- Chapter Eleven -
The Fourth Tower
Harry woke up in a comfortable, soft armchair, blinking sleepily as he tried to clear his blurred vision. The room was half dark, even though the window had a blackout curtain drawn aside. A soft light streamed in from outside, filtered by a milky white mist, giving Harry a suffocating, choking sensation as he gazed half asleep out over the landscape. Through the fog, one or two gnarled black tree branches broke through the mist, as if curved stakes had been driven into a wad of cotton wool.
He gave a big yawn, then sat up in his chair with a sore back – that's when he realised he wasn't alone in the room. To his right, on the bed against the wall, sat a girl Harry had never seen before. She was skimming through a book in a calm, unhurried way, biting her nails.
Harry's bleary look was instantly cleared and he jumped up wildly from the armchair.
'Who are you?' yelled Harry, but she didn't hear him, she didn't look at him at all.
Harry didn't even try to speak to her again. All he had to do was glance again, now alert, at the dead trees outside and the grey sky, and he was sure he was back in the realm of the terrifying hooded figure.
The room itself was completely unfamiliar, unlike George Weasley's room in the Burrow, where he had fallen asleep the night before with a stack of files in his hands. Everything was so blur, with vague outlines, a grey void of colour, as if he were a ghost, looking at the world as if he were a stuck spirit.
He stalked closer to her, though he didn't know why he was tiptoeing – if she hadn't noticed him yelling, she certainly wouldn't have noticed him stomping towards her like a rhinoceros. He glanced at the book, but couldn't make out a line; he guessed it might be in German, though the letters were a little blurred.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, as if someone was coming up a staircase. She looked up from her book and smiled happily. Harry could only now see her face clearly, but he couldn't detect any familiar features. She had curly blonde locks and kind grey eyes.
There was a knock, and the door opened immediately afterwards, without waiting for her cheerful invitation.
For a split second, Harry and the figure looked at each other. The hooded stranger was standing before him, his black robes sweeping the ground, his hood pulled low over his head, and Harry had the feeling again that he had no face hidden by the cloak. But there must be, he knew, for he had recognised him when he had taken off the hood, remembered the feeling, the thrill of recognition, and the wonder of meeting this man.
'Is somezing not raight, darling?' she asked, looking at the hooded man, who also froze at the sight of Harry. There was a slight German accent in her voice.
Following the figure's gaze, she too looked in Harry's direction, but her eyes showed that she wasn't able to see the boy standing before the armchair, every muscle tensed, heart pounding wildly.
'All good,' the stranger regained his composure after the surprise. 'I'm just so glad to finally see you,' he said sweetly, and closed the door behind him. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows waved loosely in front of his chest.
'Take off zat hood, will you?' she said, and was about to reach out to him, but he stopped her, his gloved fingers gently clasping her wrist.
'I'd rather it stays...' he told her softly, then pulled her to him and hugged her. Looking over her shoulder, he constantly stared at Harry out of the shadows of his hood, who could not move.
The "facelessness" was so cold and frightening, as if his own nightmares had taken shape. Harry wondered if that was the feeling he had had as a child, when he was a boy, of the mysterious figure of the dementors.
'Aren't you afraid to show yourself like this in this house?' the girl murmured, burying her face in the black robe.
The hooded man tore his gaze away from Harry and looked down at her.
'You know that no one can see me,' he said in a reassuring tone. They let go of each other, and she looked him over, and as she came to his feet she cried out.
'Ah, so you got itt?'
Only now did Harry notice that a large, round thing wrapped in brown paper was resting at the legs of the stranger.
'As you can see, I did,' said the boy, lifting the heavy object and placing it on the bed. She opened it excitedly, and soon a beautifully crafted gold shield emerged from the wrapping. Harry immediately recognised it as the same one Malfoy had held when he was killed...
'Did the plan work?' she asked, staring at the golden shield.
He tore his gaze away from Harry, because he was looking at him again as soon as the girl turned her back on him.
'Like clockwork,' he said. 'I watched him lying there in the living room as Ciaran found him. He didn't suspect a thing.'
'Ciaran?' said Harry in a shocked voice, and the hooded man flinched. The girl hadn't noticed a thing.
'Ciaran Diggory?' repeated Harry. 'How do you know him? Where is he?'
It was both unbelievable and encouraging to hear that name mentioned. It meant that Mr Diggory's foster son was still alive somewhere.
'Excuse me, Mathilde, I have to go out for a minute...'
In Harry's view, the hooded figure seemed a little awkward touching her shoulder gently, the pendant dangling like a pendulum from his neck.
'Go on, I'll translate these runes,' she offered, and already she was turning back over the shield, her fingers scratching the shiny surface.
The hooded man went out into the corridor outside the room, but he left the door open, paused for a second, and, waving his hand silently, called to Harry.
He hesitated, not knowing what to expect if he followed him out, but more than anything he wanted answers, so he finally followed the hooded man into the corridor. The latter then closed the door, went to the other end of the corridor, and there faced Harry, who followed eagerly.
'How do you keep getting here?' the hooded figure asked him without any prevarication. Harry was startled by the question.
'How do I get here?' he snapped. 'You keep haunting me in my dreams! I don't even know who you are... I just... I just have this crazy feeling that...'
'That's not true,' interrupted the other. 'You always know exactly who I am. That's why I erased your memory.'
Harry noticed that they were talking in a hallway full of paintings, and between two portraits of unfamiliar wizards hung the Dumbledore coat of arms. They were in the same house as the murder.
'How did you even do that?' Harry shook his head. There were so many questions, he didn't know which to ask first.
'I have no idea,' came the reply. 'You were there. I saw you. I didn't want you to recognise me, so I did the first thing that came to mind. It worked,' he shrugged. 'And I have to do it again...'
Slowly he pointed his wand at Harry's head, which he held in his hand the whole time.
'Wait,' Harry raised his hands defensively, 'Why did you kill Draco Malfoy? Because of the shield? And how do you know Ciaran Diggory?'
For almost a full minute there was no reply. Then he heard the stranger sigh under the hood.
'You don't understand anything,' he shook his head. 'Probably for the better, I was beginning to worry you'd cross my plans. I'm sorry you had to see that. Honestly... Maybe one day you'll understand why I have to do this. And I hope I'll understand how these encounters are possible.'
The wand swung.
'Wait!' cried Harry, but it was useless. He was not in control.
'Obliviate!'
At that moment he woke up from his sleep. He was lying on the floor of the Burrow, his face stuck to the page he was reading as he slept. He breathed heavily, trying to recall all that he had seen and heard in his sleep. He remembered every detail of the conversation, but again he could not pick out a single detail of his unfamiliar acquaintance's face. Already all sorts of wild things were going through his mind as he stared, head tilted to one side, at the small crack under the door.
What if he sees Grindelwald? No, he can't be, he never knew Grindelwald, and he certainly knew this guy... Or is he imagining it? Harry was completely confused.
He knows who Ciaran Diggory is. He killed Malfoy. But Malfoy is still alive – how is that possible? He's already got a headache from thinking. No logical explanation would hold. It was all a complete jumble of meaningless thoughts and images.
'I told you to throw out the Pensieve!' Hermione put on that annoying 'I-told-you-so' expression as Harry whispered to them over breakfast about the dream. He already regretted this move, and groaned resignedly, resting his head on the table between a jar of honey and his plate.
'Harry, don't you see the connection?' she whined quietly so Mrs Weasley wouldn't hear. 'You had your head full of the Diggory case last night, and now you dream about it in your sleep.'
The previous day, Amos Diggory stormed into the Auror Office in front of everyone when he learned that the case of Ciaran's disappearance had been closed due to lack of new information. Everyone could hear him shouting at Gawain Robards, and Harry agreed with him at first hearing. After Mr Diggory left, he too asked Dawlish the reason for the decision. He got the same answer as Mr Diggory: the case had not moved a millimetre in three months, no one had ever even heard of Ciaran Diggory.
Also, in the evening Mr Weasley came up with the theory that Ciaran never got out of his parents' house alive, that only Amos and his wife had invented the fantasy that Ciaran had moved in with them, which they themselves eventually believed. Hermione responded by saying, with noble simplicity, that it was absurd nonsense, because the chances of both members of a couple to go nuts at the same time in the exact same fashion were basically nonexistent.
'No, Hermione, I don't see the connection,' Harry persisted.
She sighed, then lifted Harry's head-supporting hand so he could finally look at her.
'You've got a lot on your mind,' she explained patiently. 'First your dream of Malfoy's death, then the blue-skinned man, then the dementor, and now the dream continues... The Pensieve is confusing you! It weaves all your new memories into this jumble. You said it yourself, it doesn't make sense...'
Harry slapped the table to finally shut her up. Hermione didn't even blink, but Ron had dropped the honeyed bread in his lap and was now swearing as he cleaned himself.
'How did I see the Dumbledore coat of arms then?' he asked the girl. 'How did it get into my dream if it's just my memories mixing?'
Hermione simply shrugged.
'You must have seen it somewhere before, maybe in Rita's book...'
'Well, that's not true! You are unbelievable!' Harry gave up the fight.
He couldn't escape the dream's effects. He felt as if he had just got rid of the blue-skinned man now was haunted by the next dark figure. But while the blue-skinned man was a real person, and therefore could be fought, the hooded man was elusive.
He was thinking about it when, two hours later, he and Ron entered a separate practice area in the ministry and stood facing each other at either end of a canvas mat. It was mid-November when the wand duel training was due to begin, originally only after a six-month assessment, but Kingsley thought it best if the two boys practised already in the meantime.
Predictably, Dawlish was a lousy teacher of wand fighting, so Ron and Harry tried to get to the practice ground when their instructor had other things to do. They were always exhausted by the end of a two-hour duel, and soon realised that in the year and a half since the war had ended they had become unacceptably lazy. The next day after the first practice, Harry woke up with a severe muscle ache and could only crawl downstairs with a hunched back.
'I have to leave early today,' he announced during a break in the practice, 'I have some errands to run and I have to stop by Diagon Alley.'
Ron took a big swig from the gilly water bottle and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.
'Why are you going to Diagon Alley?' he asked casually.
'Well... just for the Pensieve,' Harry lied.
He was planning to surprise Ginny in the joke shop with a pre-Christmas present. He sensed that they had become a little more reserved with each other since the interrogation room, and it only seemed that Ginny would quickly forget Harry's outburst, as Ron had so hopefully promised.
When they were sufficiently exhausted from their duel – there was not another soul on the practice field – after a quick clean-up, Harry decided it was time to pay another visit, to another problem that was just as much on his mind.
This time he went down five floors in the lift, where, after a loud creaking stop, it announced that he had arrived at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Here, too, Harry moved like a stranger, but he looked around the walls of the Quidditch posters with the eyes of a child looking out at the world, listening to the staff shouting at each other from the open-door offices, painted in a taupe and reddish-green.
He went to the wall opposite the lift, looking for the information sign, which he found hanging from a sloppily pasted poster of Puddlemere United. He pushed the poster aside and, reading the information, headed left down a corridor, where the Ludicrous Patent Office opened right at the first door.
Inside, eight neat, glass-paned offices greeted him, each with a wizard or witch sitting busily scribbling away in a giant diary. Harry didn't recognise Draco in any of them, so after a cautious knock he entered the first office, where a full-bodied witch was working.
'Good afternoon,' Harry greeted respectfully, 'I'm wondering where I can find Draco Malfoy. As far as I know he works here...'
'The Malfoy boy no longer works here,' she said, without looking up from her diary. 'He resigned two days ago.'
'He resigned?' Harry was surprised, and involuntarily raised his voice.
The woman looked up, and when she recognised who was standing before her, she blushed, and her indifferent voice became an embarrassed stammer.
'Mr Potter! Yes, yes...' she gasped. 'Ou-out of the blue, yes he resigned. You know how it is...'
No, I don't know, Harry thought, but he just thanked her for her help and made his way back to the lifts, annoyed.
Malfoy has resigned... Why would he do that? As Ginny said, an ex-Death Eater doesn't have a lot of choice when it comes to job offers. Maybe he sensed trouble after Zabini's death and fled abroad? He also explained in detail to Kingsley that if they could track down the wizards who had fled abroad, they could also contact the inner circle, warn them of the danger the blue-skinned man posed, and even capture him together. To this theory he now added something else: the disappearance of Ciaran Diggory and the mysterious hooded figure.
He wanted to talk to Malfoy about the hooded man – though come to think of it, he probably would have thought him mad if he told him what he'd dreamed...
He pressed the elevator's call button and smiled at the young, bespectacled witch waiting beside him, who had been staring at him for minutes, blinking over the huge box in her hand. The lift door opened and Harry saw the rain-soaked Hermione.
'Hello Harry!' she greeted him, and the girl with glasses made a devastated face and stomped down the corridor.
Harry got into the lift and explained the reason for his visit to the Department of Magical Games. Hermione shared his surprise and suspicions about Malfoy's resignation, but by the time they reached the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had brought up another subject.
'I just came back from the linguistics department, I was on my way to see you. It's raining outside...' she complained, drying herself with her wand.
'Did you find out what our Viking said?' Harry changed his tone to one of optimism. Hermione nodded.
'Let's go into the booths, I'll tell you there.'
They found Ron in the office, about to have a late lunch, but he put the sandwich down when he heard why Hermione had come. She handed them a sheet of paper with a lot of crossings out, corrections and ink blots that someone had torn out of a notepad.
'It was translated by Professor R. R. J. Keinolt, the head of the department, although... he looked at me rather strangely when he handed me the translation...', Hermione trailed off. 'There are things in it that are too bizarre for a Muggle, so I erased his memory as a thank you.'
The boys read the cat-scratch-like writing, but it was only on the third reading that Harry could make sense of it.
You smell different; or: You are different. Marius sent you a gebo (meaning: gift, offering, generosity, unexpected good fortune). Use it/make use of it/build with it. You may find the eaters of death (?); or: the feeders of death; or: the devourers of death. They know where the hiding place/lair/secret place (thurisaz, as in insight, knowledge) is. Find them! I will watch you and keep you safe; or: I will observe you/preserve you from danger. Only in this way can you achieve wunjo (meaning success, glory, achievement, accomplishment, satisfaction).
'I don't understand any it,' Ron summed up. Hermione gave a disgruntled snigger and began to explain:
'But it is obvious!' she said with her hands on her hips. 'The dementor told Harry that he smelt different - he smelt you, didn't he?'
Harry nodded.
'And then he said,' she continued, 'that a man named Marius had sent him a gift to tell him where the eaters of death, also known as Death Eaters, were, who know where Voldemort's lair was. And that he would watch Harry and protect him.
'At least now we know why he threw the poor bastard out the window,' Ron grumbled, remembering the bloodbath outside the Hog's Head.'
But Harry thought something else was more important.
'And now we know the name of the blue-skinned man,' he added. 'His name is Marius.'
He looked at his friends, who were exchanging equally meaningful glances. One name would bring them much closer in their investigation, he was sure Kingsley would raise his hat to Hermione. It would never have occurred to Dawlish and Proudfoot to ask a Muggle for help.
'Can you tell Kingsley about this?' Harry asked hopefully. Hermione raised an eyebrow.
'Why, you have better things to do?'
'As a matter of fact, yes,' he replied, carefully avoiding her gaze. He hastily began to dress. 'I have some business to attend to, you know... with the Pensieve.'
She gave him a look of both recognition and satisfaction.
'Finally getting rid of it? I see you've finally come to your senses...'
Harry nodded, pleased that Hermione had taken the bait. The Pensieve wasn't the cause of his dreams, whatever she might say. She didn't see what he and Ginny had experienced in it. If she had, she wouldn't be saying such things.
'Alright, you go,' she said. 'I'm going up to Kingsley's, and Ron, you look up this name in the register...'
He said a quick goodbye to his friends and did not stop until he reached the atrium, where he joined the queues snaking in front of the departing fireplaces. He used the Floo network into the Leaky Cauldron, and from there he went straight to Diagon Alley as soon as he had made his way through the horde of people shaking hands and saying hello.
Sometimes he had the feeling that people were waiting in groups at all his possible destinations, waiting for him to turn up. It had even crossed his mind that it wouldn't hurt to reintroduce the regular usage of his invisibility cloak.
When he reached Diagon Alley, he slowed down and began to look around the souvenir shop windows. What to buy? Flowers or a book? Perhaps some jewellery? Harry only ever bought gifts for friends, he didn't know what to get a girl who had been his girlfriend for two years.
He would have felt somehow silly if he had come to her with a single rose, so he quickly left the florist. He quickly discarded the books and the animals, too; the former he would rather give Hermione for Christmas, and of the latter there were already too many in the Burrow, just thinking of Pigwidgeon, who in terms of noisiness made up a pack by itself.
Finally, the understated elegance of a jewellery shop window caught his eye. After a moment's pondering, he went in and looked around. The shop was not crowded, with only an old, wealthy couple browsing the necklaces, although looking at the old woman, Harry thought there was no room for any more jewellery.
He didn't know why he had come in here, he thought, as he began to walk around the display cases with his hands in his pockets, looking at bracelets, rings and brooches adorned with the most beautiful gemstones. Ginny wasn't a fan of such things, he'd never seen any jewellery on her other than ordinary earrings, but he wondered if it was just due to the deprivation in the old days, when the Weasleys couldn't afford more than a second-hand robe.
The old couple left with a lavishly decorated jewellery box, and Harry was able to see the necklaces. In the confusion of the abundance, he didn't know where to look, there were so many exquisitely crafted pieces, each resting on a small cushion and accompanied by a small tag with a very hefty price tag.
'May I help you, Mr Potter?' asked the spectacled salesman, hurrying up to him in his flawless suit.
Harry was not even surprised to be called by his name.
'No, thank you...' he politely dismissed it, but soon changed his mind. 'Although, yes, you may.'
His eyes caught a small ruby hanging on a thin gold chain. The more he admired the glint of light on the gemstone, the more certain he was that it would look great around Ginny's neck.
'This one please!' he pressed his finger confidently on the glass plate.
Five minutes later, he left the shop with a neatly wrapped necklace in his pocket and two hundred galleons less. It wasn't very expensive compared to the other jewellery in the shop, but he didn't want to surprise her with a huge necklace as his first gift.
He then headed straight for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, dodging people, trying to say hello to everyone who spoke to him, but at the same time not to get himself to be stopped for a chat.
'Good day, Mr Potter.'
'How are you, Harry?'
I'm freezing, he thought, but he only greeted back politely out loud. He tightened his robes and silently cursed the early December minus temperatures.
'Nice to see you, Harry Potter!'
'Nice to see you, too... oh, sorry!' he excused himself when he bumped into someone smelling of dust for not looking where he was going.
He looked at the aging, greasy-haired old man in his worn grey robes, strolling out of a small dead-end street. He recognised him as the owner of Borgin & Burkes.
'Erm... I am sorry...' Borgin muttered, and quickly moved on.
Harry gazed after him, the stream of people swept around him like an island. The little alley next to him was Knockturn Alley, where he hadn't set foot for a long time.
Someone bumped into him again; this time a black-haired girl ran past him, apparently straight after Borgin. Harry could have sworn she was sniffling.
'Harry! Harry!'
He didn't even realize he was being called by name until Ginny ran up to him and turned him towards her.
'Hi,' Harry grinned at her, and Ginny laughed at the boy's dumb expression.
'You look like you've seen a ghost.'
'Ah, I only ran into Borgin,' Harry smiled, glad to see her in such a good mood. For some time they had exchanged nothing but empty smiles and meaningless morning kisses, though Harry had tried hard to make her forget what had happened after Peverell House incident.
'How come you're here?' Ginny asked, and they walked down the street holding hands.
'Actually, I thought I'd pay you a visit,' Harry said, avoiding a more serious answer, and already decided that he would not give her the present here and now.
'That's kind of you. If you're free, we could go to a café.'
'Great idea!' Harry smiled, pleased that she didn't run back to the shop.
They entered the first small café they came to and sat down at the round table by the window. Harry immediately had a bad feeling as he looked around at the couples sitting at the small tables, for he immediately thought of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, but Ginny had apparently thought nothing of the sort.
They ordered two hot chocolates and started talking.
'Have you got anywhere with the case?' Ginny asked the question.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to talk to her about.
'Not much,' he replied. 'The ruins of the Peverell house have been completely searched, but nothing else has been found. That body was identified by its dentition, and it turned out to be Florean Fortescue...'
'The owner of the ice cream parlour?' Ginny looked at him wide-eyed.
'Yeah,' Harry nodded, 'Hermione found out the name of the blue-skinned man though...'
For minutes afterwards, they talked about nothing else, discussing in hushed tones the progress of the investigation and what the blue-skinned man, Marius, might be up to. Is he going to raid the wizard schools, cornering the teachers? Ginny explained that she hoped one of the teachers might prove a too tough cookie for the monster to handle. Harry shared her optimism.
'What is going on?' Ginny stared out the window at the small side street.
Harry, who had already finished his drink and was currently reaching into his pocket for the necklace to give to Ginny, lifted his head and followed his girlfriend's gaze.
In front of the window, Borgin and the black-haired girl were standing, obviously arguing about something. It seemed to Harry that Borgin was on his way back to his shop when she caught up with him outside the café and grabbed his arm. The café was in a soothing twilight, while outside it was broad daylight, so that the arguers did not notice that many of the customers were looking at them, and those sitting nearer the window could hear their voices.
'Why didn't he tell me he was leaving?' she cried in a desperate voice. Borgin tore his arm from her grasp and was about to go on.
'Only you can know that, it's none of my business!' he snapped, but the girl grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe again, forcing him to stop.
'Of course it is!' she shrieked loudly.
Now everyone inside was looking at them, even the waiters and waitresses had stopped serving and were pressing their noses curiously against the window.
'That's Pansy Parkinson, isn't it?' Ginny said in a surprised tone when she heard the girl's voice.
Harry recognised his former classmate, too, but the Slytherin girl's face had changed a lot.
'You know where he went!' she shouted into the face of Borgin, who was clearly embarrassed and would've wanted to run back to his shop.
'Leave me alone, you stupid girl!' the old man spat. 'I don't know what you're talking about!'
Some of the passers-by on Diagon Alley have already noticed the scene, which is probably the only reason why Borgin hasn't run away yet, lest he ruin his shop's reputation by running away from a girl.
'No, don't go!' Pansy tugged at his robe for the third time, pleading in an increasingly desperate voice, tears streaming down her face. 'You're not gonna get rid of me until you tell me where he went! You know it, I know you do, for Millicent has come to you for help as well, she told me.'
The old man whirled his head around nervously, trying to shut her up, but Pansy just kept yelling.
'Millicent told me that you are the connection...'
'Shut your mouth, you wench!' Borgin snarled with a frightened look on his face.
'Where is Draco? I beg you, tell me!'
Borgin grabbed the girl with both hands and shook her, but it was no use, Pansy screamed from the top of her lungs.
'Where did he go? Where is it, what Millicent was talking about? WHERE IS THE FOURTH TOWER?'
Borgin made no further attempt to calm the hysterical girl, he slapped her in the face. Pansy fell to the ground and stopped shouting. Several people in the café were shouting in outrage, but the old man saw nothing of it, hurrying off into an alley.
Ginny put her hand on the window pane. Pansy sat devastated on the floor and sobbed. Her sobs could no longer be heard in the café, the glass isolating them from the quiet sounds, only her sad face and her tears falling could be seen. No one went up to her, even though many people could see her from Diagon Alley. The customers of the café felt sorry for her, while others scolded Borgin; the old shopkeeper was known to many, both personally and from the newspaper columns.
The fourth tower... Harry kept repeating the phrase to himself, savouring it, for he felt he had heard it somewhere before. He lifted the mug to his lips, then realised it was empty and put it back on the table with a thump. He had heard of too many towers lately, like mushrooms growing out of the ground everywhere he went.
She watched Ginny, looking sadly at the girl weeping in the street; Pansy staggered to her feet and immediately disapparated. Harry soon called one of the house-elves to the table, paid for the drinks, and he and Ginny left without a word. As if silently agreeing not to say anything about it for now, as they would have to wait until Ron and Hermione arrived from the Ministry, they parted ways outside the joke shop.
Late in the afternoon, at Harry's invitation, the four of them gathered in Ginny's room. By then, the first snow had begun to fall, gathering in thick flakes on the windowsill. The girls lay down on the bed next to each other, and Harry and Ron sat on the carpet in a squat position, as if they were sitting in a circle around the Pensieve.
'Are you sure Pansy said the fourth tower?' Hermione asked, after they had reported on the little drama on Diagon Alley. The four of them agreed that Draco's resignation and then his departure with Millicent Bulstrode, and Zabini's comment were all connected. They're running away from something.
'Yes,' said Ginny and Harry at the same time. 'Why, do you know what it means?' he looked at her in surprise.
'Well... I remember something...'
'From History of Magic classes, we know,' Ron interjected with a grin. Hermione didn't tolerate interruptions.
'Should I say it or not?' she snapped. 'I didn't hear it from Binns, if you must know, I read about it in Skeeter's book.'
Harry slapped himself on the head. Now he remembered where he had heard that name, but he thought of everything but Rita Skeeter's book.
'Of course, it's all a pack of lies.'
'Do you still have the book?' Ginny asked, as Hermione nodded, and fished out the Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore from the bottom of the cupboard again.
'Better you read it yourself than if I tell you,' she muttered, turning to the twenty-first chapter, and then sliding the book in front of Harry and Ron. Ginny peered over them curiously. The chapter followed immediately after the most delicate part, the "Greater Good", and was titled "Dumbledore and the Fourth Tower".
After Ariana's death, Albus was finally free of his unpleasant obligations and could return to his original plans, for which he would seek loyal partners in the years to come. It would have been logical to expect that Gellert Grindelwald would have been his first choice, however, Dumbledore did not meet him again until their famous duel.
Dumbledore's childhood friend Elphias Doge must have been disappointed that Albus had traded their friendship first for Grindelwald and now for other talented sorcerers. As loyal a friend as Doge felt, his knowledge of highly advanced magic was minuscule compared to witches and wizards such as Newt Scamander, Bathilda Bagshot or Nicolas Flamel.
Dumbledore was in very close contact with his fellow scientists, both by letter and in person, and they met frequently, previously at Dumbledore's own house, and in later years at Hogwarts. However, it is assumed that some of these famous fellow scientists may have included some of those who dabbled in black magic, whom Dumbledore subsequently tried to erase from his past, as he did with his friendship with Grindelwald.
I have only circumstantial evidence to show that Dumbledore himself once made sure that his little party remained flawless in the eyes of the average wizarding citizen and the Ministry. The victim of this may have been a teacher at Hogwarts, who taught Charms at the wizarding school between 1916 and 1920. The identity of this mysterious, anonymous figure is so obscured that he seems to have been erased not only from Hogwarts' records, but bizarrely, even from the memories of all the students and pupils who attended the school at the time! Almost unbelievably, if you ask anyone, no one can tell you who was the Charms teacher at the time.
The reason for this is most likely due to an incident known to few, which in its day became known throughout Britain as the Tower Scandal.
Educational Decree No 12, which has since been painstakingly deleted from almost all official documents, formed the basis for an unprecedented event: the extension of Hogwarts by adding a new tower to the north wing. This building programme was on the agenda from 1918 to 1920, under the directorship of Phineas Nigellus Black. Phineas Nigellus went down in the public eye as one of Hogwarts' most obnoxious directors, but not a single complaint about his work was made until the ominous Educational Decree No 12. It is still a mystery how this scandalous decision was allowed to stand. However, careful investigation can uncover the circumstances under which the decree was issued:
Albus Dumbledore's name became a household word in the Ministry of Magic and in the wider scholarly community after his essay on – by the way controversial – the twelve uses of dragon's blood, published in 1916. From there, Dumbledore's career took a steep upward curve, from a mere patent agent to the School Board of Governors. However, enthusiasm for his genius soon waned among the committee's elders when Dumbledore came up with ideas such as abolishing the house system and extending Hogwarts' admission conditions to all creatures with magical powers.
It is a mystery how he managed to keep his position while promoting such ridiculous ideas, but the fact is that he remained a member of the Supervisory Board until his death, with the exception of the turbulent period of the 1995-1996 school year, the details of which are known to all.
Fast forward to 1918, and the magical citizens of Britain have been informed in a third-page article that the Ministry of Magic has passed a resolution to expand Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The news was talked about, but nobody thought it was a particularly big event - until 1920, when the construction finally began, employing no fewer than one hundred and fifty house elves.
It was only by an unfortunate coincidence that the tower was never built higher than a classroom on the ground floor: that was when Barnabas Hickoff, the former head of the Supervisory Board, who had signed the draft, died after a long illness. Mr Hickoff's gradual mental deterioration was long reported in the Daily Prophet, and it was universally regretted that such a brilliant career should come to such an end. Mr Hickoff was replaced by Madam Griselda Marchbanks, who had been Vice-Chairman, and in her place was put none other than the youngest member of the Board, Albus Dumbledore.
The reconstituted committee had not even reached the first day of its first meeting when Madam Marchbanks was handed an extended version of Educational Decree 12, which had been resting in Mr Hickoff's desk drawer, containing embarrassing details of the use of the tower under construction. No precise details survived as to what was planned to be built, but it was clear that the tower was to be a repository of black magic within Hogwarts.
Marchbanks' first trip was to the Minister for Magic, who, after initial consternation, immediately stopped the construction and ordered an inquiry into the committee and the Hogwarts faculty. After a long legal battle, the whole scandal was carried by the aforementioned Charms teacher, saving Phineas Nigellus from dismissal and imprisonment. The nameless teacher did not survive his transport to Azkaban: he died in the Ministry's detention centre in a fire of unknown origin.
Readers may deduct that there was a complete confusion about the matter and nobody understood anything. It seemed impossible for the accused to commit suicide in custody without a wand, and this was further belied by the mass amnesia that slowly erased the name of the Charms teacher from everyone's mind.
Who had the power to do such an incredible act? The number of people under the memory-erasing spell alone was in the tens of thousands, and it would have been almost impossible for any sorcerer to carry out.
The significance of the tower scandal was carefully censored to minimise the reports, and the history books never recorded this ugly blot on Hogwarts' spotless past. The foundations of the tower can still be found in the inner courtyard of the north wing, and it is currently the site of the Arithmancy classroom – but it is not used for anything else.
Phineas Nigellus remained headmaster until his death in 1926, but from then on his work was the subject of a series of complaints, excessive partiality towards Slytherin students, the use of cruel punishments, and a slight "blackening" of magical education even within the bounds of what was allowed. After his death, Armando Dippet, considered by many to be as mad as a hatter, became Headmaster of Hogwarts, and it was at this time that Albus Dumbledore took up the Chair of Transfiguration and became Head of House Gryffindor. Another sudden leap in Dumbledore's career! It is not the first time that he has been lucky enough to get out of a situation and find himself a few rungs up on that particular ladder.
Under Dippett's directorship, the school has seen a number of accidents and even one death, but all credit this to Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka the Dark Lord, who was a student at Hogwarts at the time. Those years have passed, Hogwarts has not closed its doors and Riddle has left the school. Headmaster Dippett died soon afterwards, his death, like Mr Hickoff's, preceded by a gradual degradation of his wits. It was then that Dumbledore could occupy the coveted throne and be seen as the protector of those of Muggle descent and the leader of the fight against black magic.
Decades later, however, a name appeared in the newspapers columns, which even the most attentive observer could easily overlook if he did not know the details, or if he did not think of linking the article in the Daily Prophet to the Tower Scandal.
The article is published in memory of the life and the not unappreciated work of the famous jewellery witch, Mary-Bishue d'Tshillamm. The memoir's authors, her son and grandson, inherited the jeweller's fortune, her house and her carefully guarded papers on her life's work. These papers were donated to the Museum of Magic in London, and a biography was written from her diary. It mentions a society of which Mary-Bishue was an esteemed member. The members of the society called themselves the Circle of the Fourth Tower, and in addition to Madame d'Tshillamm, it included such prominent members as Nicolas Flamel, Adalbert Waffling, John Eakle, and Albus Dumbledore, the leader and founder of the society.
It is known that the Dumbledore family crest is the starry tower, which can be found on all official documents of the dynasty and on the walls of their houses. There are six of the latter throughout Britain, including those that Dumbledore gave away to his poorer fellow scholars. Madame d'Tshillamm was not in need of such kindness – her jewellery-making fortune ran into hundreds of thousands of galleons – but some other families must have been grateful.
Why did they call themselves the Fourth Tower? If we recall the details of the Tower scandal, we know that the construction site was located in the exact area of the north wing where, ten metres below the surface, the dormitories of the Slytherin house are located, and further down, the room known as the Chamber of Secrets. Of all the founders of Hogwarts, only Salazar Slytherin did not build a single sky-breaking tower for the school, all the other houses having their own 'heavenly realms'. Perhaps the part of the building that was never finished was the tower of Slytherin? Or something else entirely, something that was among Dumbledore's most secret dreams – to join the ranks of the greats of Hogwarts and found an own house? A schoolhouse that would rise above the Slytherin ideals he claimed to despise? One need only glance at pages 435 and 436!
Harry turned a page with trembling hands. On page 435 was the Dumbledore coat of arms, which he had seen before when Hermione had shown them the chapter. On the opposite page was a blueprint, showing a side view and a top view of the tower. Harry moved his gaze between the two and couldn't believe his eyes.
The resemblance is striking, isn't it? I thought the same thing when I was looking at Madame d'Tshillamm's bequest at the Museum of Magic.
This leaves us with serious and difficult questions about Dumbledore's past. Would it be a coincidence that our hero would name a science society he founded after the failed construction project, which he himself also signed with Decree 12? Would it also be a coincidence that the teacher accused of drawing up and concealing the secret details of the plan died such a tragic death, his memory forever erased from history? Would it be a coincidence that the mental decline and death of Barnabas Hickoff and Armando Dippett resulted in a huge leap forward in Dumbledore's career on both occasions?
And most importantly: Would it also be a coincidence that Dumbledore starts to organise this so-called society, the circle of the Fourth Tower, immediately after he got to know one of the most notorious black sorcerers of the 20th century? Gellert Grindelwald, whose aim in his homeland was nothing less than to push the boundaries of magic ever further, for a future in which he would rule over all?
Harry slammed the storm-tossed book shut, and it dropped a few pages again. Hermione bent down to pick it up, but he just shook his head.
'That Skeeter could be the daughter of Mad-Eye,' he said with a bitter sneer, as Ron and Ginny looked at him, tearing their eyes away from the book. 'She sees conspiracies everywhere.'
Ron didn't seem so incredulous.
'Well, I don't know, Harry...' he said slowly, scratching his head. 'It seemed plausible enough.'
'Yeah, just like the Ariana story?' Ginny interjected. 'That one she also completely mis-explained.'
The bitter experiences of the previous years, and the pointless, agonizing doubt in Dumbledore's words, had taught Harry not to accept Rita Skeeter's position, ever, on any matter, because it would only make everything more difficult. He was forced to admit, however, that the annoying scribbler, even when she drew the wrong conclusions, always did back up her half-truths with thorough investigative work.
'So Rita is implying that the Fourth Tower is a black magic society?' frowned Ron. 'That would rather suit the inner circle...'
Harry had a terrible suspicion, but Hermione put it into words first:
'Do you think the two are the same?'
As she said it, Harry realised how ridiculous the thought was. He knew both Dumbledore's faults and his virtues, he could safely say to himself that he had seen the old wizard's true face the last time he had spoken to him in a place he had never mentioned to any of his friends. It would remain his and Dumbledore's secret forever, it gave him the strength to trust the Professor's judgement.
'No way,' Harry said, 'Knowing Dumbledore, I think he founded it against the inner circle. Like the Order of the Phoenix against the Death Eaters...'
Ginny raised her eyebrows and hummed.
'You might be right,' she said, 'but what is the fourth tower that Parkinson mentioned? Maybe it's one of the inner circle's... I don't know, headquarters maybe? A hiding place? Is this where those who leave the country and pay with dark objects to start a new life would go?'
Hermione snorted derisively.
'I think Pansy must have misunderstood something Millicent said. She's not exactly known for her wit. I remember in Potions she used to mix up her...'
Ginny cut in impatiently:
'But if she was talking nonsense, why did Borgin react so harshly? Why did he hit her?'
Ron just shrugged.
'Because he likes to hit girls,' he said, but Harry disagreed.
Before he could think of an explanation, a sound caught his attention: an owl was tapping its beak on the window of the room. Ginny jumped up and let the bird in, which made a victory lap around the room, then plopped the parcel on Harry's head and descended to the top of the wardrobe.
Harry tore open the letter, threw the envelope on the floor and unfolded the parchment.
'Ugh... don't they get tired of it?' he growled as he skimmed through the letter.
Hermione looked up at him curiously.
'Why, what is it?'
Harry showed them the letter, which again began with "Dear Harry J. Potter".
'Another invitation,' he said. 'To the Yule Ball. Because I'm definitely going, right...!'
He was about to tear the letter in two when Hermione cried out in surprise.
'Wait!' she said quickly, staring at the envelope that had fallen to the floor.
The letter was sealed with a wax seal, which Harry paid no attention to and simply tore off, which now dangled at the end of a red ribbon running across the envelope.
Hermione stared at the seal, almost mesmerized, attracting the attention of Ron, Ginny and Harry.
'Look at this!'
She shoved the torn seal under Harry's nose, and with it, as if fate had graciously thrown him an answer to his many questions. He gasped as he recognised the mark pressed into the stiffened wax: a tall, slender tower surrounded by stars.
'This is unbelievable...'