At eight o'clock the following morning, Cornelius Fudge arrived to Hogwarts, having received a full report on Crouch's abduction from the Auror office. His face was a pasty grey mask of panic, and he was trembling. Behind him trailed a pink-clad Umbridge, her smile sweet and her eyes hard, not a hair out of place.
"Good morning." Albus motioned towards the arranged seats, one of which was already occupied by Alastor Moody. "Please make yourselves comfortable."
"Thank you." The Minister collapsed into an armchair, tossing his bowler hat onto the nearest table. "Ah, dreadful news, Dumbledore! What are we going to do?"
"Hem, hem." Umbridge glanced at him pointedly, and he stood up again, apologetic.
"Oh, of course! Dolores…"
After holding out a chair for her, he was rewarded with another saccharine smile.
"Thank you, Minister." The witch turned an appraising gaze at their host. "Headmaster Dumbledore, so good to see you. I trust you enjoyed your holiday. Did you, by any chance, go south?"
At Fudge's puzzlement, she clarified, "The tan, Minister: Professor Dumbledore has clearly been away."
"Oh." The portly wizard blinked, as if slow to catch up. "Right, yes, how silly of me to forget the common courtesies. Did you have good holidays then, Dumbledore?"
Taking care to maintain jovial composure, Albus did not pause in conjuring a tea tray and a plateful of biscuits.
"It turned out to be a good and calm one, thank you. The Yule Ball was, dare I say, a success, and then I briefly went to the Alps."
"The Alps?" Umbridge uttered a soft laugh. "Now, now, I dare say you went somewhere more exotic than that, Mr Dumbledore. Not that it matters, of course; I was merely hoping to catch a glimpse of a little souvenir you may have got in Barbados. But we have gathered here for business after all."
She could not have given him a plainer warning that she was watching him, tracking his movements. On his way from Haiti, he had rented a boat-sized Portkey to cross the Atlantic. He ought to have expected Barbados, a Commonwealth realm, to readily share such intelligence with the British Ministry. For their upcoming journey, he and Wilhelmina would have to resort to every precaution imaginable, or more scrutiny would follow. Apparition, at least, could not be traced—a small yet significant comfort.
Returning the witch's smile, he changed the topic.
"Do you remember Alastor Moody?" He gestured towards the Auror. "He has kindly accepted my invite to this meeting, having become the key witness in yesterday's discovery."
No one acknowledged the introduction, not even Fudge, who had observed the conversation in confused silence.
"Uh, right," he stammered at last. "So, first things first. What were you doing visiting Barty on a Friday evening? Are we sure he is missing?"
"Quite," Moody said gruffly. "The house has been empty for a while."
"That's correct." Albus's expression sobered. "The house appears to have been uninhabited for at least a few weeks—your Aurors might be able to determine the precise time of disappearance. To answer your question, I wished to speak to Barty in order to clear some misunderstanding between us and apologise to him on the matter of the Chinese Fireball. His absence from the office had made it impossible for me to reach him in a different manner."
Fudge waved an impatient hand. "But how did you understand Barty was missing? Did—did you break in?!"
"The protective wards were missing, and the door was unlocked. It was so irregular and alarming that we decided to waste no time."
"A break-in, Minister," Dolores whispered. She had whipped out a notebook featuring a rather fat cat on the cover and was scribbling as they spoke. "If I may, Headmaster Dumbledore, why didn't you stay outside and call the authorities?"
"He did," Moody growled. "I was the authority."
Fudge gaped at him. Once again, he turned to Umbridge for help.
"Mr Moody was dismissed from service a long time ago due to his delusional condition, Minister," she suggested, unable to entirely suppress a note of apprehension in her voice.
The Auror fired up at once. "Delusional, am I? Every minute was precious. Besides, half of your Aurors don't even know how to use their wands these days."
"Alastor," Albus started, only to be dismissed with a defiant shrug.
"It's true, and I'll say even more. I can understand why Karkaroff calls me delusional—useful for him, given his past. You are just stupid, it seems."
It cost the headmaster some effort not to close his eyes. "Alastor, that's enough."
"Bloody right that's enough!" Fudge's tone had risen in naked fury. "Show some respect; there is a lady present. Merlin's beard! Dumbledore, can we remove him from here? Your testimony will be quite enough."
Moody left them no time to argue. He stood up, his posture exuding challenge.
"You want me to go? Fine. You'd better report Bartemius Crouch missing, by the way. Friendly advice from me—not that you'll listen."
With a scowl of pure contempt, he walked out of the office, the clink of his wooden leg echoing on the stairs. All Albus could do was promise himself to seek him out after the meeting.
"I'm sorry about this, Cornelius." He sighed, conscious he needed the minister on his side. "It's true that I asked Alastor to do his duty as an Auror despite his retirement. For all I knew, Barty was bleeding out inside the house, and I would never have forgiven myself if my idleness had resulted in his death."
Placated by this, Fudge offered him a sympathetic nod.
"Of course, of course—good man. Dolores, we can omit the break-in, surely. It was… well, important."
Umbridge smiled; with Moody absent, she felt more at ease.
"Of course, Minister. We shall pretend it never happened."
"Yes…" He sighed and sagged slightly in his seat. "But Dumbledore, what are we going to do? As bonkers as it sounds, Barty must have been kidnapped. He can't just have vanished into thin air. Should we interrogate that young assistant of his?"
Albus bit his lip. "I doubt Percy Weasley knows much more than we do. Shortly before Christmas, he was under the impression Barty had gone to Romania, yet the latter never showed up at the dragon sanctuary; I've heard as much from independent authorities. I would therefore consider it prudent to question Percy on the source of his information and ask him to provide the key dates, as well as a copy of the letters he has exchanged with Barty."
"Good idea. Dolores?"
The witch's quill was dancing away on the parchment. "Indeed, Minister: Percy Ignatius Weasley was already on my list."
Fudge rubbed at his face with nervous fingers. "Merlin's beard, let's hope he knows something. Dolores, we can't let any of this leak out. Imagine the scandal!" He addressed the headmaster again. "Were there any clues whatsoever inside the house?"
As frustrating as it felt to adopt an ignorant tone, the truth could not be told until unshakable evidence came to support it. Umbridge had her sights set on Hogwarts with no concern for anyone's safety; there was no doubt she would attack the second Albus committed a tactical mistake.
"The kidnappers didn't come to steal Barty's possessions," he confessed. "Nothing appears to be missing—not that he kept any valuable items at home as the arrangement we saw was very modest. Most pieces of furniture bore a thick layer of dust, yet the master bed had been slept in only recently. What disturbed me most was the broom cupboard on the first floor, bare but for a desk and a chair. The odour inside it was that of body waste."
Paler by the minute, Fudge leaned against his backrest. He was struggling to breathe.
"Lovely," the witch said without tearing her eyes off the paper. "Thank you for your information."
"Dumbledore, can—can I have, uh, a Firewhisky?" The minister was hyperventilating. "I'm sorry, I'm… well, I'm in shock, and just, poor Barty—he was such a charming fellow, so efficient. Who would want to hurt him? What's the Ministry going to do? Dolores, I need a breather; if you could please take over—"
Having conjured a bottle and a glass, Albus watched him pour himself a measure. By the looks of it, Fudge believed a gang of violent criminals had set out to kidnap London Ministry officials and would be ambushing him next. The more time he spent under Umbridge's tender care, the more toddler-like he became. Perhaps, the old wizard thought distractedly, Hagen Ebensee and Frau Knef had a few redeeming qualities after all.
"Don't you worry, Cornelius, have a breather; I'll make sure no one finds out about this." Umbridge closed her notebook with a snap. "Now, Headmaster Dumbledore, there was a small—or not so small—matter of a giant with violent tendencies teaching at Hogwarts." She smiled, as if apologetic. "The public has truly been furious. The Ministry has received letters, you know—an outcry for help, really. The children are terrified, poor sweeties…"
The minister exhaled, an empty glass in hand. "That giant, he has already served time, hasn't he, Dolores?"
"Quite so," she assured him. "Two years ago, charged with assault against several students—dreadful business. I believe, Mr Dumbledore, there was a petition asking Mr Hagrid to step down from his duties as a teacher."
Albus had expected this. He reached down into his bottom drawer.
"I have it right here, along with the complete list of students in attendance. The number of signatures amounts to forty-six percent. The majority wishes for Hagrid to stay."
"May I?" she pressed on sweetly. "Just to make sure you haven't miscalculated. It can happen to the best of us."
Passing her the documents, he peered at Fudge, who remained flustered, much like a Victorian lady confronted with nudity.
"Are you all right, Cornelius?"
He received a headshake in response. "I'm… I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake, Dumbledore. You told me a while ago old Barty seemed ill. I should have listened. I thought he was just being rude…"
Umbridge instantly jumped to his defence.
"Now, now, Minister, you mustn't blame yourself. Who could have known? Such an unfortunate case, out of anyone's control. Bartemius Crouch, bless him, has always been so peculiar."
"You think so?" Fudge murmured, eyeing her with an expression of desperate hope.
"Oh, absolutely! Fear not, we shall find Bartemius Crouch soon enough. We have all the resources at our disposal. You will see, he will be found safe and sound."
"But… Dolores, my ratings?"
At this, the witch turned towards Albus, and her smile acquired a steely edge: she was challenging him.
"Your ratings, Minister, have no reason to drop. We have all agreed that as far as the public goes, Mr Crouch has never disappeared. Haven't we, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
She briskly went on without letting him answer.
"Which brings me back to our second topic: you are correct, it's forty-six percent against fifty-four, not nearly enough. My… ahem, congratulations on your good judgment. It entails, of course, addressing the unsatisfied part of the school. Have you already made the arrangements?"
That they had decided to keep the kidnap secret was of little consequence; it had come down to a game of cat and mouse with Tom Riddle.
"A public statement has already been issued," he replied. "To satisfy the parents' demands, we will provide additional training to Mr Hagrid."
Tilting her head towards her shoulder, Umbridge contemplated him. "If I may so humbly say, we would like to supervise those lessons—the board of governors would, that is. A prudent measure to ensure children's safety." Her eyes glinted. "There is nothing more precious than children, wouldn't you agree, headmaster? Especially magical children. Magic is a rare gift bestowed only on those who are special."
Those words contained enough conviction to chill the spirit. Even Fudge could not help but frown, his pupils widening.
"It's… just a formality, Dumbledore," he hastened to add. "To make sure Hagrid is fit. You will receive a few guests from the Beast Division and the Board, that's all."
"They are very welcome at Hogwarts."
"I also reckon we ought to… re-evaluate the requirements for employment at Hogwarts," the witch suggested. Her voice had now lost some of its affected benevolence. "The scandal, I'm afraid, has painted this prestigious school in a rather awful light—"
This time, the minister intervened before she could finish.
"No, no, Dolores, we don't have the resources for this. Now that Barty has disappeared…" He groaned slightly, turning towards Albus. "Dumbledore, is it all right with you if we make Ludo Bagman permanently responsible for everything related to the Triwizard Tournament? He's qualified, I'm sure—and easy-going too. Much better in fact than old Barty."
"I have no objection; Ludo is an excellent entertainer."
The answer was not entirely truthful, for what Mr Bagman could offer in enthusiasm, he lacked for severely in pragmatism. Unless, however, Hogwarts trod carefully, Umbridge might attempt to gain control over the competition in her grasp for power. Negotiating with her would prove to be more difficult by far than with Ludo. As far as students' and creatures' safety was concerned, Albus would have to see to it on his own.
"Jolly good," came an absent response. "Dolores, have we missed anything?"
The witch concealed her displeasure by holding out a hand towards the minister.
"I believe it will suffice for now. Thank you for your time, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Yes, thank you," Fudge echoed, helping her to her feet. "And Alastor Moody really should apologise. Such language in front of a lady! He might have been an outstanding Auror once, but this is simply scandalous."
A goodbye later, the visitors vanished in the green flames of the fireplace, Umbridge's hand firm on the wizard's arm. Despite himself, Albus briefly wondered what Mrs Fudge made of their dynamics; then he decided he had much more important matters to dwell on. Alastor, he was relieved to find out, was not in the least offended by the meeting's turn, even if he brimmed with colourful words on the minister's incompetence and had a five-letter word to spare for Dolores.
Barty Crouch was lost to them for the time being; they agreed on this. As much as the headmaster wished to mourn his once-enemy's fate, nothing could be more crucial than fortifying the protection around Harry. And the Second Task was looming nearer.
When a new meeting was scheduled, it was to discuss the precautions inside the Black Lake and the tracking of the champions. This time, Ludo brought a significant group of people with him: a blend of familiar faces as well as foreigners, all of them divers working for European Ministries of Magic. His idea was to have each champion followed by two professionals hidden under the Disillusionment Charm. Not only would those wizards protect the children and retrieve the hostages, should the champions fail; they would also be sending their memories to the surface of the lake for the whole audience to see, not unlike on a giant Pensieve. Albus's role, as the inventor of this particular device, was to teach them how to siphon and project their memories.
The Transfiguration classroom had been rearranged so that the participants could sit in a circular formation; in the centre rested the Pensieve on its base of stone. Presiding over the gathering, Albus was settled at the main desk with Madame Maxime and Karkaroff on either side of him. They watched as, one by one, the guests filed into the room in Ludo Bagman's wake. Seven wizards and one witch; three different Ministries; an entire array of professions. Percy Weasley was absent.
"Welcome to Hogwarts! Please make yourselves at home." Once everyone was seated, Albus went on, smiling. "It's an honour to receive you at our school. We are happy you have agreed to collaborate with us on this historic chapter of the Triwizard Tournament. For those who have never met me, I'm Albus Dumbledore. Please allow me to introduce Olympe Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons, and Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang."
The two heads of schools nodded to acknowledge the murmur of greetings.
"Ah, how sweet it is to be back at Hogwarts!" beamed Ludo, who, like Albus, had remained standing. "Every visit feels like a return to childhood. Thank you for this introduction, Professor Dumbledore."
He flashed a grin at the expectant crowd of divers.
"For the sake of simplicity, let me kick-start this meeting. My name is Ludo Bagman; the headmasters already know me as I'm the real star of this show."
The joke earned him a few polite chuckles.
"But as much as I'd like to keep talking about myself, we have gathered here today because we have a very interesting task ahead of us, and I'm sure each of us will contribute to making it memorable, am I right?" After another brief pause, he clarified, "Now, headmasters, these lovely people have been handpicked by the combined efforts of our Ministries, and I think it would be best if we started with a round of introductions, what do you say? Professor Dumbledore has already started; I propose we take it from there. Ladies first?"
The only witch among the newcomers shifted in her chair and gave the assembly a warm, slightly timid smile. She had kind features and eyes like shiny obsidian stones.
"Hello! My name is Mafzalah Hamidi, and I work for the French Ministry of Magic. My specialty is historical research, and I have the pleasure to work with expeditions that explore magical artefacts buried in Algerian waters. I was very excited to get this opportunity. My children—I have two girls, nine and six years—love to hear all about it; they can't wait to know who wins the second task!"
After clapping with the rest, Ludo pointed towards the woman's colleague: a tall and muscular wizard.
"Et bonjour, moi aussi je travaille pour le Ministère français—French Ministry. My name is Polycarpe Cucullu."
Several attendees giggled, for something about his cheerful disposition was positively endearing, and he glanced around, curious.
"I see I'm bringing good humour already—that's good."
Madame Maxime spoke for the first time.
"Could it bee you are related to Dominique Sinclair Cucullu, who won the best Chaser among ze juniors—"
"Oui, c'est mon fils!"
The headmistress smiled, pleased to meet the parent of one of her prized students.
"A familiar face, that's always nice," Ludo commented. "So, Monsigneur Polytard—wait, that can't be right—"
Even more titters ensued.
"Ah, non, better let me," Cucullu objected, mock-horrified at the commentator's antics. "So I am originally from Martinique, but now I'm wiz ze French Ministère. Madame Maxime—c'est un plaisir!—already knows my son. Not better zan me, I 'ope, because I dive most of ze time." He paused to allow the rest of them another chuckle. "I 'ave been diving since I was a little boy. Today, I work in ze Department of International Marine Traffic. I 'ave extensive expérience with ze Caribbean but am no stranger to ze Méditerranée wiz its flora and fauna and its currents. So in water, you can always trust me. Bon, merci, c'est tout."
So far, Albus noted, they had been introduced exclusively to marine divers. He hoped they would find the Scottish loch fascinating despite its abundance of peat, which rendered the waters pitch-black, its icy temperature, and its unique inhabitants. Although wild and daunting, it possessed beauty of its own.
It was the turn of two British Ministry employees. They were Ludo's age and had graduated from Hogwarts a few decades earlier.
"Saturninus Fleming." The sporty wizard nodded at his companion. "My colleague, Jonathan Cooper, and I work for the Department of Magical Transportation. We don't really have our own division; they usually count us as an auxiliary force as it's just the two of us looking after the maintenance and safety of the country's coasts. Most of the time, it's quiet until it isn't: only last year, we were working on the case of the vanishing Kelpie at the Seven Sisters." He eyed the lake, which glistened in the sun behind the window. "It feels good to break the routine for a few days, especially if it's to help Hogwarts. I've wanted to see the Giant Squid up close ever since I was a lad."
"But first and foremost, show him respect, boys," said an older Irish wizard with a wind-lashed face. "The Squid is old, and the elders deserve our respect."
Ludo cleared his throat, his expression animated.
"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is one of our legends, Mr—"
"O'Keeffe," Albus finished.
Unbelievable it was, yet they had studied at the same time. Even though Newt Scamander's fame had overshadowed the other magizoologists' names, O'Keeffe had earned his Order of Merlin fair and square. Fearless and persevering, he had spent nine tenths of his life at sea, forging connections between wizards and the merpeople and advocating the just treatment of the marine life. He was retired these days, effectively forgotten by the younger generations, but clearly no less energetic for it.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts," the headmaster uttered, shaking his head in wonder. "It's an honour."
"Thanks for having me here." The Irishman raised his eyebrows. "I last saw you at N.E.W.T.s. Still hating the limelight?"
Albus chortled. "You have no idea."
"Well, let's catch up sometime, eh? Maybe old Dippet will join us."
Aware that prolonging a friendly exchange would be inappropriate, he fell silent, inviting the person next to him to claim their attention. This wizard could have been Cucullu's brother: he was just as tall and charismatic.
"I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. I work as an Auror for the British Ministry of Magic."
A chorus of oohs met this admission.
"I too attended Hogwarts of course, just a little later," he went on modestly. "Diving is a hobby I've practiced since my childhood, so I have experience, albeit only in the local waters."
This left two more wizards: athletic, fair-haired men. While they had been chosen to monitor Viktor Krum, their appearance was not at all Slavic. Albus noticed Karkaroff frowning in their direction. Sure enough, they addressed each other in quiet Swedish, as if uncertain which one of them should introduce himself first.
Ludo cut the debate short with a wink. "Well, gentlemen, shall we proceed with rock-paper-wand?"
This sufficed to bring them to an agreement.
"Kunnar Gustavsson, representing Durmstrang Institute," one of them stated. "Diving experience: fifteen years. Ability to breathe without the help of magic underwater: approximately seven minutes. Special skills: vast experience in diving in cold water. Trained in navigating under the ice."
His companion superseded him at once.
"Johann Eriksson, Swedish nationality, pure-blood, representing Durmstrang Institute. Special skills: survival in extreme conditions, maintaining the body heat when the temperatures drop below the freezing point, water manipulation, knowledge of the currents."
Taken aback by these succinct, matter-of-fact accounts, Ludo blinked before recovering his footing.
"Right, um… so these are our experts. They'll keep our champions safe and will periodically inform us on the way the situation unfolds under the surface of the lake. Are there any questions, or shall we all have a cuppa and move on to the training?"
With no remarks from the attendees, Albus made the decision.
"No questions, I believe. Give me only a minute, and I'll have the refreshments served."
He was intrigued, truth be told: that two Swedes had come on Durmstrang's behalf was no coincidence—if anything, it was a clue testifying to the fact that the Slavic school governors were losing their influence. He ought to notify Giacomo at the earliest opportunity.
As soon as the tea, sandwiches, and cake were served, he approached the blond divers, too curious to resist.
"Mr Gustavsson and Mr Eriksson, is that correct?" He smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Are you both Durmstrang alumni?"
The men gave him impassive looks, neither hostile nor forthcoming.
"Yes."
"I have been fortunate enough to visit your school, though I never have been to Sweden. If I may, where are you from?"
"Norrbotten," said Gustavsson.
"Jämtland," Eriksson replied.
Neither of them seemed inclined to offer more than one-word answers. Albus tried anew.
"It must be beautiful where you grew up. Is this your first visit to Britain?"
"Yes," they said almost in unison.
O'Keeffe forced his way towards them just as the headmaster gave up.
"You, gentlemen," he boomed, pointing at the divers in turn, "you tell your Muggles to stop hunting whales. It's outrageous; what we're sailing is no longer sea but a bloodbath."
They gaped at him.
"We are Swedish, not Norwegian," Eriksson objected.
"You tell them anyway. If they carry on as they do, they'll have me to deal with."
A little further away, Kingsley was engaged in a pleasant conversation with Mafzalah and Cucullu.
"My mum's from Ghana," he confided. "Dad is a Londoner born and bred."
"My family originally comes from Algiers," Mafzalah said in response; her voice was as sweet as her manners. "My husband's family too."
Midway towards them, Albus found himself intercepted by Fleming and Cooper, who congratulated him on Hogwarts' victory in the First Task. Both, as far as he could remember, had displayed interest and effort in their study of Transfiguration.
"Thank you very much; the merit is hardly mine." He considered them. "You must know Mr Diggory—is it his son you will be tailing in the lake?"
Fleming shook his head. "No, professor, it's Harry Potter."
Without a doubt, they were more than up to the job, and it was irrational to think an Auror could protect Harry underwater more thoroughly. If a faint pang of disappointment manifested, Albus suppressed it to the best of his ability. Ludo noticed nonetheless.
"Worry not, Dumbledore, Harry will be perfectly safe with them," he vowed. "These lads and I go back a long time; I can vouch for them. Well, shall we get to it? An exciting seminar ahead, eh?"
Within a moment, everyone regained their seats, and the headmaster advanced towards the Pensieve to explain its principle and teach them to project their memories on a large surface, both from above and below the water level.
It was an hour later that the guests departed: with the theory covered, their chance had come to get acquainted with the lake. From the castle windows, one could see them gathered on the shore, stretching and changing into swimming suits before diving in with large bubbles of air around their heads.
They returned more than once during the following weeks, for it was important that they memorise the layout of the lake, rehearse all the scenarios that might occur, and agree on mutual signals to be able to communicate in their Disillusioned forms. A date was picked as well for Albus and O'Keeffe, the only organisers versed in Mermish, to convene with the Merchieftainess. She swam to the edge of the water at the first touch of dusk, orange sunlight reflecting on her grey skin and wild hair, and listened to their plans. Her village, it transpired, had heard of O'Keeffe and held him in esteem. For his sake and the school's, the merpeople agreed to help.
The fourteenth of February arrived in the midst of preparation—not that anything could hold Albus from going to the one place he belonged on that evening, unless he counted a small detour to Bavaria. When he presented himself at Nurmengard, the guards stared at the contents of the box he unpacked, and then stared some more at his paperwork. He hoped Hagen Ebensee would feel just as awkward once he received his report.
Simply put, the Austrian Minister for Magic was a bureaucrat who expected to be informed of everything that came to pass at the prison. The best manner of defeating him at his own game was to exceed his expectations. As such, every single piece of food Albus brought was going to be properly documented. There would be a notification for every chicken leg, every potato, every strawberry, and every piece of cake Gellert was granted, and all the parchment would land on Ebensee's desk until he could not move around his own office for the heaps of paperwork. Only then, perhaps, he would realise what a mistake he had committed by forbidding the two wizards from spending their nights together.
The smirk faded the second the cell door opened; what replaced it was a warm smile.
"Servus, Schatz."
"Happy Valentine's." Gellert laughed. "The minister approves of our little get-together, I see."
"Happy Valentine's to you as well. In all honesty, all of our meetings are special in themselves."
They embraced; their favourite spot by the wall awaited them, and they snuggled under the single blanket.
"Tell me how everything is going at school," came a proposition.
"Well, the Second Task is under way, and for once, I'm confident it has been thoroughly planned. If nothing goes amiss, the children and the beasts will remain safe during the show." Albus paused in thought. "There is a detail that slipped my mind the last time we spoke: Durmstrang is being represented by two Swedish divers. Karkaroff has never met them; he makes no secret of it. Had they been a shade friendlier, I would have suspected them of being spies."
A gleam of longing lit Gellert's eyes.
"It's politics," he whispered. "Speaking of which, I've been thinking… Your boy is decent as far as his magical power is concerned, but mediocre—nothing like we used to be. I've been wondering how best to help him, and nothing has occurred to me so far except for… politics."
The headmaster drew closer, pondering this angle. "In Britain, the political situation is precarious. Our true Minister for Magic is a power-hungry witch in pink. After Barty Crouch's disappearance, she is closer to gaining control over the departments that used to be independent. And the more time passes, the less hopeful I feel that Barty will be found."
"I'm sorry," the German wizard breathed. "Once upon a time, I advised you to not go after Crouch."
It was an unnecessary apology. The hold of their hands tightened.
"What if that's the reason I'm still alive?"
Gellert held his gaze; his own was sombre, melancholy.
"You are something, you know. Anyone else would blame me right now. It was my encouragement that led you to place the Tracking Charm on the boy and leave Crouch to his own devices. And now Crouch is gone. Why do you never blame me, Albus? Everyone else does."
The Englishman ran the tips of his fingers down Gellert's cheeks, caressing them. "Maybe… I'm simply fortunate enough to see the bigger picture. It's what you taught me to do." He inhaled. "What happened to Barty Crouch is on Voldemort's conscience and his minions', not yours."
"Some would call it justice. Do you feel sorry for him?"
Albus nodded; he then hesitated. "Do you think he is still alive?"
"Hard to say. Personally, I do think so. You didn't find a body, which means he is still useful to them in some way. I suggest you should be on the lookout: in captivity, wizards get creative. If he is alive, he will try to reach out." Gellert paused. "That's what made me think of politics, among other things. Barty Crouch was an important wizard—a pillar of stability, as it were. Now that he is gone, the void will be filled one way or another. You ought to find yourself allies at the Ministry."
This rational assessment invited one conclusion.
"Umbridge couldn't hide her disapproval when the minister named Ludo Bagman responsible for the Tournament," Albus observed. "He might not be the most reliable wizard, but his heart, I believe, is in the right place. He could be our ally."
"Indeed."
They fell silent. Behind the window, the evening was frosty and windy, and unconsciously, the Englishman slid both arms around his companion, putting his head on the latter's shoulder.
"You know," Gellert uttered, "sometimes I wish I could see what you see, feel what you feel. There are ways, of course. Sakrémaji has an entire discipline dedicated to this… but alas."
The words contained no bitterness, yet they felt more painful than a blow with a whip. Albus straightened up, intent on meeting the sapphire eyes. He understood perfectly well which practice could allow such an experience.
"Possession," he divined, his voice earnest. "Gellert, you know there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. My body is yours. Tell me what you need to make it happen."
His lover smiled. "It's not difficult at all. I've never tried it, but with you… there have been many firsts."
"The candles are essential, aren't they? As a matter of fact, will you be able to walk out in my body?"
There was a headshake. "I'm afraid not. Even if you do invite me in, the black mist you saw will prevent me from leaving."
"And yet, you were able to astral-project to Hogwarts." The answer came to Albus in a sudden burst of recognition. "It can be done if you light the pentagon around you while I venture outside. Then you can astral-project and take hold of me. Will I stay aware of our surroundings?"
"It depends," Gellert mused. "The most successful possessions are the ones where permission has been granted: when one consents to being possessed, they will find themselves in their pleasant memories while their body is taken over. Forceful possessions are more difficult to achieve—the victim will fight the intrusion, and the bokor will turn brutal, trying to suppress the host by all means necessary. With you and me, on the other hand… I could help you revisit one of our favourite memories."
The possibility of reliving their happiest instants, one of their youthful nights, was positively intoxicating. The headmaster's mind was already racing in search of a memory he would prefer to relive first—there were so many to choose from, for every minute spent together had been a gift—when a finger landed on his lips.
"But it's not for tonight," came a gentle resolution. "There will be time later."
Deflating a notch, Albus nodded and reached for the box he had purchased in Bavaria.
"If we are not venturing into the past… let us make the most of the present."
Inside it was a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte. He had asked the confectioner to pipe an ornamental Ich liebe dich in the middle of the cake—a gesture some could find mawkish; only, he never tired of saying those words.
Gellert blinked. A second later, his surprise gave way to a large smile.
"How did the baker react?" he asked, genuinely amused.
The English wizard gave a timid shrug. "She was completely expressionless."
"I sympathise with her. Und… ich liebe dich auch, Albus."
AN: To Rabastan, a huge thank you—you truly made our evening! We are very happy to know you are enjoying this story. Your analysis of the chapter is fascinating to read and extremely perceptive; we only hope this one hasn't disappointed! Now we are off to start working on the Second Task. Thank you very much!