The day after the Second Task, Aurora joined the breakfast table with her usual resplendent smile.

"Good morning!"

She received only a few lukewarm greetings in return. The atmosphere at the table was tense enough to be cut with a knife, not the least so because Minerva and Pomona were no longer speaking to each other. The Tournament had produced a crack in their lifelong friendship, and the fact that their champions had found themselves tying for the first place had aggravated it to an unprecedented degree.

It had spiked during the celebration following the task, which most students, teachers, and divers had attended. With Justice selecting refreshments, Albus had taken an instant to congratulate Professor Sprout on Hufflepuff's victory. She had beamed at him, delighted at her student's success.

"Cedric did so well, didn't he?"

It was at this point that Minerva had joined in their exchange, having wound her way around the small tables full of food and drink.

"Oh, Albus, I don't know whether to be happy or exasperated, but Harry's performance was excellent, it really was!"

Caught between two opposing sentiments, Albus had attempted to unite them; he had smiled at both witches in turn.

"Oh, yes, and I couldn't be prouder. Hogwarts is fortunate to have Harry and Cedric."

"One thing is a little odd," Pomona had remarked then. "Not to ruin your moment, Minerva, but the truth is, Mr Potter has never shown any particular passion for Herbology. And if Severus is to be believed—"

This could not fail to ignite a spark of indignation. After her sleepless night, Minerva had endured much suspense, and she had flared up like a bonfire.

"All Severus has to say about Harry is rubbish. He is a good boy, Pomona!"

"I am not disputing this; all I'm saying is that using gillyweed was an odd choice for a student of Mr Potter's disposition."

There had been no stopping the argument once Harry's integrity had come into question.

"Be that as it may, he stayed behind to save all the hostages. His behaviour was far nobler than Cedric's."

Professor Sprout had flushed red. "Cedric played exactly by the rules of the task. May I also remind you he came back first?"

"Perhaps you should explain to him what fair sportsmanship is about." Minerva would not back down; she was much too protective of the students under her charge. "He left Harry at the bottom of the lake without even making sure he was all right. Very dishonourable for the House that's supposed to embody loyalty and kindness."

Offended, Pomona had walked off to sit with Filius. When Justice had come to steer Albus away, Minerva had marched off as well, indignant at her friend's obstinacy, as well as the way Karkaroff's accusations had weaselled their way among her colleagues.

The two witches had not been the only attendants upset by the task's results. Not far away, Madame Maxime had been pouring out her heart to Mafzalah, some of their conversation in French carrying over to Albus despite the busy ambience.

"I don't understand some wizards, I really don't. It's as if they were made of stone, so unfeeling!"

"I have met plenty of wizards of this sort," had been the diver's sympathetic reply. "They are all about the goal without an ounce of understanding as to how the entire process works. I don't think they will ever fully comprehend it. Either way, Fleur did very well. Most importantly, she isn't sad about the score."

"Of course she is!" Olympe had protested. "It hasn't sunk in yet because little Gabrielle is here, but it will. It's so terribly unfair."

It had taken a long talk with Justice and Cucullu to uplift the headmaster's spirits. After a cordial discussion, the Martiniquan diver had handed him a card with his details, expanding on the most picturesque spots on his native island and agreeing to a family dinner, wherever they decided to host it. Unable to quite conceal his surprise at the fact that Harry, remarkable as he was, could not effectively communicate with the merpeople, he had lent Albus a few ideas on enriching the school curriculum. Once he had gone to fetch more finger food, Justice had shifted closer to her adoptive father.

"All things considered, I'd say it's going well. How are you holding up, Albus? I've eavesdropped a little, and some people, it seems, are ready to tear each other apart without any need for wands."

"Alas, the judges' conference nearly ended in massacre," he had whispered back. "A little more, and Madame Maxime and Karkaroff would have come to blows. And as for Harry…" He had lowered his voice even more to ensure no one besides Justice could hear him. "The truth is, now that Pomona has brought it to our attention… where did Harry acquire gillyweed? It's not an easily accessible plant and has never figured on the Apothecary catalogue. I hope his godfather sent it to him—the alternatives are not ones I like to consider. And this is without even mentioning the missing memory from the lake." He had exhaled before heaving a smile onto his features. "I'm only certain of one fact: you, my darling, are a genius. If I manage to travel to Haiti through Martinique and remain undetected by the Ministry, it will be entirely your merit."

In response, Justice had grinned. "Great minds think alike: I hoped Cucullu might help you travel incognito. There is nothing more innocent than a sightseeing trip." Her smile had then morphed into a more concerned expression. "I reckon you should investigate. I saw that unpleasant Karkaroff accost one of your professors—he looks somewhat like a bat, but not the sweet sort like our Pancito. The word cheating definitely reached me, so I pretended I was lost. The young boy from the Ministry, the ginger one, took off as soon as the results were announced. Ludovic left quickly too—I could have sworn he was taking the two British divers and their girlfriends to the village… almost as if he wanted to prevent them from being questioned again." The mischievous smile had returned in a wink. "This is exciting! We are like Aurors—might as well draw a list of all the people we ought to interrogate. And Ludovic will be on it."

So far, the list had stayed full. Albus had woken up with a pounding headache, and as the morning had worn on, he could not stop himself from ruminating on Harry's success. He glanced up distractedly from his plate when Aurora addressed him.

"Well done, headmaster! Such a spectacular execution yesterday, wasn't it? I truly enjoyed the views from under the lake. And all the champions did so well!"

"If only," came Severus's grim pronouncement.

The witch frowned, settling down next to Albus. "Do you disagree, Professor Snape?"

"Let's just say Potter's determination to break the rules is not applauded by all of us unanimously."

His words sufficed to rekindle Minerva's outrage. With a loud clank, she lowered her cutlery, her green eyes flashing.

"Nonsense! I've had to listen to these ridiculous, completely unfounded accusations once already; the Durmstrang headmaster wouldn't leave well alone. It's preposterous!"

"And yet, Mr Potter has never displayed interest in Herbology." Pomona had momentarily relinquished her determination to stay quiet.

"Nor in Potions," Snape added.

Aurora looked from one vexed face to another and hesitated.

"Well… at least Hogwarts is in the lead, as far as the points go. But I feel all of them have done well."

Albus pushed his plate away, leaving most of his beans and fried tomatoes intact.

"All four of them were brave and resourceful," he declared through the pain that churned behind his temples and forehead. "They did well. I wish this weren't a tournament, though. Competitions pit people against each other when what we should be doing is teaching children to work together and support one another."

"I agree," the young witch said. "And I did enjoy the views from the lake. It was so well-organised."

When none of the other teachers reacted, as if convinced more disagreement would result in a brawl, she put her hand on top of Albus's, and he wondered whether she could feel his headache and was instinctively attempting to relieve it.

"Speaking of waters… do you have plans to travel to Haiti again soon?"

He gave her a wink. "Any day now; I'm only waiting for the formalities to be completed. This time, I hope to pass through Martinique."

"Ooh, never been there; it must be beautiful. I'm so happy you and Mama Lucille have got along so well! Give her my love when you see her."

"I will do so, and I'll bring plenty of it back," he assured her. "She is extremely fond of you."

The tapping of high heels prompted them to turn around, just in time to spot Madame Maxime claiming her seat with a tight-lipped scowl that rivalled Minerva's. Despite her less than warm greeting, Aurora offered her a glowing smile.

"Bonjour! My congratulations to your champion! Personally, I thought Miss Delacour was very brave. I know I wouldn't have been."

"Merci." Olympe reached for a pastry, her voice as reserved as her demeanour. "Ze girls were very 'appy to be reunited. Eet waz a shock to poor Fleur, of course. Ze judging waz most injust."

Undeterred, the Astronomy teacher spoke all the more amiably.

"The headmaster and I were just discussing what a pity it was that the task had to be conducted in the form of a competition. If they had formulated it instead as collaboration, the tension could have been avoided. All the champions did a wonderful job."

Madame Maxime raised her gaze; only, it was at Albus she proceeded to glower. Half-ignoring Aurora, she launched into a cool reprimand.

"As you know, monsieur Dumbly-dorr, I 'ad to take young mademoiselle Delacour to ze Ministère last afternoon. Once zere, I went over ze registry of all ze students at Beauxbatons. Zat charade waz not necessary. You could 'ave said eet waz Madame Castillo who came yesterday. Because of you, I looked like a fool."

So this was the reason behind her resentment. The old wizard suppressed a weary sigh; truth be told, he was growing tired of the witch's readiness to find insult where there was none and to perceive every element of his behaviour as a personal slight. On the other hand, he could have handled the situation much better.

"The lady you met yesterday is related to Santiago, though she is neither Mrs Cucullu nor Mrs Castillo. Due to her rank, she could not risk divulging her true identity, and I went along with her arrangement. Her arrival was a surprise to me. We certainly didn't mean to offend you, and I apologise for the misunderstanding."

A small humph was her only answer to his words. Once again, it was up to Aurora to maintain the small talk, lest the rest of the staff table resume their hostilities.

The sight of Snape getting up to return to the dungeons distracted Albus. The time had come to lay his worry to rest. He gently squeezed his neighbour's hand.

"Please excuse me, my dear."

He caught up with the Potions Master in the entrance hall, wincing at the pain, which rendered his vision watery.

"Severus, wait—if you have a minute, I meant to ask you a question…" Despite himself, he delivered his enquiry in a single breath. "Did any more ingredients disappear from your cabinet since we last spoke?"

The other man's thin lips curved into a sneer. His voice was dry.

"How kind of you to ask, headmaster. And here I was starting to think Potter had been breaking into my office with your permission slip in his pocket. Gillyweed is missing from my cabinet. But you already knew that."

It was true. His fears confirmed, Albus wavered, unable to make sense of the facts. He had taught children who stole, and many; Tom Riddle had not been the worst of them. Harry was not a thief.

"Did your spell alert you to the intrusion?" he pressed on quietly.

Snape snorted. "It would seem Potter has learned from his mistakes. There were no signs of forced entry. All I can tell you is that gillyweed mysteriously disappeared before Potter captivated us all with his brave performance. Igor was most impressed, I'll have you know."

Such a revelation was more confounding even than the last. A curse-breaker was yet another epithet that did not suit Harry.

"How do you explain it, Severus?" Albus cleared his throat; his voice felt as feeble as his disposition. "I don't know which spells you use to seal your office, but surely, they are complicated enough for most grown wizards to undo, let alone teenagers."

He received a shrug in response. "I would imagine it's easy to slip into my office between classes, especially if you happen to own an invisibility cloak. And since you have as good as given him your blessing, headmaster, I can see how he conceived the idea. Now if that's all, I need to re-evaluate my safety measures before the rest of my cabinet is raided."

Off he marched, his cloak billowing behind him. As Albus watched him leave, he felt one emotion above all: no more mystery, no more uncertainty. He was going to get to the bottom of this business once and for all, and immediately—to clear Harry's name, to catch the true thief, and to end the general distress. One course of action came to mind, and it was precisely what he would do once he partook of the Pain-Relieving Potion: interrogate the ghosts.

There was a reason why those imprints of ancient wizards, ever-present as they were, rarely got consulted on any topics. While time appeared linear to the living, it was not so for the dead; to them, it did not even seem circular. Rather, it resembled a hallway with so many doors, each of them leading to a different moment in time. Ghosts existed between realms and belonged nowhere. They were tethered, as a rule, to a place with a high concentration of magic, a set of memories, or an intense emotion: a vortex of energy powerful enough, in other words, to make a soul linger. With their hopes of peaceful afterlife dashed, they were doomed to wander those corridors of time forever. They could pass from the present day to a memory from centuries ago as easily as though gliding through a wall: one instant, they could be conversing with the current prefect, and the next, they could be reliving a day from their youth. It was a disorienting, torturous existence with nothing ahead but oblivion. If Hogwarts ever ceased to exist, if all those who knew the school ghosts passed away… decades and centuries would go by, and the ghosts' memories would fade. They would continue to exist, lost clumps of sentient energy without identity. One could, however, encounter exceptions.

Certain spirits possessed a remarkable strength of mind while others drew upon their malevolence to wield power over the living. Some, like Cuthbert Binns, represented the very definition of selfish obstinacy. Back in his day, Professor Binns had been known for his petulant temper. It had not taken long for his wife to abandon him, along with the rest of his family and friends. As if unwilling to admit weakness, he had become fixated on his job, and only Headmaster Phineas Nigellus could find favour with him. Now that he was dead, Binns maintained a level of lucidity superior to any other Hogwarts ghost's. He missed no lesson, allowed no change to his routine, spoke to no one but Phineas's portrait, and would not hear of being replaced. Not that Albus would have considered it: he understood just how dangerous irate ghosts could prove to be. They could possess, haunt, manipulate, torment, and even push people towards their deaths. In a way, the entire castle was hostage to Professor Binns.

Consequently, the headmaster did not object when only five spirits came to his call—the four House ghosts and the phantom of a young girl. He had taught the latter. It was difficult to decide which part of her fate was more tragic: her loneliness, the unflattering moniker of Moaning Myrtle, the fact that she could not spend her afterlife with her loved ones, or the unexpected nature of her death. And she comprehended it all. Behind her unassuming airs lurked a hurt and vengeful spirit, if late Olive Hornby's nervous breakdowns had been anything to judge by.

Forcing his mind to concentrate on the task at hand and nothing else, Albus nodded at his solemn audience.

"Thank you for joining me, esteemed ladies and gentlemen. I would not have disturbed you, had it not been essential. I must ask you one question: have any of you recently glimpsed Harry Potter near the Potions office? Have you seen him take any herbs or ingredients for himself? Have you witnessed anything unusual whatsoever? If so, please tell me."

They heard but said nothing. For their part, Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar exchanged puzzled glances; the rest had not moved. If any answers were to be gained, direct questions had to follow.

"Miss Warren, do you recall anything suspicious?"

Myrtle lowered her eyes, just as her student self would have done when tested on spellwork.

"I… well… it's wrong to tell on people, professor." Her voice grew a little stronger. "Harry is a good boy; he is brave. But he isn't good at Potions, sir. She always brews—the bossy girl. It's not a nice thing to say, but it serves her right to have sprouted whiskers and a tail. After a month in the hospital wing, she won't think herself so clever any more."

Unless he was mistaken, she was referring to Miss Granger's accident with the cat hair; she likely thought it was the start of 1993. Albus thanked her before turning towards the Gryffindor ghost, who squared his shoulders and replied in his stoutest, cheeriest voice to mask his deep-rooted misery.

"On my honour, I vow I have never seen young Mr Potter prowl the dungeons when the class was not in session. Most of his leisure time, this brightest young warlock spends in the common room, on the Quidditch pitch, and in the library. It is not in the nature of us Gryffindors to take what isn't ours."

"Thank you, Sir Nicholas."

This was a waste of time, plain and simple. Why he had expected to hear anything besides misleading platitudes, Albus could not tell. Too late now: he had to hear what the other ghosts had to say, or they would feel disrespected.

"Lady Ravenclaw, may I trouble you for your opinion?"

The young woman graced him with an absent look, her long hair undulating down her back and chest.

"He was kind," she said dreamily. "How was I to know? Beneath his words was poison…"

As though heeding a call, she turned around and floated through the wall, out of sight. For all they knew, she was back in the eleventh century. The ensuing silence was broken by the Bloody Baron, who gazed after her with an expression of longing.

"She will return. She always does."

"Baron, wait—"

But he too was gone, no doubt in search of the beautiful witch. The three remaining ghosts shuffled apologetically. None of them could help losing themselves in the meanders of memories; the phenomenon was out of their control. At last, the Fat Friar smiled.

"You ask the right questions, headmaster, and all the while, you knock at the wrong door. Those who live unseen are those who see everything. Ask them; such is my advice."

The old wizard straightened up, his heartbeat quickening. The suggestion was a clear one; it ought to have occurred to him in the first place. No more time to lose.

"Thank you, dear Friar; I believe you are correct. Thank you all."

Ten minutes later, he was standing before the picture of a giant fruit bowl. After tickling the green pear and watching it transform into a door handle, he let himself into the school kitchen. True, the house-elves—the only creatures at Hogwarts that saw everything yet walked unnoticed by the others—slept in a section of the attic, but this immense room was where they spent the majority of their days. The tall walls were bathing in the light of the fireplace and torches, as well as the cacophony of high-pitched voices.

For a single second, the elves froze, the sounds of clinking pots and chopping knives ceasing as if a switch had been pressed. Then in unison, they sank into a bow, and a perturbed Lompy hurried forward. The hours before lunch were some of their busiest.

Albus held up a hand. "Good morning, everyone. I apologise for interrupting your work, and I promise I won't steal much of your time. I have not come because of any trouble. I merely wish to ask you a few questions about a student of ours."

Although visibly thrown off by this development, Lompy spun around and gestured at his fellows.

"Headmaster is wanting to ask questions. Everybody forms lines!"

It took them a heartbeat to take position in neat lines, much like a cavalry troop. The wizard offered them a smile; it was painful to see them so unnerved over a matter that had little to do with them.

"Thank you. What I am about to ask concerns Harry Potter from Gryffindor. He has recently come into possession of gillyweed, a potion ingredient from Professor Snape's private cabinet." Albus paused. "My question is whether any of you have glimpsed Harry Potter near the dungeons outside of the class hours. If so, did you spot him doing anything unusual? And if not, do you have a notion as to how he could have acquired the plant?"

He had barely finished when a thin whimper drew his and the elves' attention. A quivering figure stepped out of the middle line: a figure dressed in children's shorts, mismatched socks, a flamboyant tie, and a tea cozy that made him appear taller than the rest. In spite of his fear, he had a spirited voice.

"It's D-Dobby's fault, sir. Please don't punish Harry Potter, sir."

The assembly expelled a collective breath. Lompy whipped about so swiftly that his bat-like ears flapped. Albus could only blink.

"What do you mean, Dobby? Why do you claim responsibility over this? No need to be afraid; I merely want to understand what happened."

The little creature gulped. "Harry P-Potter d-didn't know, sir. He didn't know how to do the task. So Dobby did it for him, sir—Dobby t-took the gillyweed… from… from P-Professor Snape's… office."

It was as though he had branded himself a criminal. With an abundance of shocked stares and exclamations, the other elves started backing away as if he bore a contagious disease. The truth was that all the house-elves at Hogwarts were required to make a vow of loyalty before being magically tethered to their master, the school. With this pledge came two essential rules they could never break: no stealing, and no interference in the affairs of students and teachers. Dobby had been exempted from both because Dobby had asked to be paid like a wizard.

This, however, was not what disturbed Albus. He did not wish to hear the rest. He had to.

"I see… Can you tell me how you found out what the Second Task entailed? And who gave you the idea for resorting to gillyweed?"

Reluctant to meet his fellows' accusing gazes, Dobby looked straight ahead of him, his ears drooping.

"Dobby… he hears things, sir. Dobby doesn't listen on purpose. But when we works around the castle, we hears students talk, sir. Dobby is cleaning the staffroom, and he sees Professor McGonagall worried about Harry Potter. Dobby is always there for Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter freed Dobby, and Harry Potter is most kind and noble to all house-elves. Professor Hooch and Moody was consoling her, sir, and Professor Sinistra too. They was talking about the task; they said gillyweed can help you breathe under water. That night, Dobby tried to find Harry Potter in his common room, sir, but Harry Potter wasn't there. Harry Potter was in the library, you see: he was looking how to do the task. Dobby woke Harry in the morning when students was going out."

All the air fled Albus's body. He felt dazed. Groping for purchase, he seized the edge of the nearest table and sat down onto the bench, too stunned to speak.

So Harry had been utterly unprepared. Three months of waiting, and he had found no solution for the task. His success, the high points he had received, those were the result of Dobby's rebellious initiative—a stroke of luck, as it were—and possible cheating. For this reason, Miss Granger had been anxious, and Ronald Weasley had attempted to return to the library, aware his friend did not know how to handle the upcoming ordeal. Even Viktor Krum, whose method had been foolish and dangerous at best, had thought of something. Why had Harry left a duty so crucial to the last moment?

"May I have a glass of water, please?"

At least fifteen glasses were pushed towards him, and he took a few sips from one, along with a gulp of air. The wave of shock was beginning to subside. He turned his attention back to Dobby's forlorn figure—the poor elf was cowering, convinced no doubt he was about to be sacked—and Lompy's deceptively calm tone.

"Is Lompy to understand Dobby is using his training to spy and steal? Was Lompy not clear enough how we house-elves must behave?"

The other little creatures were nodding and muttering among themselves. Albus knew them well enough to suspect that the second he walked out of the door, they would round up on the offender. It had never been his intention to ruin an elf's relationship with his colleagues.

"You are not in trouble, Dobby," he said in a manner as reassuring as he could manage. "I am not upset. You have helped Harry, saved him in fact, and for this, I will make an exception. I will ask all of you here to please forgive Dobby and not hold his action against him. If there is any issue, please come to me directly."

He was afraid one of these days, Lompy would start loathing him for his choices in running the school. In all honesty, the elf would not be the only one who believed Albus had turned Hogwarts into a charity institution for wayward magical beings. Winky was yet another reason for disagreement. She was there, asleep by a pile of empty bottles, her little clothes stained, an old tablecloth draped over her limbs. It was a heartbreaking sight. Whatever objections he encountered, Albus could not throw her out; he simply could not condemn her.

He took his leave. How should he tackle this problem? He needed to think, to discuss it with his other half. Sirius ought to be notified as well. They had not yet been in touch, which signified the Death Eater continued eluding them; still, a thorough conversation on Harry was imperative. They both would have to remain serene.

A message was waiting for him in his office: two lines in Giacomo's handwriting on a piece of parchment.

We would like to invite you to dinner and discuss the news of our favourite school. Which evening would be convenient for you?

Politics. Naturally, by our favourite school, his son was referring to Durmstrang. He would have noticed the Swedes' participation in the Tournament and drawn his conclusions. It was going to be a highly interesting debate.

Lowering the note, Albus contemplated the three Spanish bats that had brought it. Having come to visit him already on the eve of the First Task, they seemed to feel at home amid his belongings and had even chosen Fawkes's perch to suspend themselves from and rest their wings. Inadvertently, they inspired him with an idea.

"Do you fancy another trip? If you wish, I will take you with me to Austria."

What he intended to do was easier imagined than carried out. The Nurmengard guards had not yet shown signs of slackening in their work, and they checked his clothes thoroughly. To avoid any unpleasantries, Albus asked the bats to wait outside of Gellert's window. As was the custom, he had to leave his wand downstairs before being allowed into his lover's cell. The German wizard, he was gratified to see, looked strong enough to withstand a light loss of blood.

"I haven't come alone today," he whispered when they embraced.

Gellert arched an eyebrow. "Have you brought a visitor?"

"I've brought three."

A cautious whistle, and the bats flew in like missiles, only soundlessly. One of them was carrying a tiny empty vial; the second one bore an identical vial with a few drops of dittany inside. The third bat, the one that had turned silver with age, was flying unencumbered.

"This is Pancito and his young ones—they have come all the way from Italy," the headmaster explained. "Ever since mambo Lucille set her conditions, I've been wondering how we could extract a vialful of your blood without the guards' knowledge. This is where these sweet fellows might consent to do us a favour."

Stretching out a hand for the old bat to hang from, Gellert tilted his head in reflection.

"Beautiful creatures. They do like blood, and they've been known to get carried away. That's why there is such a stigma against them."

"I don't reckon these three have ever tasted it," Albus confessed, relieving the small creatures of vials. "They are fully domesticated—as far as I know, Pancito has been raised on a diet of insects, fruits, and vegetables. What I am about to ask of him is a favour. He is very clever. Are you ready, Schatz?"

The other wizard let out a soft laugh.

"It does flatter me that you would corrupt a witch's pet for my sake."

This was a point Albus had not considered. Was he about to undo the years of Pancito's conditioning? What would the bat's mistress say if she found out he had encouraged her familiar to succumb to his wilder instincts? He hesitated, reminded himself of Lucille's requirement, and sighed.

All the while, the bat eyed Gellert curiously while he stroked its silver belly.

"I trust you," he decided. "In exchange, you have to tell me what got you so worried, Albus. Otherwise, I might just complain to our dear guards of the mistreatment you've made me endure."

His joke did little good.

"Of course I will tell you," the Englishman said gravely. "But let's do this first. I won't feel secure until the deed is done and the bats are out of the guards' reach." He came closer and smiled at the little creature. "Bite, Pancito. Have no fear. It is quite all right."

The bead-like black eyes stared back at him uncertainly as if seeking permission, reassurance.

"I will understand if you refuse. I only ask it of you this once because we truly need help."

At this, the animal obliged and sank its pointy teeth into Gellert's wrist. Blood dribbled down the pale skin and into the prepared vial, which was filled in a wink. Persuading the bat to stop was another matter. The German wizard had been right: this magical species could easily get carried away. In the end, he had to shake the bat off, and Albus cradled it, thanking it profusely for having come to their rescue.

"Sharp teeth." With the bite on his wrist Healed, Gellert mused aloud. "Be sure to tell him he cannot do this again, or his owner won't be very happy. Mind you, I'm surprised a witch who would use her powers to pry information from the minds of Muggles would teach this fellow not to bite in the first place."

"Oh, no, Justice's familiar is a cat. Pancito belongs to her Light sister, Luz."

"Interesting." There was a thoughtful frown. "Maybe it's because they are sisters: something of the Dark one is present in the Light one, and vice-versa. Either way, thank you for bringing this charming company to me. But now, seriously, what is on your mind? You have been preoccupied ever since you entered the cell. Are you doubtful about trusting the Haitian witch after all?"

"No, nothing of the sort. Give me just one more minute—let us say goodbye to these beauties."

Many more thanks and caresses later, the three bats were flying towards the horizon; they could Apparate considerable distances and would be having some rest at Hogwarts. The two vials reposed in the inner pocket of Albus's robes, and he finally deemed the moment safe enough to confide in his lover. As they settled down by the window, he shared all that had transpired at the Second Task.

"I was so proud and delighted," he concluded. "Both yesterday and back in November. And now… I no longer know what to think. Harry, it would appear, underestimated the difficulty of the task, left it to the last minute, panicked when he couldn't find the answer, and spent the night leading to the event in the library. It makes no sense, Schatz. He has always been resourceful. He fought his way to the Stone of Nicolas Flamel, discovered the Chamber of Secrets, learned the Patronus Charm of his own volition, and saved his godfather. And now, of all times, he struggles to perform a little research?"

Gellert's concerned eyes probed his own.

"Tell me exactly how you found out."

"There is a house-elf at Hogwarts who is devoted to Harry. This house-elf happened to be cleaning the staffroom while the teachers were discussing the Second Task. Gillyweed was mentioned as an option for when one needed to breathe underwater. Whether by chance or from careful observation, the elf knew Harry's research had been fruitless, so he took it upon himself to sneak into the Potions Master's office and take the plant. The morning of the task, he woke Harry up just in time to give him instructions." Albus smiled ruefully. "Merlin, how worried we were when it was the hour to start and he was not showing up. But he did, and… he almost won. Despite the allegations of cheating inside the lake."

"In other words, he left it to the last moment, got help before and during the task, and for all of this, he got rewarded," came a sober summary.

"That's right." The Englishman leaned against the wall. He felt drained. Unless he had fallen victim to paranoia, his headache was returning with a vengeance too. "I cannot fathom it. What cheating can there be underwater? I never suspected it could have come so far."

After a few seconds of silence, Gellert heaved a sigh.

"I never played fair at school," he declared. "But you know what's different about this entire affair? The boy lacks the drive. We never did, Albus: we always had a purpose. Even when we committed our mistakes and paid for them."

He stood up and started pacing across the cell, his aura pulsating around him like a dark halo.

"This is a problem," he announced. "I've seen it in my classmates, and later also in my followers: some people are too comfortable, too reliant on their friends to think for themselves. On one hand, the lack of ambition is good news: it means the boy's fame hasn't gone to his head, which is exactly what we wanted. On the other hand, the behaviour he has now displayed… it stems from the lack of proper guidance. The Muggles he lives with would quickly squash any initiative he exhibited as a child. They would punish him for everything. Yes, he tracked down the Stone, discovered the Chamber of Secrets, and saved his godfather; and yes, all these instances have been remarkable. You rewarded him accordingly. Yet afterwards, something went amiss. It's as if he has reverted to his old attitude and stopped caring. And with such a mindset, how can he go against our dear Lord once the latter returns?"

"Precisely." Albus exhaled; he then pressed his hands against his temples and shook his head. "This is my fault, all of it. I should never have sent him to live with those Muggles. If only, that night, Sirius had answered my Patronus messages… we could have avoided the blood magic—it was the last resort. I only wanted to ensure Harry's safety, and I failed. What good is the blood protection if the boy doesn't use it? If he runs away from home at the first opportunity, as he did last year?"

The German wizard briefly stopped pacing to regard him.

"Have you spoken to that overgrown child of a godfather he has? Maybe they can parent each other."

This time, his words earned a reluctant chuckle.

"Not yet—I have come to you first. I will, though. Sirius is his father now, and I'm confident he will employ all his efforts to raise Harry well."

"Yes, talk to him as soon as you can." The sapphire eyes narrowed. "Tell me more about the divers. You said they had been covering up for the boy. How did Ludovic Bagman react to that?"

Albus described to him the manner in which Ludo had cut the divers' interrogations short before leading them out of the premises altogether. He imparted their reticence and their hasty pretexts and did not omit to comment on Percy Weasley's peculiar behaviour, which he still thought emblematic of Dolores Umbridge's control. His lover's response came heavy with sarcasm.

"Ah, why does this sound familiar?"

They both knew whom he was alluding to.

At last, Gellert straightened up. "You know, Albus, befriend Ludovic Bagman. Hear me out: I already told you once that Crouch, for all his flaws, used to be a pillar of stability. Now he is out of the way, kidnapped and possibly tortured. We don't know the specifics, but it is safe to assume he won't be returning to the Ministry in the foreseeable future. If there is one thing I know about power, it's that a power vacuum never lasts for long. The ambitious individuals always lurk close by, and the fact that Crouch's young assistant has been taken under a caring wing this soon is a bad sign. At least you know where Ludovic stands in all of this. Make him your ally if you can. We will need allies."

Truer words could hardly have been uttered. Certain details about Ludo still commanded caution—his interest in Harry alarmed the headmaster in particular. And yet, they had to try. If Hogwarts could take a more active part in organising the Third Task, no surprises would be left in store. There would be room for guiding Harry through his preparation.

With a nod of assent, Albus stood up and approached the other man, too restless to remain seated any longer. Their arms closed around each other.

"It is not your fault, Schatz," Gellert assured him. "Back then, you had no choice: the boy's godfather was nowhere to be found, and you had to make arrangements. We will work now with what we have. We will get through this together."