlin's beard!" The minister had almost dropped his hat in dismay. "You are certain then this isn't Mr Potter's doing? It's just, Dolores thought… since, you know, teenagers like to be noticed, and Mr Potter has been known to behave in a rash manner in the past—what with his escape from his aunt and uncle's house and inflating a Muggle—well, Dolores thought it wouldn't be far-fetched to assume this… was a practical joke of sorts."

He glanced imploringly at Albus, hoping no doubt to receive a solution for removing Harry from the competition and issuing a formal apology to all the parties involved.

There was nothing for it: one way or another, he would find out. Delving into his top drawer, the older wizard produced the slip of paper that bore the boy's signature.

"I wish you were right. Sadly, the truth is much more sinister. This is Harry's own handwriting, lifted no doubt from his homework. The perpetrator knew the champions couldn't back out of a magical contract of this nature, and he made sure Harry was bound to compete."

Fudge groaned, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. "My dear man, this… well, it rather complicates things, doesn't it? Who could it be? And why would they do such a thing?"

It was tempting to answer sincerely… yet much too precarious. The minister was nowhere near ready to hear of Lord Voldemort's return without palpable evidence on hand, not to mention he was the sort of man who would always opt for the path of least resistance. Albus therefore settled for a half-truth.

"I dare say it was a Death Eater. Those are the wizards who loathe Harry the most."

The pronouncement made Fudge blanch. "A Death Eater at Hogwarts?! Surely not!"

"I do hope I'm mistaken. Naturally, it's our priority to protect Harry and track down the culprit."

"Hmm… yes, yes, of course, protect the child, yes…" The politician was no longer listening; behind his vague agreements, he seemed to be weighing his options, none of which proved satisfying. "I must speak to Dolores; she will have an idea, yes… She loves children—a charming woman—let me see if I can get her to Hogwarts to help you. Yes, ahem, so… how did they succeed in creating a binding magical contract for Harry? I'm sorry, you must have mentioned it already; I'm just so shocked. Merlin's beard!" He shifted with an uneasy grimace. "Does… err, Harry know anything? Has he been questioned thoroughly?"

While Albus had expected to hear something of this nature, the idea of Dolores Umbridge setting foot at his school elicited a single thought: over my dead body. In essence, that witch was as vile as Vinda Rosier—only, she did not have the latter's good looks to deceive her victims.

"Yes, we have questioned Harry," he said neutrally. "Last night's events came as a harrowing shock to him. If I may, Cornelius: at a time like this, the entire world's eyes will be fixed on our country, and the Ministry. Now more than ever, you will need Miss Umbridge by your side. Her work ethics will be invaluable when it comes to fending off your ill-wishers."

"Good man, you're right! Look at me, forgetting all about my own ratings!" Fudge shook his head again, inviting the headmaster in on a joke. "You are completely right: I need Dolores now more than ever. She's lovely, you know—eh, professionally speaking, that is," he added quickly. "My best employee, she is: very thorough and loyal, and has the Ministry's best interests at heart. It's more than you can say about most witches nowadays… Where was I? Oh, yes, you didn't quite clarify how they succeeded in creating a binding magical contract for Harry Potter without his knowledge. Could you please repeat that part? I will tell Dolores word for word."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the man's complete submission to Dolores, Albus pointed towards the slip of paper.

"The perpetrator needed Harry's authentic signature. To this effect, he likely stole one of the boy's essays and plucked the name, as well as the name of a fourth wizarding school, scribbled in Harry's handwriting. The moment the goblet made its choice, the magical contract came into force."

"May I?" Fudge was frowning at the parchment, intent on examining it.

With a nod, Albus waited for the inevitable to happen. It did not take a minute.

"Hmm, Uagadou. Interesting… I will ask Dolores to pull out the full list of your employees from the archives. Remind me, isn't one of your teachers African? A Dark witch?"

"No." Albus made a conscious effort to keep his voice from hardening; he still could not afford angering the minister. Yet no one was going to hurt Aurora while he lived. "Professor Sinistra is half-Nigerian, but she is an entirely Light witch. She has played no more part in this unfortunate incident than you or I."

Fudge considered him, and for the first time, a sympathetic smile lit his face.

"Oh, but you always want to see the best in people. Like I often say, old Crouch is too hard on you: he claims you will believe any tosh Dark wizards throw at you. I've set him straight—I said, Dumbledore may be a little naïve, but he's not completely daft. But my dear man, I now feel that old Crouch, unpleasant as he is—we can be frank between ourselves, can we not?—anyway, old Crouch may have a point. You are too good. And those African witches—can we really trust them? Secretive, malicious… I will have Dolores look into her. For your own good, you know."

"You are very kind, Cornelius." The headmaster felt himself flushing, though it was from exasperation, not gratitude. "But tell me this: even if Professor Sinistra had a reason to dislike and sabotage Harry—which she does not—why would she submit the boy's name under her own school and thus make herself the prime suspect?"

"Ah, well, between you and me, how bright can those African wizards be? They don't even use wands, for Merlin's sake!" Fudge waved his hand dismissively. "Don't you worry, Dumbledore, Dolores has a knack for making even the most slippery liars confess. You will see, if there is so much as a speck on her CV—and there is bound to be—we will unravel this whole mess soon enough. And then we'll issue the formal apologies, and my ratings will go up. I mean, that's beside the point, but you know, high ratings are a good thing in politics… A good thing indeed."

Albus would have expected Dolores Umbridge alone to express such views; hearing them from Fudge's lips shocked him. When had this gullible yet rather mild-mannered politician become so prejudiced and offensive? Between him and Karkaroff, it was difficult to decide who was more self-centred. Not all of it could be due to Umbridge's influence either—if a man was incorruptible, not even a skilled manipulator could leave a dent in his principles.

There was much he longed to say in response. For instance, the fact that Aurora was among the purest and kindest people he had ever met and that arresting an innocent witch would mean playing right into the Death Eater's hands, lending him free reign. He wished to point out that condemning Hagrid to Azkaban two years previously had not only traumatised the poor gamekeeper; it would have positively resulted in a catastrophe, had it not been for Harry. He was desperate to assert it was high time Fudge learned from his mistakes. Only, he had seen enough to understand his reasoning would fall on deaf ears. To protect his Astronomy teacher, he had to beat the minister at his own game.

"In that case, there is something I ought to tell you." He leaned forward, feigning confidential familiarity. "Professor Sinistra is engaged to a Ministry official from Uagadou. I would suggest Miss Umbridge be careful—a diplomatic scandal is easy to arouse and difficult to smooth over. With all the additional work on your plate, this is the last thing the Ministry needs."

"Oh?" Fudge blinked, genuinely surprised. "Oh, yes, in that case… hmm, such a pity. Nothing is ever easy, is it? Oh, well, we're not getting anywhere. Harry Potter is to compete, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so." The headmaster sighed; his expression then softened into one of comforting support. "Alastor and I will keep an eye on the boy and protect him, whatever it takes. And I know Harry: he will do his utmost to succeed, danger notwithstanding. Why not use this to your advantage? If he and Cedric Diggory perform well in the tournament, it will reflect well on the entire Ministry."

The other wizard was not mollified. "Well, I don't see how so. You know, Dolores likes to say you shouldn't reward rule-breakers, and I must say… such a scandal. So many owls I've received already, and I bet another pile is already waiting for me. Sweet Merlin… No, no, if we let him compete, if he wins… nobody will like it, that much I promise. My ratings will plummet for sure. And as much as I hate to admit it, it would be best if that… eh, Viking Krum won. We would apologise, Karkaroff would be satisfied, and he'd stop his threats of international investigations. What a shame! That affair with Harry Potter has ruined everything for us. I would otherwise have rooted for Amos's boy. He's bright, Amos says."

Albus bit his lip and refrained from commenting on the prediction. "What does Barty Crouch think of all this?"

"You know, now that you mention it…" Fudge's features cleared, as if in anticipation of juicy gossip. "I asked old Barty for help the other day, and he told me to mind my own business, that his own work was quite enough! Can you imagine? That wizard lives for work. And ever since his wife passed away and the whole nasty business with his son happened—well, you know old Barty practically lives in his office; in fact, I'm positive I glimpsed a mattress there once or twice. And now, he waves me off so casually, I couldn't believe my ears! I told Dolores all about it. That young assistant of his blushed beet red, but Barty didn't look at me twice."

"I see." For an instant, Albus wavered. Were he and Gellert mistaken in postponing the search of Barty Crouch's home? For all his faults, Fudge was right: this was most irregular where Crouch was concerned. "Last night, I had an inkling he was very unwell—ill or otherwise careworn. Given the circumstances, I had no chance to ask."

"Barty Crouch, ill?" For the first time, the politician dissolved into chuckles. "No, no, light must have played a trick on you there, old chap. No, Barty Crouch is certainly not ill—rude is what he is. More so than usual—and towards me, his Minister for Magic, of all people. Maybe I should have Dolores issue him a disciplinary warning. Yes, yes, I will do just that. This much, at least, I can fix."

He then heaved a sigh.

"Well, I believe that will be all, old chap. I'll take that piece of parchment with me, show it to Dolores. We are bound to find something on this African witch; I'll let you know as soon as possible—if the owls don't peck me apart. I swear Karkaroff has found the rudest creatures in existence; they all bite and… ahem, leave droppings behind."

Sure enough, when he stood up, an unsightly stain on the left leg of his trousers became prominent.

"Best of luck, Cornelius."

Albus watched him disappear in the fireplace and did not waste a second. He had to speak to Aurora before it became too late. He only hoped Harry was as safe as he had ever been with the loyal house-elf tailing his every step.

He liked visiting his Astronomy teacher: her room was light, scented with a faint fragrance, and decorated with colourful ornaments. The sound of enchanted drums purified the magic in the air. The door had been left ajar, and the witch's huge dark eyes appeared in the aperture at the first knock.

"Come in, headmaster," she said, smiling. "May I offer you some scones? I just finished baking them—though to tell the truth, I never know if I've got them right. From tea, I have rooibos orange and vanilla—which one do you prefer?"

"Orange sounds divine." He smiled back. "Good morning, Aurora. I'm sorry for disturbing you so early, and at breakfast, no less."

"No, no, I'm glad you've come." She invited him to make himself comfortable, hitching up the sleeves of her turquoise dressing robe before heading for the kettle. "I imagine anyone else would have summoned me for a formal questioning."

She was referring to the previous night's events. While the staff members had been congratulating Professor Sprout, she had remained immobile, staring at the goblet, as if foreseeing trouble.

"There is no need for it," he assured her, "having a premonition isn't a crime. I wager that's exactly what occurred yesterday."

He seated himself on a fluffy chair in front of a coffee table, which showcased a curious wooden statuette: an elephant, a zebra, and a rhinoceros standing on top of each other, their muzzles emitting soft sounds. A whiff of rooibos tea carried across the room. Aurora came to join him, a tray in her hands.

"It was almost… simultaneous," she confessed. "Dinner was delicious, and for a minute, I… I fell asleep. Olympe nudged me awake, interrupting my dream, and then, it was as if my dream was playing out again." She grinned bashfully. "I'm not very good at this, to be completely honest: Mama Lucille suspected I'd been taught to reason like a ti blanc."

Albus furrowed his brows, concerned. "What did you See?"

"I Saw the goblet turning red once more. That's what confused me because I thought we'd already drawn all three names."

This made sense.

"The slip of parchment that came out of the goblet had Uagadou written under Harry's name," he admitted gravely.

Aurora's eyes widened in shock; instinctively, she lowered her teacup. "Uagadou?"

"The culprit has a nasty sense of humour." The headmaster shifted in his seat. "I just had a brief meeting with Cornelius Fudge. It could have gone worse, and yet… Have you ever met his undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge?"

Aurora shook her head. "No, I've never even been to the Ministry. You were kind enough to handle all the paperwork when I came to work here. The closest I've ever come to the Ministry was getting their confirmation letter, which informed me they'd received a copy of my signed contract of loyalty towards Hogwarts."

"That's good," he mused. "I'm afraid Fudge possesses a prejudiced side; some of his decisions are only driven by ignorant opportunism. I've had to tell him a lie. I said you were engaged to a Ministry official from Uagadou—someone who would not hesitate to add to the scandal, should they even think of questioning you."

"Oh?" This came as just as great a surprise to the witch. "They suspect me? But… surely, this is just a coincidence. It could have been any school, as long as the handwriting belonged to Harry Potter. Which it does, doesn't it?"

One could tell she knew as little as the rest of them. While she was piecing the clues together, the full implications of his words were yet to sink in.

"What will happen to the poor boy now?" she carried on. "Harry is a good student, I know—well, not that good at Astronomy, if we are frank, but still—he excels at many subjects. Yet the other contestants have more experience, and then there are the challenges themselves… We are not allowed to help him, are we?"

It was impossible not to admire her for thinking of others' safety first.

"Not really—I am not, at any rate, due to the Ministry's binding agreements," he replied, touched. "I will see what can be done, though; nothing is more important than keeping him safe." He leaned in, taking one of her hands in his own. "However, we must keep you safe as well. There are people out there who mean harm, and Dolores Umbridge is, unfortunately, one of them. When it comes to eliminating someone exceptional or bright or popular, any pretext will do. Do you know someone in Uagadou who could corroborate my lie for your sake? The more powerful the official, the better. This way, the Ministry will leave you alone for good."

This time, Aurora understood exactly what he meant.

"Oh… I see," she uttered slowly. "I… I will speak to my dad… he's bound to know someone. It's just… I will speak to my dad. Thank you, headmaster—for warning me, and protecting me. I would never have thought something like this could happen. Thank you."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm just as stunned as you are. But I won't let anything threaten you or Harry." His conversation with Gellert and the crime scene he had examined in Albania floated to the forefront of his mind. "Sometimes I wonder if the world has gone insane. But then I encounter people like you or my adoptive children in Italy, and I realise every coin has two sides."

"You have adoptive children?" This spiked her curiosity. "In Italy? How come?"

In a few words, he explained his personal history, not omitting his visit to Durmstrang nor his later reunion with both Giacomo and Justice.

"It would probably have been impossible nowadays," he concluded regretfully. "Durmstrang is a far cry from what it used to be. Speaking of which, has Karkaroff been bothering you lately?"

"No, no, I've been careful not to come downstairs in the morning." An undertone of mirth entered Aurora's voice. "Also, the Bloody Baron helped me out once. Is it something I have you to thank for?"

"Perhaps." He smiled. "Maybe Karkaroff is merely a satisfying target to frighten. I'd better think how we'll tackle this problem around the Yule Ball; there won't be… ahem, too many male dancers on hand, I'm afraid. Maybe we ought to resort to the old-fashioned custom—the dance cards. Having every dance assigned in advance to a specific partner. Not very spontaneous, but old customs have their charm."

The young witch flashed him a smile.

"You are devious, headmaster. I like it."

There was comfortable silence while they munched scones with cream and jam and sipped their tea. Having eaten nothing since the feast, Albus fought to mind his manners and stop at two scones.

"If I may, how do your premonitions manifest?" he asked. "Are they flashes of the imminent future?"

Aurora nodded. "In Sakrémaji, it is possible to train your ti bon ange, for the lack of a better word. Eventually, some wizards become very proficient at it. I, on the other hand, have never really got the hang of it. I only see the glimpses deities send me when I'm asleep." She smiled then. "I'm not complaining, though; in Sakrémaji, you can't demand any powers that you don't naturally possess—it's one of the fundamental rules of this magic, if a frequently misunderstood one. I'm grateful to have what I have."

"That is a wise approach. I feel as though Western magic has distanced itself from spirituality long ago, focusing on raw dynamics. At Durmstrang, on the other hand, they used to provide a more thorough and rounded education. I wish I'd studied the astral projection: releasing your ti bon ange into the realms… A dangerous practice, true, but a humbling one nonetheless."

"Oh, yes, it's very special," she agreed. "But one has to learn it well since there are higher magicks all around us—and witch-hunters are always on the lookout. Usually, one learns to exercise caution first, and then it's safe to release your ti bon ange into the world. Of course, one must never use those skills to cause harm. It's not that different from the Apparition etiquette, but very special still."

Wiping his hands on a napkin, Albus picked his teacup, his eyes wistful. "I hope one day, Hogwarts will become ready for such subjects." It was an optimistic wish, but one he could not discard. "If you don't mind my question, what is your Haitian mentor like?"

"Mama Lucille?" Aurora clarified enthusiastically. "She's quite the witch, I'll tell you that. A remarkable woman, one of the kind. She is not to be crossed, but not for the reasons the MACUSA would have you believe; she is openly against the Statute of Secrecy, you see. That's why the MACUSA has been conducting entire campaigns to dehumanise her, so that people would believe her to be a dangerous Dark witch. And in all honesty, she is dangerous, but fair too—she respects the art of Sakrémaji and teaches the others to follow in her footsteps. I have nothing but humble admiration and respect for Mama Lucille."

"If I am fortunate, I might meet her one day," came his warm answer.

If mambo Lucille was opposed to the Statute of Secrecy—and Haiti was notorious for not enforcing this ancient law—he could vividly imagine the backlash she had suffered from the part of the MACUSA. Seraphina Picquery had been in power since the start of the century, and while she had lost her presidency in the late twenties and had later relinquished political dominance, she obstinately refused to retire. Drifting from post to post, she maintained her views on the pure-blood supremacy… which inevitably entailed the Statute of Secrecy, for not even American wizards—most of whom were pure-bloods—could consider exposing themselves to Muggles without abolishing their strict segregation. The political reasons aside, Albus had a personal reason to dislike Madam Picquery. Had Gellert's sentence been hers to determine, the German wizard would not be alive at this point.

"I vitally disagree with the Statute of Secrecy," he declared. "Only, I believe its breach has to be gradual, controlled, and well-thought through."

"Oh, absolutely." There was solemnity to Aurora's approval. "I mean, Muggles already know magic exists. It's more about teaching magic the right way, as Mama Lucille does it." She sighed. "It's such a mess, isn't it? All the magical communities go their separate ways. Take Uagadou—the whole country is even more secretive than Durmstrang. I'm not sure any more if it's a good thing."

"Did your mother find it difficult to live there?" he enquired, interested. "She is a Muggle, I believe—I'm sorry if I'm mistaken."

"That's right; she's from Cornwall," the witch explained with a nod. "Dad is a magus from Nigeria. I believe they were meant to be. Dad tried to… well, warn her, I suppose; he said she would find his way of life to be a challenge. My mum thought he was only referring to his colour; she had no idea there was more to it. And there was so much more. Then again, it's only because dad is a Nigerian magus that Uagadou let us in as refugees when the war started in Britain. I saw it all from a child's perspective; everything was new to me. When you get admitted to Uagadou, you don't learn magic straight away: your first year of studies is dedicated to learning the Uadou ways, language, and culture. Outsiders tend to forget it's an entire country we are talking about, hidden in plain sight and open to everyone on the African continent—in exceptional cases, even from beyond—who is willing to embrace the Uadou laws and customs. The transition was easy for me because I was a child, but my mum… she missed Cornwall and felt very lonely, being a Muggle among wizards and living so far away from home, in a strange place with strange people who practiced such strange habits. She insisted I learn to bake scones from scratch without magic. It used to annoy me. Now I understand she did this so that I would never forget my English roots and would respect my non-maji heritage as much as I have naturally grown to respect my magical one. My mum and dad love each other very deeply. This love is what held us all together during the hard days."

"Love is the most beautiful, the most powerful magic we have," Albus said, moved by her story. He reached out to gently press her fingers once more. "Your parents must be very proud of you. And it would be wonderful to have a subject here at Hogwarts that would teach our students about the wizarding schools across the world. One day, when the scandal dies down…"

The young witch responded by squeezing his hand back with equal gentleness.

"I'm very sorry, headmaster," she said sincerely. "I was very excited about this tournament. After everything Mama Lucille has taught me, I understand how important it is for us to accept and respect each other, even if it's only as fellow witches and wizards. The tournament would otherwise have been such a perfect opportunity to get to know each other. And now, with the scandal… It's a pity. And I am truly very sorry."

She bit her lip and spoke no more. Both were conscious of the fact that the international turmoil, which stemmed from Harry's name being placed in the Goblet of Fire, would hamper the cooperation between the three prominent European schools of magic for the decades to come.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of paperwork: there were meetings to arrange, letters to post, the teachers' reports to peruse, and details of the future events to settle. Albus took lunch in his office while poring over stacks of documents. Towards three in the afternoon, an owl brought him a Confidential envelope from Fudge. It contained a note from the minister, as well as Aurora's CV, which he found annotated in pink ink.

Two straight lines highlighted the most recent entry in the section labelled Education:

1985-1987: Study of Sakrémaji under the tutelage of mambo Lucille R. A. Le Fleur, Haiti

The last word had been circled and connected by an arrow to a comment written in Dolores Umbridge's own hand:

Unregulated community without a proper Ministry of Magic, at the mercy of competing priests with different degrees of practice of the Dark Arts in front of Muggles

Another circle had been drawn around mambo Lucille's name. Umbridge's verdict left no room for interpretation:

Dangerous Dark witch, blacklisted by the MACUSA, evaded arrest since the 1950s!

Arching an eyebrow at the pink exclamation marks peppered throughout the text, Albus peered at Fudge's note.

The case looks clear-cut to me, it proclaimed. With occupations like this, she was lucky to find such prestigious employment. When this is over, we really need to talk about your employees—Hogwarts is the only school we have, and its residents should reflect our community with the dignity it deserves. Don't take it as criticism, old chap; you must have thought, as usual, you were extending a helping hand, but some witches and wizards are beyond saving, and it's not your fault. Try to find out—as discreetly as you can—how influential that fiancé of hers is. If he holds one of the lower positions in Uagadou, Dolores is confident she can avoid a diplomatic rift. Trust me, arresting this witch will improve the public mood and put a stop to the international complaints.

Scowling in disgust, the headmaster brushed the two sheets of parchment aside. His gaze landed on Aurora's smiling picture at the top of her CV, and he fleetingly wondered whether the witch's youth and beauty had sufficed to trigger Umbridge's jealous fury. As much as it frustrated him, there was nothing he could do until Aurora's father got involved.

He buried himself in the Arithmancy class register. Each of the teachers had sent him a weekly report, and he intended to read them all by dinnertime before dedicating himself to a fresh batch of correspondence. Such was the plan, at least: a plan that did not take into account his exhaustion or his mind's determination to linger on the disturbing sights he had glimpsed in Albania. He never noticed when the words and numbers blurred before his eyes, his fingers releasing the quill.

A long while of dark and confused dreams later, Albus jolted awake, his senses alert. Someone was in the office with him, having just Apparated with a loud pop. He straightened up, wincing at his pounding headache, and hastily adjusted his spectacles, which had cut into his face while he had been asleep.

Villy, the loyal house-elf he had instructed to protect Harry from afar, was observing him with alarmed yellow eyes.

"Forgive me, Villy." He cleared his throat. "I must have dosed off—and for longer than I thought. Has Harry already gone to bed?"

The elf nodded, ready to share her day's events. Harry, she announced, had spent his Sunday in Miss Granger's company, first taking a walk by the lake before posting a letter to his godfather. After lunch, he had taken refuge in the solitude of the Quidditch Pitch and had gone to bed early. Much of his distress was due to his argument with his closest friend, Ronald Weasley, from the night before. The boys no longer spoke to each other.

Albus listened restlessly. Could it be the undercover Death Eater had managed to poison young Weasley's mind? The idea was gone as quickly as it had come—that boy's behaviour was the product of childish envy, pure and simple.

"Is there an item Harry carries on him at all times?"

"Harry Potter wears a watch, sir. He puts it on first thing in the morning."

This was excellent news. Pulling out his wand, Albus requested that the object be fetched, and Villy obliged. The watch was a worn one with a creased wristband, but it was in fine working condition, which meant Harry would continue wearing it out of habit. It was the ideal accessory to enchant for the boy's protection.

With a few flicks of the Elder Wand, the Tracking Charm was in place, and Villy disappeared to return the watch to Harry's bedside table. Pleased that something had gone right at last, Albus stood up. If he were to finish the day's workload, he needed a breath of fresh air; the courtyard would do.

It was late, but not everyone had yet retired for the night. On the second floor, Alastor Moody's voice came floating from his office.

"Albus, old mate, are you all right?"

The headmaster turned and saw the Auror standing at the open door, both eyes fixed on him.

"You look unwell."

"I'm all right." Albus pressed a hand to his forehead, wishing his headache away. "Truly, I'm fine. I was going to tell you… I think our most pressing issue has been solved."

"You mean Potter?" Alastor limped closer.

"That's right. I believe Harry is in danger of being kidnapped. After some deliberation, I put a Tracking Charm on him—this way, no one can lead him out of the castle grounds without my knowledge." He smiled through the pain. "I hope this might make your job a little easier."

Moody seemed taken aback by his assessment. "You think he will be kidnapped? But isn't it more likely they are trying to harm Potter and disguise it as an accident, like we discussed?"

"It's what I thought at first." Albus shook his head. "It's an illusion they want us to believe. In reality, I'm positive they are waiting for the coast to clear, waiting for us to tackle the aftermath of the scandal, so that Harry is left unprotected. I can't take any chances."

For a moment, Alastor said nothing; he pondered the news. It was with a bemused expression that he expelled a breath.

"It… makes sense. Damn!" He made a gesture of disbelief. "Good deduction there, old friend. And to think I didn't realise it! I'm getting old… You should be the Auror."

"Don't say that," the headmaster objected softly. "I didn't work it out on my own. Two minds are always better than one."

He could only pray the same applied to the matter of Aurora's safety. One complication had been lifted off their shoulders; another one remained to be dealt with.