As the second half of January wore on, the public interest in Hagrid's appointment was waning, a case of fraud at Gringotts having captured the attention of the press. It could be argued Rita Skeeter's succession of articles on goblins was a direct continuation of the hostile trend surrounding magical beings; even so, the relief of the Hogwarts staff was palpable. They could tell the petitioners would neither forgive nor forget their failure; no one, however, possessed the legal power to stop Hagrid from teaching. Filled with determination, the half-giant had agreed to follow in Wilhelmina's footsteps, and not one complaint had accompanied his new lessons. It was time to settle accounts with the witch.
On Friday morning, Albus received Professors McGonagall and Grubbly-Plank at his office for their favourite sort of meeting: informal breakfast. The teachers' tired features left it plain they happily anticipated the weekend.
"Do you have anything planned for the days ahead?" he asked while the three of them settled at a desk laden with porridge, toast, and eggs.
"If I'm honest, you will not believe me," Minerva declared.
The other witch chuckled. "Are you going to spend the bulk of them sleeping in your tabby form?"
This earned her an eye roll. "Clever, but after such a nerve-racking start to the term, you aren't far from the truth. What about you?"
"I have to find an arrangement for my plants. I've been training garden gnomes—not very successfully, I'm afraid."
"Ah, yes, the two of you will be going on an adventure, eh?" Minerva considered the headmaster. "Albus, I always knew Mina would find a way of luring you to the Pyrenees, but maybe you should stay. I fear that awful woman might still have access to the grounds, and last time, she showed up the second you were gone."
The same concern had been nibbling on his mind. Everything about Rita was infuriating: her blatant disregard for other wizards, her readiness to use children in her drama, her impunity. Had Severus agreed to educate Draco Malfoy on proper conduct—the boy's parents seeming to provide a rather poor example—one small victory could have resulted from the scandal. But no.
"Some of the students might have sought her out," he remarked. "It does worry me, though. I won't be gone for long—a day or two at the most. Is it all right, Mina, if we set out after the second task?"
His hopes of returning to Haiti within two or three weeks had been thwarted by his heavy workload. The witch nodded.
"Naturally, naturally. Only… are we sure Hagrid is going to be all right? You know him best, Albus."
He heaved a sigh. "Hagrid possesses all the required knowledge and more; trouble occurs when he allows himself to get distracted by new projects and strays from the syllabus. What I need is to find a way of motivating him so that it won't become a habit." Even as the words left his lips, he was aware people could not be changed, not in meaningful ways. "Mentoring could be a method worth trying."
"Well, it was never my intention to doubt Hagrid's skill." The faintest note of defence had tinged the witch's voice. "At the end of the day, we all are creatures of some kind. How you treat a creature isn't lost on anyone, and Hagrid… well, he is a sensitive creature, I must say."
"I have to agree," Minerva added. "What if a student disrespects him? We don't even know if Severus has talked to his House. How are we to mentor Hagrid, Albus?"
A snort caused all three of them to look up. On the portrait wall, Phineas Nigellus was sneering in his frame.
"What an interesting example of corruption. Dance around it all you want; the giant, simply put, is unfit. Too touchy—that, I believe, is the word you are so diligently trying to avoid—and much too dangerous. Back in my time, I would have found a replacement ages ago. And you—all you do is cover for him at the expense of children's education."
Wilhelmina scowled at the painting.
"Then we are all glad these aren't your times any longer, Mr Black."
Albus could only concur. For too long they had danced to the pure-bloods' tune; the days of the British blood supremacy were over, and certain families had to face the facts.
"There are different types of education, Phineas. Children have to learn to respect all beings, not only a few select individuals." He turned back towards the witches. "I don't like the idea of increasing your duties; rather, I thought a third party could help us—a guest lecturer, such as Mr Scamander. We could organise seminars for the fifth and seventh years with an emphasis on the exam topics. This way, numerous parents would be appeased and Hagrid's morale would be boosted."
The proposal was met with enthusiasm.
"Oh, yes! Mr Scamander is an excellent choice!"
"It will do Hagrid some good." Minerva smiled. "He loves Mr Scamander. I've heard they would frequently talk over tea in the old days."
Mina laughed. "I didn't know that. Same as Mr Potter?"
"Well, not entirely: Mr Scamander attended before Hagrid. But whenever he came over—Albus, you remember—he would always stop by at Hagrid's."
The magizoologist cleared her throat. "Speaking of Hagrid's friends, the Potter boy is stubborn."
There was another smile, one of pride. "My lions are loyal; don't take it to heart." Minerva addressed Albus. "Mr Potter really wanted Hagrid back—he even attacked poor Mina here."
Caught mid-sip, the wizard froze. "Come again?"
"Oh, in a figurative sense." Wilhelmina waved a soothing hand. "It's merely to say I felt attacked: during my first class, he asked about Hagrid so vehemently, not even trying to enjoy the lesson, that I may have complained to Minerva."
"As I said, don't take it to heart; sometimes, my Gryffindors need a firm hand."
Albus set down his cup. "I'm very sorry, Mina. You as good as saved the start of the term, and I wish your stay could have been completely—"
The door burst open with a bang. An agitated Argus Filch charged in, eyes bulging, his gestures wild.
"Headmaster, Peeves has been stealing!" he rasped. "He is dangerous, he—oh."
Taking in the three teachers, he seemed to realise he had intruded on a meeting. Mrs Norris entered behind him, a little ragged in appearance, if as graceful as any feline, or so Albus had always felt. This time, he was too perplexed to take his gaze off the caretaker.
"Are you all right, Mr Filch? What happened?"
The man recovered his indignation. "Peeves broke into a teacher's office and stole from a student! We must kick him out this instant!"
He regarded the headmaster, as if expecting him to stand up and personally remove the poltergeist from the premises. The cat eyed the breakfast table just as hopefully before emitting a loud meow.
"Ooh, hello there!" Wilhelmina beamed. "Are you hungry, lovely?"
"She can catch mice, Mina," whispered Minerva, who had never been fond of the grey animal.
Conscious no doubt that Mrs Norris was shifting towards the short-haired witch, Filch picked her up and tried anew.
"Are you going to kick him out, headmaster?"
Albus stared back with a sense of resignation. The simple truth Filch refused to comprehend was that the poltergeist embodied chaos and mischief. He was a part of Hogwarts—a manifestation of its Darker, more destructive magic—and as such, he could be neither driven out nor dissociated from the castle. This did not make him a burglar, let alone a thief.
"I need to know more. What has Peeves stolen?"
"Well, the egg, the champion's egg! Peeves took it—nearly woke the whole castle up. I wanted to keep it as evidence, but professors Snape and Moody, they took it back. But I know Peeves stole it!"
If this account was to be believed, one of the champions had lost their golden egg. Hiding his bewilderment, the old wizard pressed on.
"I see. This happened last night, you say? Whose office was broken into? "
"It was Professor Snape's, headmaster. See, Professor Snape heard a commotion, so he came out and saw someone had been inside his office. He went to try and catch Peeves, and we met halfway."
The immediate response to this news was dead silence. The witches, Albus could tell, were trying and failing to imagine Severus Snape chasing Peeves across the castle. He gave a small cough.
"All right. Thank you for your testimony, Mr Filch; I will look into this. It is important that professors and I carry on with our meeting, but rest assured the matter will be investigated."
With a nod, Filch made a rather clumsy beeline for the exit; over his shoulder, Mrs Norris continued watching the table.
"You will kick him out, yes?" he insisted before leaving. "This time, he's done it—he must be thrown out."
A reassuring smile was all he received; any verbal answer would have involved denial or a lie. Minerva whipped about the second the door closed.
"What is this, Albus?"
It was a stunned, rhetorical question, but the headmaster ventured to reply nonetheless.
"I can only say it is not in Peeves's nature to steal. It sounds to me as if Cedric or Harry had forgotten their egg somewhere in the castle, where Mr Filch found it. As for Severus's office, I cannot even begin to form an opinion until he shares his account of the events."
"For Merlin's sake, I hope Mr Potter wasn't involved!"
Hastily, Wilhelmina attempted to brighten the mood.
"Your lions are something for sure, Minnie. But you know, I do think this is a simple case of mischief."
"If only. None of my students would have caused this much trouble—"
"Yet you are praying Mr Potter wasn't involved this time. How is Pomona, by the way—has she come around?"
"Oh, Mina, you are not helping." Minerva reached for Albus's hand. "If it was Mr Potter—though I don't believe he would ever break in—will you please tell me? I'm afraid Severus will demand that he be punished, and the boy has the second task to prepare for."
He squeezed her fingers. Unbidden, Gellert's gruesome vision floated to the surface of his mind once again. Minerva cared more than Harry suspected. She could not find out. Was he committing a grave error by keeping the premonition to himself, as Gellert had done at the time of their youth?
"Of course I will, dear. I don't believe Harry is to blame here, and I won't let anything distract him from the tasks ahead."
There was no need to summon the Potions Master after the witches departed: he was knocking before Albus had even finished clearing the table, his expression as thunderous as a Titan's.
"A word, headmaster, if you please."
With one last Wiping Charm, the older wizard settled down and gestured towards the vacant seat.
"Last night, Potter sneaked into my office and stole some very valuable ingredients from me," came an unceremonious accusation.
This was not an unexpected angle to the story. Albus released a weary sigh.
"Thank you for coming to inform me, Severus. Could you please explain exactly what happened?"
"I was alerted when the spell that sealed my office was broken. I came on the spot, only to find the door to one of my cupboards ajar and two ingredients—lacewing flies and Boomslang skin—missing. Potter had already slipped out, but he hadn't gone far, and I very nearly caught him red-handed—would have done, had Alastor Moody not intervened. This has to stop. How are you going to punish Potter?"
At once, a chorus of protests erupted from the paintings: many among the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts had been Sorted to Gryffindor and did not appreciate this slight to their champion.
"Nonsense!"
"Harry Potter would never steal—"
"He is every inch as noble as the best of us—"
"Wouldn't steal, no." Phineas Nigellus was smirking. "Unless it's for a noble cause."
This clamour could not have come at a more welcome moment. Albus could not help himself: he pictured a suspenseful chase across the castle, in which a malevolent Harry fled from the Potions teacher, his arms and pockets overflowing with ingredients, while the old Auror barred the way to the pursuer. A small snort of laughter escaped him. Snape's dark eyes flashed with anger, and he pulled himself together.
"All right, Severus, let us clarify. Did you in fact see Harry? If not, how can you tell it was him?"
Ignoring the portraits' uproar, the young man leaned in, his Dark aura churning.
"Filch can confirm my story if he hasn't already. He had to sprint all the way up to the staircase because Potter's egg was wailing. He thinks it's that damned poltergeist's doing, but I know better: I saw Potter's egg and his parchment. It was Potter. He must be punished, or do you think it just that he should get away with theft as if it were nothing?!"
The story was becoming disorderly. Albus tilted his head to a side, frowning.
"What parchment are you referring to? And tell me this: if Harry meant to steal from your cupboards, why would he bring his golden egg along? Brewing Polyjuice Potion is hardly going to serve him in the second task."
This did it: Snape's aura expanded; furious magic vibrated through the air.
"So you side with Alastor Moody?!"
"I'm trying to understand what happened."
There was a huff. "Moody, of course, took the opportunity to threaten me again. I believe you promised this would stop. He has no right to disrespect me."
They were getting nowhere, and the young wizard's temper tantrum was certainly of no assistance. Growing impatient at the confusion as well as the raised tones, the headmaster motioned towards the Pensieve.
"Are you willing to share your memory? If I am to make sense of last night's events, I need to witness them or hear a neutral account."
"Fine, see for yourself!"
Snape pulled a silver wisp from his temple and, with a rather aggressive dash of his wand, discarded it into the basin. In silence, Albus observed the scene. He saw the Potions Master inspect his office—it had undoubtedly been invaded without his permission—and hurry out when the sound of wailing pierced the air. A brief exchange with Filch, who had taken hold of the golden egg, and they were joined by Moody. The ensuing verbal duel led to their near-discovery of the fourth person on the set… for there had been an unseen and unheard witness, and his identity was no mystery to anyone besides Filch. For once, Albus could not fault Severus's judgment, the latter's dislike of the boy notwithstanding. He emerged from the Pensieve.
"I believe you are correct: Harry was indeed present. Only, I do not suspect him of thievery—it sounds far too unlikely. I will, however, investigate."
Satisfied at last, the other man nodded curtly.
"Thank you, headmaster. I hope to see Potter face the consequences of his unlawful behaviour."
He walked out. It was not even ten o'clock, and the time had come for the fourth audience of the morning. The portraits were not surprised by the following request.
"Everard, would you kindly check whether Professor Moody is available? If he is, I would like to speak to him."
The former headmaster nodded, though he did not oblige without first uttering an emphatic, "May I remark, Dumbledore, that the man has no evidence, not at all!"
"I know."
Ten minutes later, Alastor presented himself in the office, a smile on his worn features.
"Good morning, old friend. Both Snape and Filch have already come to you with their reports, I wager. It's my turn now, isn't it?"
Rubbing at his temples, Albus promised himself another coffee at the earliest break from work.
"Good morning, Alastor. I can't believe I have slept through such an eventful night."
The Auror shrugged. "Snape sees what he wants to see, but he is not wrong. Someone did sneak into his office. Except it wasn't the Potter boy."
"I have watched his memory," Albus confessed. "You can see through invisibility cloaks. Harry wasn't carrying any potion ingredients, was he?"
"Not a single one. He was also dressed in pyjamas, had wet hair, and smelled of soap—not exactly prepped for a stealing expedition. Not to mention it would have been rather dim of him to bring the egg."
This put the last of the headmaster's misgivings to rest. It was fortunate that Moody had been present to rescue the boy.
"How come you were up—were you looking for the intruder as well?"
"A pure coincidence, to be honest." The Auror eased himself into a chair. "Ever since you asked me to keep a close eye on the Potter boy, I've been patrolling every night. And let me tell you something: it takes more than Alohomora to access Snape's office. We are dealing with a skilled adult wizard, unless it's an exceptional seventh year. Potter may be smart in his own right, but… let's be kind and state he wouldn't have the foggiest as to how to get past that door, let alone sneak in quickly and quietly. The only reason Snape found out is because he had cast an additional spell, which alerted him. The man trusts nobody, you see—not that I blame him."
The sensation of relief vanished; what Albus felt at those words was the icy prickle of horror. His voice was quiet.
"So you are telling me Harry happened to be out of bed on the night when someone was stealing ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Severus's office. If it hadn't been for his Cloak and the teachers' appearance…"
Had Harry evaded abduction by a hair's breadth? How foolish they had been! With the intruder roaming the castle in disguise, the Tracking Charm placed on the boy's watch was of no use to anybody. More likely than not, Harry had not even worn it on his midnight mission to solve the Triwizard clue. He could have been snatched from Hogwarts with no one the wiser, and Gellert's vision would have come true. Meanwhile, he, Albus, had been calmly asleep.
"I didn't see anyone. That's the troubling part." Moody's pause was meaningful, ominous. "But the Potter boy claims he did."
The words were washing over Albus, leaving an echo in their wake. A growing flutter of panic was drowning his thoughts and emotions.
"Whom did he see?" he whispered.
The old Auror held his gaze.
"This will sound insane. He believes he saw Bartemius Crouch break in last night."
After a few seconds of stillness, the headmaster stood up and began pacing. A chill had slid down his spine; he could not stand to remain seated.
"It doesn't sound insane."
Barty Crouch's absences, his peculiar behaviour, the Polyjuice Potion, this furtive trip to the castle: everything added up. If Voldemort had surrounded the Ministry official to his will, he could easily have placed the man under the Imperius Curse and sent him on errands. Who would dare to accuse an important politician of irregularities as he carried out his captor's orders? Alternatively, a Death Eater could have ingested some Polyjuice Potion containing Barty Crouch's hair for a convenient disguise. The possibilities were terrifying. Only one point did not bear scrutiny: if Voldemort was in need of ingredients, he could have found a thousand safer routes for acquiring those. No, the intrusion into Severus's office was likely a distraction from something far more sinister, if not a downright attempt at kidnapping Harry. Was there more than one double agent at Hogwarts?
"I have been a fool." He exhaled. "I should have forced my way into Barty's home—with a warrant if necessary."
Alastor raised his eyebrows. "You went there? When?"
"Nearly three weeks ago." Albus shook his head. "He didn't let me in. And yet, the house wasn't deserted."
The electric blue eye rolled in its socket.
"Hmm. People don't change. Bartemius Crouch never was the kind to receive guests. If someone was there… they must have invited themselves in. Never a good sign from a guest."
The Auror paused again, this time in contemplation.
"You know, Potter offered a theory that old Crouch had come here to inspect Snape's office. Just like Snape himself, he sees what he wants to see. The fact is that Crouch would never get his wand dirty. Back in the day, he gave us Aurors his permission to use the Unforgivables, yes, and under his command, some of us became as bad as the Death Eaters—a stain we can't wash away."
His reminiscence was laced with tangible bitterness before he shook himself.
"But I digress. The point is, we have a serious problem on our hands—two of them, in fact. First, the castle security. Someone got in and out without being detected; we are aware of it thanks to Snape's spell, which he has likely invented himself. If such intrusions are possible, we must have overlooked something simple, something obvious… and with your permission, I would like to double-check the wards. Second, Bartemius Crouch. It's a problem we can't ignore; if anything, we should pay him a visit—tonight if possible. If it was him—and I'll admit I have my reservations—he can tell us his motives in person. It could likewise have been someone acting on his behalf. And if neither option is true, then that's even worse news. For all his mistakes and dubious methods, his enemies are very much our enemies."
The way he discoursed was as soothing as it was pragmatic. Not for the first time, Albus felt grateful for his friendship, his council, his selflessness. He smiled through his unease.
"You are more than welcome to analyse the wards. I have used everything in my arsenal, and my predecessors' enchantments still hold. Hogwarts is like a magnet: it attracts magic and absorbs much of it. As for Barty, I have struggled to apprehend him since the first task. He won't talk to me, but he cannot turn you away." He slid a nervous hand into his hair. "Alastor, this is more serious than the second task. As soon as you see Harry again, please tell him not to leave his dormitory at night, Cloak or no Cloak."
He had been about to add, They mean to kidnap him—I don't know how or when, yet they will; for some reason, the words would not form. Moody grinned in response.
"Oh, young Potter and I have already had this chat. I even confiscated this from him to make an authoritative impression. Take a look, Albus; if there is one piece of good news lurking at the bottom of this mess, it is this. He has cracked it."
An old piece of parchment landed in front of the headmaster, who had already glimpsed it in Snape's memory. Harry appeared to have scribbled upon it, and a few neat lines suggested Miss Granger's involvement. Not only had they pieced together the words of the poem; they had also proceeded towards interpreting it. Certain sentences had been crossed out, yet all in all, they had achieved a decent progress. All that remained for them to do was figure out a way to breathe under water.
"Thank you, Alastor. This is most comforting to know." Slightly reassured and not a little proud of Harry and his friends, Albus slid the scribbles into his pocket. "One last remark. Please try to avoid needling Severus when the two of you meet."
The Auror merely rolled his eyes. "If there is one thing I hate more than the Death Eaters, it's stupidity. Severus Snape happens to hit both marks." A chuckle, and he dismissed the request altogether. "Wands at the ready, old friend; we don't know what—or whom—we might find at old Crouch's place."
This encouragement was punctuated by a tap on the window. Behind the glass pane, a striking snowy owl was perched on the ledge with a piece of parchment tied to her leg. It was Harry's owl, Albus would have bet on it; no other bird at Hogwarts boasted such plumage. His alarm flared up anew. If Harry was facing trouble and needed help, why had he not heard of it sooner?
"Forgive me, Alastor, I must receive this one. I believe it's urgent."
He opened the window with a flick of his hand.
Moody heaved himself up. "Sure. Let me know about the time. The sooner we go, the better our chances."
He was at the door when the owl swooped gracefully down onto the desk and held out her leg, her amber eyes solemn. If ever a bird could be called a princess, this one fit the description. To Albus's relief, the message she had brought was not one of doom. He reread Sirius's line over and over again:
We must meet without any more delay. I'll be expecting you at the edge of the Forbidden Forest at five.
And so it was settled without the headmaster's input. Meeting within the sighting distance of Hogwarts felt foolhardy at best, even if, by then, darkness had descended over the frosty grounds. The young man was waiting behind the tree line, inconspicuous and more than restless.
"Took you long enough. Crookshanks delivered my message weeks ago."
Their latest altercation weighed heavily on Albus's chest. He maintained his composure.
"At the start of the year, I had no news to impart, so I thought to postpone this conversation until the Ministry provided more details." He drew a breath. "But now there is a different obstacle: we have been forced to sign a contract that forbids us from transmitting the details of the second task in any form including Legilimency or the written word. I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm afraid Harry alone can keep you posted."
For a few seconds, Sirius merely stared at him. Then, swearing loudly, he kicked the ground.
"Fine," he bit out in an earnest attempt to calm himself. "There is something else we need to discuss. There is someone on the school grounds who doesn't belong here."
The familiar sense of dread was returning with a vengeance; soon, it seemed, it would settle in for good. The old wizard swallowed.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know." Sirius started pacing; one could tell he was brimming with tension. "The night that drunk witch Apparated here to meet you, I caught a glimpse of a third person in my Animagus form. They appeared to be sneaking around the Forest. I very much doubt it was a student. And then, a little while ago, it happened again; only, they had for once resorted to the Disillusionment Charm or an invisibility cloak—could have been either. I could sense them, of course, despite them being invisible. It wasn't Snivellus, though: while he certainly is the creepy type to sneak about, his stench is strong enough to be felt even with a human nose. I'm sure half the castle can relate."
Albus ignored the jab; his mind was on the Death Eater masquerading as Barty Crouch. First, there was one option to eliminate.
"Could it have been Rita Skeeter? You are probably aware she has secretly come to Hogwarts."
The other wizard furrowed his brows. "Rita Skeeter?" His face cleared almost instantly. "Oh, of course, the article. No, it couldn't. The thought has crossed my mind, but… she wears some kind of perfume, doesn't she? The scent I caught wasn't perfumed; it wasn't even a woman's. I'm positive we are dealing with a wizard, and a very skilled one, who is an expert at camouflage and concealment. Under different circumstances, I would have assumed those skills belonged to an Auror, but since the Ministry doesn't suspect my presence in Hogsmeade, this can't be it. My next closest guess is a Death Eater, and sadly, it's not your good friend Snivellus. So my question is, who can it be? The same person who put Harry's name in the goblet?"
"Possibly." As if to imitate his example, Albus began pacing for the second time that day. "Justice, the witch who Apparated to Hogsmeade back in November, noticed an onlooker too. She reckoned they had snuck out to the Forest for potion ingredients." A sudden idea dawned upon him, and he spun around, his eyes wild. "If you were to enter Hogwarts in your Animagus form, would you be able to pinpoint the intruder's scent? Supposing he is in the castle at the same time as you."
Sirius considered him. "Do you suspect anyone? I will be able to identify them, yes, but… it will be highly suspicious if I show up at the castle. It's best for me to come to the second task. Ever since I caught a whiff of that wizard, I've been cautiously trying to locate him, and so far, no luck. It's not a regular visitor to the Three Broomsticks."
What a maddening loop, Albus reflected in preoccupation while his feet carried him back and forth between the trees. Who was that elusive Death Eater with a level of loyalty, patience, and cunning without equal? How had he gained access to Harry's homework and signature without drawing the slightest attention to himself?
"Last night, an intruder broke into Severus's office and stole Polyjuice Potion ingredients," he confided. "Harry saw him; Alastor told me so. Moreover, Harry described the man as Barty Crouch."
The young man shook his head. "Harry doesn't make things any easier. He hasn't yet asked me for help with the task. I expected him to have done so by now, but no, and that's extreme even for a Gryffindor."
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"I believe Harry, but it doesn't make any sense. You told me a while ago you feared Harry might be kidnapped, that the Tournament was only a cover-up. Let's suppose you are right. Are they likely to take their chances during the second task? I want to attend and try to detect that wizard. I couldn't sense him in the village or among the visiting students, and that leads me to believe it's someone who comes here periodically. This time, he might arrive disguised as a Ministry worker. There will be a number of those on the premises, I imagine, in addition to the press."
As he observed him, Albus felt the knot inside him loosen a notch, or perhaps it was briefly overshadowed by warmth. Sirius loved Harry, loved him as devotedly as a father, and nothing could be more moving to witness.
"That's correct. The entire school will be gathered, and you can take your time studying them. If anyone asks, I'll have an excuse ready."
On an impulse, he pulled the old parchment out of his pocket.
"I won't break any rules if I show you this. Harry has made a good progress with the task; a little more research, and he'll be ready. Moody confiscated it as a means of telling him off for taking midnight strolls."
Sirius examined the item with a puzzled air.
"A decoy… that's clever," he muttered before speaking up. "Thank you for showing me. I thought his reluctance to ask for help was simple bravado. I was in Gryffindor myself; I would know." There was another sigh, one of exhaustion. "I will be attending the task," he declared once more. "As Padfoot. It's better than entering the castle, where Harry might see me and fret over my safety. If I catch the man's scent, I will find a way to let you know."
Happy to have reached an agreement and extended at least a token of reassurance, the old wizard returned to Hogwarts. It was time. Coming uninvited to a Ministry official's home on a Friday evening felt a little less intrusive than doing so during the weekend, even if the days were bound to blur in Barty Crouch's perception.
His palm was sweating around his wand. By his side, Alastor was calm and collected and concentrated like a predatory animal; once learned, an Auror's habits never went away. The question was what awaited them inside the house. So much time had been lost, all the previous attempts having proved to be futile.
"Let's see whether he is home," Albus proposed, his grip on his wand tightening.
The WELCOME doormat was where he had last seen it; everything else appeared to be in place as well: the curtained windows, the polished door, the bushes around the dwelling, the stone steps. Only one thing was missing, the most crucial element of all. Albus froze in front of the entrance.
"The protective wards are gone," he breathed.
Sure enough, the tell-tale pulsation of magic in the air had vanished, leaving the house as exposed as a Muggle's. As if to display this vulnerability, one push sufficed to open the door. Moody advanced with his wand aloft, gesturing for the other wizard to follow behind him. His electric blue eye was dancing in its socket; it left no room unscanned. As a precaution of his own, Albus cast a wordless Homenum Revelio and received a confirmation of what he already knew, and which the Auror voiced a second later:
"No wizards, animals, or magical beings here. But careful, there might be a Dark artefact I've missed."
How could a house devoid of magic and living inhabitants cause one's skin to prickle with disquiet was a question unfit for this grave situation. Behind the hall lay a small if neat sitting room; it led, in turn, to a kitchen and a water closet. The layer of dust on each piece of furniture was so thick that the uneven beams of Lumos could not diminish them. And even this neglect was not the most disturbing aspect of the room—it was its sterility. Not one picture hung on the walls; not one throw complemented the sober sofa; no trace of flowers or glassware could be spotted.
Barty Crouch had been miserable. After losing his son, he had lost his reputation and popularity, along with the following that meant everything to a politician's career. He had lost his wife; eventually, he had also sacked his house-elf. These home conditions spoke of a man in pain—a man desperate to hide from any torturous reminders of the life he had once possessed. No one could live and sleep at work for days on end, so Crouch had rendered his refuge as unappealing and unrecognisable as he could in order to withstand it. That impulse was not unfamiliar to Albus.
"I never knew," he whispered, touched by the suffering of an individual that had always wished him ill. "I never knew it was this dire."
Moody heard but said nothing; he was walking from room to room, committing the sights to his memory. They proceeded towards the first floor. A thick carpet covered the staircase; dried stains had landed on it, as if someone had spilled food or drink upon it and failed to clean.
One bedroom had been reserved for the family's non-existent guests. Without a doubt, Mrs Crouch had been the last person to enter it: even the spider webs in its corners could be called old, fossils of sorts. But this was not the case for the second door, for if one looked closely, one could tell this room, dedicated to Crouch's deceased son, had been slept in. Alastor twirled his wand, and his Lumos turned crimson. In the revealing light of this spell, used only by Aurors, they discovered fresh fingerprints all over the chair, the desk, and the bookcase. Still more details had been rendered visible: a set of footsteps trailing from the door to the bed and back. The pillow bore an indentation, as did the blanket.
By the time they entered the master bedroom, Albus's emotions had veered from alarm towards heartfelt distress. The wand radiating a red beam rose to illuminate the large bed. It was a sight to behold. The imprints on the mattress were so deep, it would seem its occupant had spent all his days and nights in bed. What a small shape it was too: an infant's, truly, except for its disproportionately large head. And this was not all. More footprints on the carpet and traces of something… enormous. Long, tube-like, coiled.
"That's one big snake," Moody commented drily.
His explanation was likely correct. Presently, unless they counted the unused bathrooms, they had but a broom cupboard to inspect. Nothing, the headmaster felt, could possibly shock him any more, and he was mistaken. When the narrow door creaked open, it released an overwhelming smell of urine, sweat, and other body waste. Together with the stuffiness of that enclosed space, they formed the smell of prison. Inside, there was a minuscule table with a chair, an inkpot with a quill, a candle, a bucket, and a few pieces of parchment. They also found the shredded remains of a 1994 calendar. Albus owned one page from it; he had received it on the 1st of September.
He turned away, shaking. It had been five months since the first call for help had arrived. He had spent that time on false trails, conjectures, inefficient solutions. Now it was too late: if Barty Crouch was still alive, he would be impossible to find—Voldemort had made certain of it with the help of Wormtail—who else but him could have slept in Barty Junior's room?—and his giant snake, whatever the latter's purpose was.
"So the intruder took the master bedroom for himself and locked the real master in the cupboard."
Alastor's tone had grown solemn. He extinguished the crimson light, resorting to plain Lumos before fixing the other wizard with a penetrating gaze.
"What I don't understand is how they found out we were coming. Someone must have tipped them off."
"I came here three weeks ago," Albus reminded him, his finger pointed at the window in the master bedroom. Unlike his companion's voice, his own had turned lifeless and flat. "They saw me. A dark silhouette was standing over there."
The Auror cursed.
"We should notify the Ministry," he suggested at last. "Fudge is a man of straw, but even he can't ignore a break-in and abduction. I'll be your witness, old friend."
Tearing his eyes off the wretched window, Albus nodded. His jaw clenched.
"Then let's not delay another minute."
AN: Sirius's decision to attend the second task would have long-lasting consequences. Had he agreed to come inside the castle and investigate, he would have caught the scent of two Alastors, which would have allowed him and Albus to unmask the impostor then and there. His decision, however, was made out of love: he knew Harry would fly into a panic, should he see his godfather anywhere close to danger. Thank you for reading!