No matter the time of the week, the Leaky Cauldron was among the busiest establishments in wizarding London. Interestingly, it was also one of the safest. The ambience felt welcoming, as though the magic cultivated by the generations of innkeepers had been designed to render the threshold between the Muggle and magical worlds as smooth as possible. Balance was the word this dwelling called to mind.
Throughout the century, there had been several renovations and changes to the décor. Gone was the nook under the lamp where, the day before Ariana's passing, Albus had drunk cider with Gellert. Life was bittersweet this way: time sought to change and erase while memory held on to everything one loved. Albus chose a table by the wall. Even though he did not expect to be spotted by one of Umbridge's spies, observing caution was essential. Fortunately, Tom the barman was one of the most discreet wizards one could encounter, and most guests appeared to be in a hurry, the lunchbreak hour being about to end.
Vivacious Dark aura emerged by Albus's side without a warning.
"So cold up here!"
Clad in pale blue cashmere, Justice swooped into the seat opposite his. She had come a few moments late, as he had known she would. To waste no time, he had ordered two tropical cocktails—her favourite—at his arrival.
"I'm not angry," she carried on, "but you need to tell me everything—and hi!"
"Hi, darling." With a rueful smile, he proceeded to the point. "I'm so sorry. I never intended to cause pain and sorrow to any of you. How are Santi and his parents?"
The witch pushed a dark lock behind her ear, her gestures animated.
"Luz has been ruined by mum and dad. You know, they made her take responsibility for everything, and it left a mark. That's not on you. This being said, you owe Santi a nice gift for his birthday, no matter what he wants. And to me, you owe an explanation. Why would you do something so reckless? You could have just smuggled in a needle, you know. Pancito would have helped you there too."
"You are right." Sighing, Albus considered his colourful drink before meeting Justice's eye. "The truth is, I wasn't thinking… It happened on the day I found out Harry had cheated at the Second Task. After a chaotic interrogation, I returned to my office, distraught, and Pancito was waiting for me with a note. I can't tell you what took hold of me. I only knew the guards at Nurmengard had been replaced, that they would search me thoroughly, and at that instant, I saw Pancito as our saviour. It's clear to me I should have asked him for help in smuggling in a needle. At the time, it didn't occur to me. I acted impulsively, and I believed Pancito wouldn't take to blood."
Justice pursed her lips. "Get something nice for Luis too. His strategy of feeding Pancito nasty stuff mixed with blood is working, but he's been bitten many times." A second later, however, her expression cleared. "You need an accomplice, you know. It's better to discuss things before acting in an impulsive way. What do you say?"
Blinking, Albus gazed at her. He loved the witch deeply and was conscious of her loyalty and affection. Even so, she gave him cause to marvel every time they spoke.
"What has an old fool like me done to have such treasure for a daughter?" he asked quietly.
The large black eyes opened wide. "Did you really think I'd hate you for something like this? My favourite dad?!"
"I deserve it."
But he reached out and gently squeezed her hands. For half a minute, they sat in silence. When at last he could trust his voice to stop shaking, he formulated a suggestion, inspired by the German newspapers.
"Does Santi like the Rogue Zombies? There will be a performance in Berlin next month. If he and Dominique should be interested, I will ensure they get the tickets."
The idea was met with a grin. "There you go—we've found something cool! Of course, Luz will protest, but if Santi has the tickets, he'll be popular. Not that he needs it; I mean, he does…" Justice shook her head. "Ay, it's so good that he took after Luis, you know. I shouldn't meddle or anything, but just… he's a really good player, and Cucullu's boy gets all the spotlight. I don't think Santi minds, but it irks me. At Durmstrang, I never had the spotlight—only briefly when chosen by the goblet to be the school liaison. They were the popular ones: the Ministry prodigies." Her expression was sobering up. "Anyway, I really shouldn't be projecting any of it on Santi, especially when Gia and Alvito have never exactly cared for popularity either. Still, Santi is, bizarrely, more like I used to be. Gia has taken after Giaco, completely so. And Alvito… well, it's as if he's been claimed by something else entirely. Long story short: the Rogue Zombies are a great idea. You get the tickets, and I'll work on Luz. It could be the fact that she's been home-schooled, but she's wary of sending Santi to any big gatherings. She'll probably think they'll get attacked at the concert. And if they did, knowing Santi… he's the type of boy who will stay behind to save the others. That girlfriend of his, for starters."
It was characteristic of Justice to speak a great deal once she started. Albus had always found this trait of hers endearing. Smiling, he listened until the end.
"In that case, four tickets, I should think." His eyes narrowed in reflection. "I see what you mean. Santi's aura is Lighter than yours— it's still forming, I dare say. Yet something about him reminds me of you. Maybe your met tèts are close. Mambo Lucille alone could say for certain."
"Hmm." The witch took a sip of her cocktail. "Speaking of which, do you practice astral projection?"
"I do: no matter how busy, I try to set a little time aside every day." The headmaster bit his lip. "If everything goes as planned and I make the most of our time, Summer Solstice is when I hope to cleanse the cell. But before then, everything we've discussed here, I need to relay to Giaco and apologise to him as well."
To his surprise, Justice pressed his fingers.
"Ah, Giaco doesn't need to know everything, eh? In fact, the less he knows, the better. If he finds out, he will recruit Luz, and they'll gang up on us, treating us like teenagers, as if we were less mature than Santi and his girlfriend. I've met her, by the way—she's kind of shy, not like most girls from Beauxbatons, from what I've seen—but nice enough. Anyway, before you go and explain yourself, consult me first; it's better. If we are in this together, let's be on the same page."
It was Albus's turn to shake his head. "Darling, I don't want to be the reason you start hiding the truth from your husband. I'm not worth it. You haven't done anything wrong."
An energetic sweep of her arm ended the debate. "It's all right. I just know Giaco too well, and I'm sure he'll protest. I want to help you—you need help anyway—so let's do it our own way. By it, I mean anything. I'll help; it'll be fun. De acuerdo?"
She held out her hand, her eyes glinting with good-natured mischief, inviting him for a walk in Diagon Alley.
They spent a blissful hour roaming the cobbled street with its shops and curiosities and parted reluctantly as the afternoon advanced.
Upon returning to his office, Albus came face-to-face with a fatigued Ludo Bagman, who had been waiting by the Gargoyle, his briefcase full of parchment. When asked how he was doing, the commentator attempted a smile.
"Ah, you know, so much to do these days." The shadows under his blue eyes were as telling as the absence of small talk. "I do have a reason for coming here," he declared. "For the Third Task, we need your permission to grant access to Hogwarts to certain third parties. The champions' families—it's the tradition, you see. No problem for Amos, but the foreigners will need some papers. It's… well, up to me to organise it. I forgot."
Absently, he looked around the circular room.
"Barty, he… he never forgot anything. It was annoying, but… I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it all. That I should have done something. I mean… about Bertha."
Over his shoulder, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus rolled his eyes. No one paid him mind. Lowering the scrolls of parchment onto his desk, Albus turned to face the other wizard, wishing yet again he had spared him from the tragic news. It could not be more obvious Bertha Jorkins haunted Ludo constantly. The younger man, one could see, had not slept at peace for a while.
"There is nothing you could have done," the headmaster assured him. "You were kind to her and protected her when no one else would. Besides, I cannot exclude being entirely incorrect on this. As for Barty, he might never have forgotten his paperwork, but he quickly forgot what mattered in life."
With a cursory glance at the text, he signed the permission forms and handed them back.
"I won't be inviting Harry's Muggle relatives," he said musingly. "It's best if I ask someone else."
"Ah, yes, poor lad. Well, you know who he's friends with. I understand; it's difficult with Muggles, inviting them to Hogwarts..."
Ludo did not finish. Instead, he hesitated, nervousness tinging his voice.
"There's something else... since you're good with children..."
The encouragement was a curious one. "Yes?"
"Look, mate—I mean, Albus—I don't really know how to put it. It's the Weasley twins. I think they might be on the wrong path. They've, err, taken interest in gambling. I thought, maybe you could talk to them. Such things don't end well."
The matter had to be grave for the official to mention it. Straightening up, Albus pressed on.
"Can you tell me more?"
After two or three seconds of wavering came a most unusual reaction: with a frustrated gesture, Ludo swore under his breath.
"To dragon's shit with it! My reputation is beyond saving, so I'll just say it. You know I've welshed on some deals, right? Well, I take from wherever I can to... to keep them off my back. They, uh, cornered me at the Cup, so I paid off some of it. But before that, I'd had a bet with the twins, and… I paid them off in leprechaun gold. They… they send letters now. I wouldn't be chuffed if the undersecretary got to see any of them. Also, just… you know, I'm not in the right, but it's not good for them to gamble at such a young age. I thought it might be worth having a word with them."
An unsettled Albus took in the news. Whether it was due to his age or his Victorian upbringing, he could not abide children's disrespect of adults. Even under circumstances such as these; even when adults were far from innocent.
"I promise there will be a serious conversation on the topic," he said quietly. "And Ludo, my offer still stands. I'll give you as much as you need."
Tiredly, the visitor met his gaze. "No, mate, I can't accept it. It's bad enough with Bertha. Just talk to them if you can. That's how it starts: betting, and then gambling." He heaved a sigh. "If Bertha shows up, I'll pay her back first."
Turning around, he picked his briefcase.
"Well, I'll get going. I'll come when it's time to reveal the maze to the champions. Ah, and before that, I'll have to bring Pankaj Patil over. Owl me one of these days so we can plan a chinwag, all right, mate?"
The flames that engulfed him barely lost their emerald glow when Albus threw in a new handful of Floo powder. Pity churned within him. Few wizards could discern Ludo's kind heart through his carefree façade and damaged reputation. The fact that his life outside of work consisted of little more than a cycle of addiction, debt, guilt, and solitude was only another reason he deserved better than being met with indifference.
Lowering his face into the fire, the headmaster waited, his eyes closed, lest nausea overcome him. As the whirl of magic halted, he found himself peering into the small kitchen of the Burrow. It was cluttered with vegetables, mushrooms, and pots; soft burbling testified to a simmering pot of water. Within an instant, footsteps rang out, and Molly Weasley was hurrying towards him, a wide smile on her lips.
"Albus, what a surprise!" She wiped her hands on a flowery apron. "It's so lovely to see you! Is everything all right? Are you looking for me?"
The questions had followed in a single breath, causing Albus to smile.
"I am. Please pardon this intrusion, Molly. I apologise if this is an inconvenient time—"
"No, no, not at all. Let me just take this off the heat—it's about done anyway." She waved her wand at the stove and, chuckling, settled down by the fire. "I've made some devilled eggs. Would you like one or two?"
"You are very kind, but I'm good, truly. Thank you." Albus shifted slightly; his knees hurt. "I don't mean to steal much of your time. There are two matters I've been hoping to discuss with you—one is sad, the other one more cheerful."
The witch's ginger brows furrowed. "Oh, tell me, Albus."
It never was easy to expose a child's wrongdoing to a parent, but it was necessary. With a sigh, the old wizard cut to the chase.
"I have been notified Fred and George placed a bet during the Quidditch World Cup. Sadly, they were paid back in leprechaun gold. In an attempt to recover their money, they have been writing letters to the Ministry official in question—letters that could produce great damage if the wrong person got hold of them."
Before he had even finished, Molly's mouth had fallen open, and her hands had flown in the air.
"You don't mean to say… I can't believe them!"
Cheeks flushed, voice rising, she looked around her, as though seeking agreement from a wider audience.
"How many times? We told them to stop this nonsense! I can't believe how irresponsible they are. And they have been writing letters, you say? Don't they care at all about their father's job? Their brother's career? To cause so much trouble—and make you worry, on top of it—the shame!"
Albus intervened the second she drew a breath, gently cutting off her rant. Working her up was not his intention.
"I'm very sorry about this turn of events and the loss of their money. But I'm also confident it won't happen again. I will take no further action, knowing I can trust you to explain to Fred and George why it's unacceptable to gamble or send such letters."
"Oh, trust me, I will!" There was no doubt the twins would have trembled before Molly's expression, had they been present. "We've never had so much trouble with all the others combined! When will they learn to act their age? What have we done wrong?"
But then she glanced at the fire and reminded herself of the headmaster's visit. This appeared to cool her outrage down.
"Don't you worry, Albus, they will fall in line—you can rely on me. When Arthur hears you've had to waste your time on their dim-witted antics… I don't know when I've felt this ashamed."
"You have nothing to feel sorry about—it is I who apologise for bearing such news." The wizard had rendered his tone as soothing as he could. "Now, onto the other topic. You already know the Third Task will be taking place on the 24th of July. On this occasion, the champions' families will be coming to school to watch and provide emotional support. It's a chance to meet the other parents as well. I cannot invite Harry's Muggle family, and since he is immensely fond of you, I was wondering whether you and Arthur might be interested in coming—only if it's no trouble, that is. Everyone from your family is welcome."
Those words produced the desired effect, for the witch's countenance thawed on the spot. She pressed her hands to her chest.
"Goodness me… Albus, you don't need to ask. Of course, we will come. Even if I had been busy, I'd have made time—what could be more important? The poor dear, how frightened he must be! I'd never want him to face something like this on his own. If you need us to fill in some forms, Arthur will do it tonight, and he'll send them straight back to you."
With copious thanks, Albus bid the witch goodbye, hoping the comfort she drew from his request would overshadow her disappointment. It occurred to him, not without a pang of guilt, that a rather unpleasant evening was in store for Arthur Weasley. Still, it had been Arthur's responsibility to prevent his underage sons from gambling.
Pleased to know Harry would be surrounded, on the day of the Third Task, by all the people he loved most, the headmaster returned to his overflowing agenda.
Ludo fulfilled his promise within several days. When the official visit took place, it was held in the company of a junior journalist, a photographer, and the newly appointed attaché representing the Indian Ministry of Magic. Despite being father to Parvati and Padma, Pankaj Patil gave the impression of ageless serenity, poised in a cream-coloured Sherwani embroidered with gold. To demonstrate the collaboration between their countries, he formally transmitted magical plant seeds to Ludo and Albus—seeds that would grow into bushes twenty feet high, forming an elaborate maze. It was a small victory for Ludo to have their picture printed in the Sunday Prophet, alongside an article. Albus kept praying for more victories.
In truth, agitation grew within him with each passing week. Not a snippet of significant news reached him by the end of April; nothing throughout the entirety of May either. As if united by a tacit alliance, both Voldemort and Umbridge lay low. Torn between paranoia and unease, desperate for the slightest hint, and unable to endure more suspense, the headmaster asked Severus Snape for a meeting.
That evening was fresh and cloudy. From the castle windows, one could observe the growing bushes, which the champions, gathered around Ludo, were now discovering for the first time. Albus had drawn the plan himself, not omitting to divide the maze into six parts and assign them to the volunteers. With Filius Flitwick patrolling the entrance and the other teachers holding strategic points inside the maze, each champion's movements would be observed and shared with the audience in the form of memories projected onto the bushes' surface. It was a solid idea, as far as Albus could tell. Yet solid in theory did not mean viable.
"You wanted to see me, headmaster?"
Snape had entered so silently, it was as though he had materialised from thin air. Turning away from the window, Albus banished all trace of worry from his face.
"Good evening, Severus. How are you today?" He gestured towards the seat on the other side of his desk, aware his smile came across as tense if not unnatural. "Unless I'm mistaken—and how I wish I were—we won't be enjoying peace for very long now. How do you feel about it?"
There was no expression on the sallow features. After a brief silence, the young man rolled up his left sleeve. His Dark Mark had become inky.
"I have been in touch with Lucius."
The headmaster looked up from the undulating snake to the inscrutable eyes. "I gather he is busy."
"He is. His Mark is as black as mine and Igor's."
This was hardly news. Not for the first time, Severus was sharing information as reluctantly as though it were pure gold. Albus pressed on, unperturbed.
"How far does Lucius's influence reach?"
This time, his question elicited a more genuine response.
"I believe I could be more useful finding out exactly that, rather than babysitting Potter, to be frank."
More negotiating it was then: more reasoning, more pleas. It was what Severus craved.
"Helping keep the children safe won't take more than a few hours of your time," came a reassurance. "If you wish to skip the preliminary meetings, you may do so. I've asked you to participate because you are a wizard of uncommon power and resourcefulness. I know there is more you can do than patrol the maze. But the Third Task is precisely the sort of event where something more could happen."
"And isn't Alastor Moody competent enough to avert this something?" Snape's voice remained cold. "He still treats me like a criminal. I find it very unpleasant to work with him."
"About this, I'm truly sorry. He is wrong. I can promise you this: in a month, he will no longer be your colleague." Albus leaned back. The conversation was headed in a crystal-clear direction. "Surely, there is something else I can do. You only need to name it."
A smirk curved the other wizard's lips.
"Even if I ask you to punish Potter for stealing Gillyweed from my cabinet and cheating his way out of the Second Task?"
Had Albus permitted exasperation to cloud his mind, he would not have resisted a scowl.
"Even though Harry was out of bed the night Gillyweed disappeared from your office, he had not broken in. Alastor, who can see through Invisibility Cloaks, told me Harry had not been carrying any ingredients. As for the Second Task, he has been punished enough." The blue eyes stared back, equally unreadable. "Why are you so adamant about seeing him punished?"
"I find it shameful that you let him get away with cheating, rule-breaking, and blatant disrespect. Just like his father, he can do no wrong as far as you're concerned. Meanwhile, I made one mistake—I got close to the only group that would accept me—and I've been treated like a criminal all my life… by your good friend, Alastor Moody, no less. It seems unfair, headmaster, don't you think?"
The complaint, delivered in a flat tone, came across all the more intense for it, and it was succeeded by a few seconds of stillness.
"I have never considered you a criminal," Albus said earnestly. "Not even when my brother caught you listening in on Sybill and me. Not the night you asked me to protect the Potters either. We cannot change Alastor: his life has been long and arduous. Like I said, he will not be working with us for long. If any other member of staff disrespects you, I hope you will inform me at once." He paused. "It has always been my conviction Dark magic is misrepresented and misunderstood. Dark wizards face prejudice every day, and, in most cases, it's unwarranted. So you will never hear a word of judgment from me. Our only disagreement is Harry." It was difficult to suppress a mirthless chuckle. "Contrary to the appearances, I know his flaws, and I see to it that he gets educated whenever he misbehaves. But why will you not consider the other side of the coin, Severus? He is Lily's son. She chose to give him a chance to live, and it is through him that her legacy remains alive. Aren't we bound to respect her sacrifice?"
Snape averted his gaze. He changed the topic instantly.
"I wouldn't know about Lucius's closest ties. He nests his eggs with different dragons, as they say. But I know this: Fudge is not the one who holds power in the Ministry. It's his undersecretary. She is negotiating with Lucius—much to his dismay."
Resigned, Albus nodded. What he had attempted was useless. And still, he had learned nothing new.
"Lucius had better be careful," he commented. "People like Miss Umbridge have one thing in common with dragons: once they bite, they don't let go."
The other man shrugged. "I don't know the details—by the sound of it, I wouldn't even want to. I only thought you should know."
"Thank you. It means we must work on two fronts—the Ministry and Lord Voldemort's loyal supporters. Without them, there is little he can do. Before it's too late, we must also catch the one who put Harry's name in the goblet."
"Well, if that's everything."
With a display of dispassion, the young man rose, his black robes swirling around him, and left the office.
A lengthy, vocal sigh escaped Albus. No matter how often the public unjustly labelled him the greatest wizard of their time, certain matters transcended his comprehension. He could not understand why a grown man would compare himself to an orphaned teenager pursued by misfortune, envying the compassion the latter inspired in adults. Or why this grown man would complain so frequently about a case of workplace tension, as though there was a single professional in the world who had never found himself at odds with a co-worker. Or why someone who had known suffering and abuse would encourage an innocent child's punishment.
"What an inspiring speech." The snide voice belonged to Phineas Nigellus. "Our dear Potions Master was so moved by what you had to say on legacy and sacrifice that he is busy reducing Potter to a bundle of raw nerves as we speak. You might want to check it out, Dumbledore—they are in front of your office."
Having pulled out a folder with unopened correspondence, the headmaster positively shoved it back into the top drawer. Next time, he would indeed save his moralising for the potted plants on his window sill.
Sure enough, stationed in front of the Gargoyle, Harry was attempting to find a way into the office, only to be opposed by a gleeful Snape.
"Is there a problem?"
They turned around, the boy hopeful, the man disconcerted.
"Professor!" The despair in Harry's voice partly dissolved under relief. "Mr Crouch is here—he's down in the forest, he wants to speak to you!"
Even through his anger, Albus felt a new emotion creep inside his chest. It caused the fine hair on his arms to stand on end.
It has started, he thought.
"Lead the way."
Without a second glance at the Potions Master, they strode off.
This ought to have been expected, came disconnected ideas as the old wizard scrutinised Harry's back, anxious to remove him from the danger's path. It was always this boy who brought substantial news. And Crouch had escaped after all. Had it happened by Pettigrew's inattention? Or was this a ruse designed by Voldemort?
"What did Mr Crouch say, Harry?"
"Said he wants to warn you; said he's done something terrible… He mentioned his son—and Bertha Jorkins—and… and Voldemort, something about Voldemort getting stronger."
Behind the entrance gate, the night was pitch-black and windy, as it always was.
"He's not acting normally," Harry added, panting with an effort to keep up. "He doesn't seem to know where he is. He keeps talking like he thinks Percy Weasley's there, and then he changes and says he needs to see you. I left him with Viktor Krum."
Albus's heart skipped to a halt. His step grew longer, faster, but it was for naught; he already knew, without being able to explain how so, that they had come late. They would pay dearly for having left the escaped prisoner with a guileless lad.
It was the silence that disturbed him the most. The grounds were never completely quiet. Someone was hiding within their line of vision.
"Where are they?" he inquired, all his senses alert, wishing Hogwarts could detect and expel this hostile presence.
The boy headed confidently for the trees; they had bypassed the Beauxbatons carriage.
"Over here…" Casting about him, Harry peered between the trunks. He was also starting to realise the situation was amiss. "Viktor? They were here; they were definitely somewhere around here…"
The tip of the Elder Wand illuminated their surroundings, a beam of white light flying across the grass and stones and stumps. Something came into sight, and in that split second, the old wizard was paralysed with horror. A youngster—Viktor Krum—lay motionless mere ten feet away.
They rushed to his side; trembling fingers found the boy's pulse, checked his eyelid. Upon locating the heartbeat, Albus was convinced his own heart would give out with the rush of gratitude.
"Should I go and get someone?" Harry offered nervously. "Madam Pomfrey?"
He still had no idea. However many warnings and precautions they surrounded him with, however often Sirius reasoned with him, he did not understand the peril he was in. It was fortunate and, at the same time, maddening beyond belief.
"No. Stay here."
Straightening up, the headmaster turned in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. The minute the teenagers were safe, the search would begin. Reviving Viktor Krum was easy: disoriented but healthy, the teenager started explaining at once.
"The old madman attacked me! I vos looking around to see vare Potter had gone, and he attacked from behind!"
Crouch's kidnapper had decided to spare Krum while remaining undetected. Secrecy and stealth meant everything to him. For once, Albus could not have been more thankful.
Hagrid emerged from the darkness within a moment, a crossbow on his arm, Fang by his side. He was closely followed by Alastor Moody.
"Damn leg." With his wand tip, the Auror shone light at their strange party. "Would've been here quicker. What's happened? Snape said something about Crouch."
Had Severus taken their conversation to heart after all?
Albus gestured towards the forest. "I don't know where Barty Crouch is, but it is essential that we find him."
"I'm onto it."
He was gone when a new person arrived: a confused, indignant, and slightly intoxicated Karkaroff.
"Vot is zis?" His outraged gaze flitted between each of them in turn before settling on his champion. "Vot's going on?"
"I vos attacked!" came a swift response. "Mr Crouch or votever his name—"
Just like Harry before him, Viktor Krum seemed reassured by his own headmaster's appearance; it was only natural for a child to seek protection after such an ordeal. He had no means of guessing Karkaroff's growing fury was unrelated to his safety.
"Crouch attacked you? Crouch attacked you? The Trivizard judge?"
There was no stopping a new rant, even though no one had time, let alone interest, for it.
"Treachery!" An accusing finger pointed at Albus's chest. "It is a plot! You and your Ministry of Magic have lured me here under false pretences, Dumbledore! Zis is not an equal competition! First you sneak Potter into ze tournament, zough he is underage! Now one of your Ministry friends attempts to put my champion out of action! I smell double-dealing and corruption in zis whole affair, and you, Dumbledore, you, viz your talk of closer international vizarding links, of rebuilding old ties, of forgetting old differences—here's vot I think of you!"
He spat onto the ground, right at the Englishman's feet. He would have carried on too; only, Hagrid was not willing to hear another word. With a single swiping motion, he grabbed the man by the front of his furs and slammed him against the nearest tree, oblivious to the teenagers' frightened looks.
"Apologise!"
It was too late now to undo the damage; all Albus could do was stop it before it escalated even further.
"Hagrid, no!"
The Durmstrang headmaster slid down in an undignified huddle of fur. As satisfying as one could have found the sight, there was no doubt it would never be forgotten—not by Karkaroff, and not even by Krum. From the boy's point of view, Hogwarts had failed them: an unfair tournament, an insane judge, a cowardly attack at night, and violence against his headmaster as soon as the latter had dared to complain.
Nothing could be done to fix this impression. They had to keep the children safe; that was all.
"You will take Harry back to school, Hagrid. Take him right up to Gryffindor Tower." Albus turned towards the youngest wizard among them. "And Harry, I want you to stay there. Anything you might want to do—any owls you might want to send—they can wait until morning. Do you understand me?"
The green eyes blinked, visibly taken aback. "Er, yes."
"I'll leave Fang with yeh, headmaster." It was not without one last, terrible glare at Karkaroff that Hagrid complied. "Stay, Fang. C'mon, Harry."
Seeing Harry nearing the castle, protected by an armed gamekeeper, was the only sight apt to comfort Albus. By this point, Karkaroff had picked himself off the ground.
"I vill not let zis slide!" he promised through gritted teeth.
Then, grabbing Krum by the arm, he whisked him away towards the ship. The teenager had never had a chance to recover from his shock. More likely than not, all ten Durmstrang students were about to be subjected to a tirade about duplicitous Brits, corrupt Ministries, and dangerous Hogwarts.
Albus turned his back on the retreating figures. He had a new Patronus to dispatch. The last task to complete beforehand was to send Fang away despite the gamekeeper's wish: the endeavour at hand could be too dangerous.
"Go home, my boy." The old wizard gave the boarhound's head a caress. "Wait for Hagrid at the cabin and don't come out no matter what you hear, all right?"
As for his message to Sirius, it could not have been more different:
Come quickly if you can. The Death Eater is here. I suspect he just kidnapped Barty Crouch, who had briefly appeared in the forest but vanished before I could meet him. Harry is safely back in the castle. Moody and I are searching the grounds.
While the luminous phoenix soared through the night, Albus set off into the woods, his wand aloft. All the creatures and animals had concealed themselves, as if sensing Dark magic. No one crossed his path until, at last, Moody's Lumos joined his own.
"Have you found anything?" Albus breathed.
"Nothing. I'm afraid we're too late." The electric blue eye rolled in its socket. "Did you send a word to Aberforth?
"Yes." It was quicker to acquiesce than explain who the Patronus had truly been intended for. "If, at any point, you glimpse a large black dog around here, don't hurt it. It's not a Death Eater."
Alastor stared at him. After a few seconds, he gave an abrupt nod.
"Good that you've told me. I've never been the one to throw the Killing Curse around like a lunatic, but I might have injured the beast anyway." Raising his wand, he went on, "Let us not split for now, and let's walk towards Hogsmeade. That's where I would have headed—towards the Apparition point."
With a glance over his shoulder, the headmaster gripped the Elder Wand more tightly. Hogsmeade lay in the opposite direction from the heart of the forest. For a reason he could not explain, he felt they ought to investigate the woods. No one was going to help them aside from Sirius: not the ghosts, and certainly not the centaurs.
"That Crouch made it this far is a miracle," he objected. "I doubt he was in a state to walk or Apparate. What can you see when you look around us?"
"Nothing; they are not here, Albus. My eye doesn't lie." The Auror shook his head. "And I wasn't suggesting Crouch might have Apparated by himself. By the looks of it, he managed to break free for a moment, but his pursuers were not far behind him. Look at the way they Stunned the Krum boy: from behind while he had been standing with Crouch. Someone must have waited for Potter to leave in order to attack Krum and silence Crouch. If so, Hogsmeade would be their only hope. If they have managed to Disapparate, we are lost."
It was a pragmatic assessment. Restlessly, Albus squared his shoulders. This once, he would allow rationality to win over his instincts. He whistled, and a shower of sparks burst in the dark. Fawkes landed gracefully on his arm, his magnificent wings spread out.
"Would you please take us to Hogsmeade, my dear?" The wizard approached Moody. "Here, you can hold him by the tail."
No sooner did the Auror's hand brush the crimson feathers than Fawkes let out a sharp squawk. Albus promptly stroked the bird's chest to calm him down. Without a word or a change in expression, Alastor complied; he only spoke again once they were transported to the village.
"We mustn't waste a second—let's see if there is someone at the Apparition point!"
There was nobody. In truth, one could have sworn all the Hogsmeade residents had gathered at the Three Broomsticks, where not a single chair remained unoccupied. Despite having more than enough to do, Rosmerta hurried over to answer Albus and Alastor's questions. Several heads turned as she passed, making it plain she was as essential to this establishment's appeal as the quality of her mead and the cosy atmosphere. For years, she had maintained her reputation of Hogsmeade's prime beauty, for time appeared powerless against her symmetrical features, flaxen locks, and soft curves.
When asked whether anyone suspicious had been spotted at the Apparition point, she exclaimed, overwhelmed, "Oh, the popping hasn't stopped since six o'clock! A whole bunch of people have come and gone. Who are you looking for?"
She could not recall seeing two figures behaving unusually, nor could she remember spotting one person leading another away, cloaked or otherwise. This, and the increasingly loud demands from her customers, ended the interrogation.
Two hours of pure frustration followed suit. The Death Eater and his victim had been as good as swallowed by the ground; even Moody's eye could not detect a trace of them within the village. Convinced he had committed a grave mistake and impatient to speak to Sirius, Albus spun around.
"I don't believe they have been here. Let's go back."
The Auror conceded, his sigh resigned.
"They're not here indeed. You say someone is roaming the woods for you as we speak?"
"I hope so."
With the moon, the stars, and the lamps of the village providing subtle light, there was no need for the Wand-Lighting Charm. The moonlight was barely bright enough to permit discerning Moody's face; still, something about the set of his shoulders and his grip on his staff testified to his strain.
"Fawkes has sensed something's wrong." Albus could not stop scrutinising his friend's profile. "Are you all right, Alastor?"
Moody turned his head. Bizarrely, he had never looked younger.
"He is mocking us." His voice brimmed with suppressed ire. "He is out there, out of our reach, and we must have arrived only a few seconds late. A few seconds—that's what made the difference. It makes me feel… furious, powerless. Can you imagine? A few seconds can decide whether the Potter boy gets kidnapped or not, whether a wizard gets to live or die. A few seconds, Albus! That's all it takes for someone to pay a terrible price. And what if Rolanda had been there—what then? That's what makes me livid."
The headmaster listened, the words washing over him. He agreed; yet instead of adding to his frustration, the other man's outburst helped clear his mind.
"We will catch him," he promised. "He will not lay his hands on Harry or Rolanda. We are doing everything in our power to prevent it. He might have escaped today; next time, he will not be so fortunate."
Alastor answered as though he had not heard.
"I hate this." Both his natural and his magical eye were fixed on the road ahead. "I've sacrificed my whole life to chasing those bastards, but it never ends, does it? And you know what's worse? To stop them, I've had to put myself in their shoes. Sometimes, I no longer know where the line lies. I've never used the Killing Curse on the wizards in chains—never stooped to their level. But that's not the line I'm talking about. If there is a line, it's crossed long before a wizard considers harming another person. Take the very same Crouch: you know as well as I do that he deserves to be hated as much as any of the Death Eater scum. Of course, his grand speeches were all about keeping our society pure, free of crime. You've always seen right through him, as have I, though I do agree softness is not the way we should deal with them. Still, living in this darkness, fighting it, and never winning… Tonight, more than ever, I feel I'm old. I don't want any of this. I just want Rolanda to be safe, yet here we are. We lost him, and… and he is just mocking us."
The feeling of failure, of self-doubt, questioning one's existence… All Aurors were bound to have lived through it, more so than once. In Alastor's case, this crisis had reached him late in life.
"I understand," Albus confessed. "One often doesn't sense the line—in fact, it can be impossible. Many years ago, I found myself at the crossroads, and I stepped forward. You, Alastor, are nothing like Crouch or the Death Eaters. Your aura is grey like mine. Perhaps a shade Lighter." He cleared his throat. "Have you spoken to Rolanda about this?"
"She doesn't have an inkling," came an admission. "What being an Auror… what it's like. And I don't know how to open that door. Ever since I met her, it's been… well, I've always had my calling, my principles, honour. Now, there's more. It's not only work any more; yet an Auror's job is never just that: it's a calling." He sighed again. "I'm at the crossroads too, my friend, and I want to choose wisely."
At this, Albus gave him a small, comforting smile. "Your path has already been chosen for you: Rolanda has entered your life. Be honest with her. Tell her, as accurately as you can, what being your wife will entail. Don't be afraid to share your fears and worries. She can take it. She is not a child you need to protect—no, you will be protecting each other."
"I want nothing less. You're right, she will understand." For the first time that evening, Alastor smiled back. "Thank you. I don't recall ever having such a conversation with you. It means a lot."
As if to smooth over this sincere, uncharacteristic moment, he coughed.
"However, as much as I hate it, let's indeed return and see if we can find some clues. That sly bastard must be long gone. I suggested coming here in the hopes of cutting him off before he could Disapparate, but given everything we know, he was probably careful enough to blend in with the crowd at the pub and only then leave for good. That's what I would have done. So all we can hope for is finding some clues. And let's just be grateful Potter is so lucky."
They split up instantly upon reaching the school grounds with Alastor heading into the forest while Albus took a trodden path behind the tree line.
Before he could walk more than five yards, he found his way blocked by a tall wizard.
"We need to talk." Sirius cast him a penetrating look. "Is Harry safe?"
"Hagrid has escorted him to his common room. I have asked Harry to stay there until morning. One second, please."
With a twirl of his wand, Albus cast a spell to conceal them both from sight and mute everything they said. For all they knew, the perpetrator might never have run off.
"What did you find?"
"Barty Crouch was here; Harry is not mistaken. I caught a glimpse of Karkaroff and his champion regaining the ship. After following the champion's scent, I reached the spot where he and Harry had encountered Crouch. That's where I discovered yet another scent—his."
Sirius drew a deep breath. It was manifest he was beside himself with worry.
"Do you understand how close he was to Harry at that moment?! It's probably pure luck that Harry ran off to fetch you." He needed a few seconds to calm himself. "I tracked that scent down deeper in the woods, right to the point where it stopped, as did Barty Crouch's. Two new scents appeared instead: Alastor Moody and Snivellus." The young man's stare was unyielding and earnest. "Their scent was all over the place while Crouch's and the Death Eater's faded. And there is one more thing you should know: Dark magic hovers thickly at that spot—the Darkest kind. Of this, I'm positive. Father made sure I knew how to recognise it."
The old wizard's hands flew to his head, as if they meant to tear our his hair. His eyes closed in helpless anger.
"I knew it. We shouldn't have left the grounds." By the sheer force of will, he forced his body to compose itself before meeting Sirius's gaze. "Had the Death Eater flown off on a broom, his scent would not have vanished; rather, it would have trailed off. In other words, the Death Eater used the Polyjuice Potion to transform into either Alastor or Severus."
Which left him with a clear priority: establish Snape's whereabouts throughout the entire night. If the Potions Master had never left the castle, the answer was obvious.
"Is the earth disturbed at that spot?" he continued.
Sirius shook his head.
"No, Crouch—or his remains, I should think—was taken away. The Death Eater must have used a spell or a different method of confusing the clues because Crouch's scent lingers while his own disappears. Snivellus can't have showed up in the woods without a reason. Why do you even trust him? He must be helping his Death Eater friends. No matter what he tells you, he has always been sleazy. Make sure you find him this instant—as a matter of fact, ask him to share his memories, and Alastor too. I don't expect Snivellus to give us anything useful, but Moody must have seen more with his eye than both of us combined. If he got to that spot in time, that is. Snivellus's scent is stronger; he was there first."
Once again, Albus exhaled, seeking to empty his mind of emotion. Had he not listened to Alastor, they might have caught the culprit. This time, he wished to listen to his instincts. As perceptive as Sirius was, his suspicion towards Snape was not unbiased.
"I will," he vowed firmly. "But first, show me the place marked by the Dark magic."
"See if you can keep up."
The younger wizard shifted, ready to turn into his Animagus form.
"But let's make something clear beforehand. When Harry comes to you for answers—as I know he will—make sure he stays focused on the Third Task. He has been incredibly fortunate so far, but he was almost kidnapped once again. I won't sleep calmly before the Third Task is over."
"You have my word."
Following the large black dog was a struggle. Soon, Albus was out of breath, surrounded by near-complete darkness, and with nothing around him but tree trunks. Not even starlight could penetrate the thick foliage. They sensed the scene of murder before reaching it, though, for the magic of the Killing Curse took days to dissipate. It was a plain, unremarkable patch of ground where tree roots protruded like snakes. Sirius had been correct: this earth had not been disturbed. There was nowhere at all to bury a body. Without a doubt, the Death Eater had killed Barty Crouch, only to annihilate his remains straight away.
"Mist," Albus swore, unaware he had slipped into German. "Mist!"
Having regained his human form, Sirius stood beside him, watching the tantrum dispassionately.
"Make sure to question Snivellus thoroughly, no matter how much you trust him," came more matter-of-fact instructions. "His scent is the strongest. Most importantly, keep an eye on Harry and see to it that he's focused on the tournament."
He was repeating himself, which was natural under the circumstances. Now that they had lost the intruder, catching him would be impossible unless he attempted to return.
The Animagus expressed as much.
"You're right, the Death Eater used the Polyjuice Potion, except he might have transformed into several people by now. For all we know, he killed Barty, turned into Snivellus to start with, and then—with or without Snivellus's help—he used someone else's hair. By the time you and Moody came to the Three Broomsticks, he might have been right there, having a drink and laughing at your face as you questioned Rosmerta. He is cynical and smart—a bad combination for us, considering everything. In other words, the battle truly is lost for tonight, and all that interests me now is Harry. I will not tire of repeating it: the better he gets at self-defence, the calmer I'll be. Even then, I still must ask for your cooperation. I may not like it, but he listens to you, so tell him to stay vigilant and practice all the spells I've suggested. I don't want him to go looking for Crouch's dead body. Am I understood?"
Even as Albus contemplated the other man's chiselled features, it was Barty Crouch's face he saw. An aging, tireless, militant, tyrannical, prejudiced man with an aura as Dark as a Death Eater's, no matter how often he declared his aversion for the Dark Arts. Still, this sworn enemy had spent his last days seeking Albus to beg him for help. Having lived through hell, a tortured captive with a broken mind, he had remained concentrated on one last task through stubbornness alone.
All of it for naught. Another person had died on Lord Voldemort's orders... because Albus had not been fast enough to extend protection.
"Harry will be prepared." His voice sounded lifeless to his own ears. "I'll protect him whatever it costs."
"And don't let it slip that Crouch was murdered tonight!" Sirius emphasised. "Otherwise, he'll go looking for the body—or worse, the murderer. You know that!"
More and more often, younger wizards and witches saw fit to grant Albus advice on the way he ought to handle children, as though forgetting he was a teacher by calling. Tonight, he did not mind—he deserved far worse.
"I know."
It was time to return to the castle. The avalanche had moved; the period of peace was behind them.
"I will get to work then. Expect Harry's owl; I'm certain he will be writing to you first thing in the morning."
"Good."
Without a word of goodbye, Sirius transformed and leaped out of sight, leaving the older wizard alone at the magically tainted spot of the Forbidden Forest.