- Chapter Eighteen -

The Tower Is Revealed

Ron and Dawlish reported the results of their investigation at Durmstrang to Kingsley at the Ministry the next morning, but Harry had to wait until Monday to speak to him – Dawlish had decided that what he had to say was not nearly important enough to bother the Minister with at the weekend. Harry had accepted his current role as second fiddle, but he didn't understand what the hell was so damn important about Ron's report, because as he suspected, they hadn't come up with anything more than he had before.

During the two hours of the second task, they went through the Durmstrang, through all the teachers' offices, and into the basement, but the only suspicious thing they found was a painting of Voldemort. The painting was a traditional wizarding portrait, which could only be put up on the walls of buildings that had something important to do with him after his death. It was probably no coincidence that the picture of Voldemort was quickly moved to the basement, as it was relatively new and had not yet been covered with a thin layer of dust. Dawlish had taken a photograph of the black sorcerer, and this was given to the minister with his report. Ron was sure that they had hit the jackpot, but when Ginny asked him what had led him to that conclusion, he just huffed and puffed. Harry, for his part, found nothing strange in the fact that Voldemort's picture appeared on the walls of Durmstrang – Tom Riddle had wandered widely in his youth after leaving Borgin & Burkes and embarking on a world tour, as Dumbledore had once planned.

He didn't know how Kingsley would judge Ron and Dawlish's Durmstrang operation, but he was more concerned with how he would react to his discovery, which he had already told Ron, Ginny and Hermione about the night they returned, sitting in the smallest room. He had managed to convince a doubting Hermione of his truth when he showed her the memories he had relived in the Pensieve, and she had reacted with surprising appreciation to Harry's improvisation, which was simple but effective. Harry was confident that Kingsley would take the same approach.

On Monday morning at 9am, he checked in with the minister's secretary, who let him go almost immediately, without even having to make an appointment. Harry knocked on the neatly carved oak door and when there was no answer, he cautiously entered.

'Kingsley? Kingsley?'

He was staring ahead, sitting at his desk, looking at a small photograph in his hand. Harry opened the door and tried again:

'Minister?' he said a little louder, before Kingsley finally looked up and, noticing him, was a little surprised. 'Minister, is it a bad time?'

'Harry, it's never a bad time when it's you,' Kingsley smiled amicably. 'Come in.'

Harry went in and closed the door behind him, then sat down on the velvet chair opposite the mahogany desk at Kingsley's beckoning. He felt a bit like he had when he had sat in Dumbledore's office, and the portraits of deceased ministers hanging on the walls only added to the feeling.

'What is it, Harry?' Kingsley asked, putting away the photograph he was looking at. Harry didn't want to ask what it was, he felt it was none of his business if the wizard could delve into it like that.

'About the Triwizard Tournament,' Harry started, clearing his throat.

'Of course, what else?' Kingsley sighed. 'Go on, please!'

Harry continued, though he felt he had found the Minister in a rather strange mood.

'I think I've found out where Ciaran Diggory has gone,' he announced, and would have gone on immediately if Kingsley hadn't been looking at him as he was. And the minister was covering his mouth and staring at Harry as if he didn't believe his ears.

'Ehm...' Harry was embarrassed by this, but he continued. 'And I found Draco Malfoy. They're both at Durmstrang.'

Kingsley leaned forward in his chair and poked at the pile of papers in his desk drawer.

'There was not a word about this in the report!' he said nervously, and Harry noticed the beads of sweat glistening on his bare forehead.

'No...' admitted Harry. 'But only because... Kingsley, only because I have no proof,' he raised his voice slightly as the Minister was still rifling through the papers.

'Kingsley, what's wrong?' he asked, frowning.

The minister gaped for a moment, as if he did not know what was not to be understood.

'What's wrong?' he asked back. 'I let the case close, I advised Amos Diggory to see a healer, because no one had ever seen the boy at his place, no one had ever talked about him!'

Of course he's afraid for his job! – thought Harry, annoyed. What else is there for a Minister of Magic to worry about?! You'd think they'd care about people, but if you get to know them just a little better, you'll find they always look for the easiest way out. His thoughts must have shown on his face, for Kingsley calmed down a little as he looked at him and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

'And... and how do you know they're there?' he finally asked.

'I met them. I heard a conversation that made it clear who they were.'

'I don't understand,' Kingsley frowned.

'They drank Polyjuice potion,' Harry explained, 'but it seems that Ciaran was left in the care of Malfoy, maybe because he's British, or I don't know... From their conversation, it seemed that Ciaran was worried that his uncle, Mr Diggory, might turn up, because he was also invited to the Triwizard Tournament...'

Kingsley interjected:

'I am not aware of any invitation being sent to Amos Diggory.'

'Because they didn't send it out,' said Harry. 'Malfoy told Ciaran that he burned his invitations before they were sent.'

The minister was silent for a good minute, and Harry, like a good Auror, waited patiently. Meanwhile, he thought that he had perhaps been too harsh in his judgment of Kingsley as Minister for Magic. He could not tar him with the same brush as Fudge or Scrimgeour.

'Did any of their names come up in the conversation?' the wizard finally asked. Harry was silent for a moment.

'No,' he admitted. 'But it must have been them, Kingsley, believe me! When we were coming back from the task, I shouted Malfoy's name... I shouted his name, and...'

'You shouted his name in front of everyone?' minister said in disbelief. Harry didn't understand what was so shocking.

'Well... yes,' he said. 'That seemed the most obvious way to find out. And it worked, both of them froze when they heard the name, Ciaran even turned around...'

'In other words, you let them know that you had exposed them?' Kingsley interjected again.

He didn't like what he heard at all, Harry deduced immediately. But what could he do in that situation? The task was over, they couldn't stay any longer. Would he have sent Ron and Dawlish after them, who had just caused a magical eruption that had been witnessed by a thousand people?

'And what do you think they will do now?' Kingsley asked. 'They'll shrug their shoulders and Ciaran will continue to go to lessons as if nothing had happened?'

Harry was silent.

'If Amos Diggory is right, and Ciaran is indeed in cahoots with the black sorcerers of the inner circle, they are unlikely to let it go. At the very least, they'll find another cover for the boy, and he'll be drinking Polyjuice potion day and night.'

'And Malfoy?'

'Draco Malfoy can do whatever he wants!' Kingsley laughed. 'Why shouldn't he go to Durmstrang to finish his studies? For Merlin's sake, he worked here at the Ministry for a while!'

Harry gave a forced nod.

'He hasn't done anything illegal since he was acquitted at the trial – or rather, where you acquitted him! If I am honest, I would have thrown him in jail for a few years...' said the minister. 'You wanted him released, I don't know why you're surprised now that he might be involved with the inner circle...'

Kingsley was right, Harry knew that. He really didn't think about it, but Draco Malfoy had indeed done nothing illegal. He was moving away from here, as Zabini would have liked, in an unconvicted way, and finishing school where his father would have liked, but his mother had held him back. Malfoy just paid for the move with some of Borgin's remaining black magic belongings (that though was against the law, but he couldn't tell Kingsley about it because of the circumstances of Borgin's interrogation).

'I see,' Harry said quietly at last. 'But what about Ciaran?'

The minister again looked a little strange and remained silent for a while. Finally he swallowed and took a deep breath before speaking. Harry thought Kingsley would make a lousy Occlumens.

'There's nothing we can do,' he said quietly, and Harry dropped his jaw, 'and we can't tell his foster parents that we've found the boy. We can't...'

'But Mr and Mrs Diggory are worried to death!' he huffed. Kingsley's face was now stiff as a statue.

'I'm sorry. Believe me. But I can't go storming the Durmstrang supervisory board over a child secretly staying there, especially when our goal is to attract as little attention as possible.'

'To attract attention?' Harry echoed. 'Ron and Dawlish have caused quite a stir! Or did they leave that out of their report?!'

He had tried to stay calm so far, but he was losing his head.

'They talked about the magical eruption, and it doesn't seem likely that anyone would have suspected intruders,' Kingsley replied, holding up two hands to reassure Harry. 'But if I took Ciaran Diggory's case to the International Confederation of Wizards, what do you think would happen?'

He gave Harry some time to think, but he didn't use it. He had no idea what would happen, but he didn't really care. He understood only one thing: the interests of the Ministry were again more important than those of a father, those of a mother...

'They'd open an investigation, which would be a major obstacle to finding out what's going on,' Kingsley answered his own question. 'Because something is going on Harry, and it doesn't look very good. The Diggory affair would just upset everything. It's unfortunate that the two cases are intertwined, but we have to choose between the two. If we draw attention to ourselves, it will be very difficult to find out anything about the inner circle!'

Harry tilted his head, looking back at him.

'You always talk about the inner circle. As if our job was not to capture Marius Prince!'

'Don't talk nonsense, Harry!' the minister said irritably. 'I don't want anything with the inner circle, if it's up to me they can do whatever they want...'

'Like that shopkeeper from Knockturn Alley?' Harry interrupted. 'He was such a very dangerous man, wasn't he? The poor old man had no idea why he was locked up in Azkaban! However, Borgin...!'

'You know very well that we had nothing against Balthasar Borgin!' Kingsley, too, had completely lost his tempter, with both hands clenched into fists as he stared at Harry over the desk. 'But the laws are clear and plain, and ignorance is no excuse for guilt.'

Harry was looking at Kingsley as aggressively as he had once looked at Scrimgeour in the living room of the Burrow, when he was covering up for the Ministry with laws and regulations.

'The laws, of course!' he snarled angrily, 'The laws that let Voldemort come to power twice; that would have got me expelled from Hogwarts for defending my life; that let Sirius rot in prison for twelve years! Where were the laws when I was the number one undesirable person? Where were they when Bellatrix Lestrange was allowed to walk free on Diagon Alley?'

In the end, he was no longer sitting in the chair, but leaning on the desk with both hands, staring at Kingsley.

'You know it's not the same ministry anymore, Harry, and it pains me to hear you say that...'

'Why?' said Harry. 'What has changed? Only other people tell you who goes to prison! That's what it's all about, isn't it?'

The minister also leapt up from his carved chair, and, taking advantage of his robust stature, towered over Harry.

'You don't understand any of this,' he shook his head. 'You're talking nonsense, Harry Potter, and you're crossing the line!'

Harry snorted.

'Ah, so there is a line now?!'

'Yes, there is!' the minister said sternly. 'And if you don't hold your tongue, you'll find yourself out of the ministry in no time! Your little outburst just now proves that you haven't the faintest idea how the world works, so you'll kindly remember your place! It's about time you learned a little respect!'

They looked at each other as if they were seeing each other's true faces for the first time. Harry snorted, Kingsley's jaw twitched wildly. The portrait figures on the walls were silent, watching the two wizards.

So it's come to this, Harry thought bitterly. Kingsley, who had risked his life to save him from the Death Eaters... He felt betrayed and disappointed – hugely disappointed in Kingsley, the first Minister he trusted, the one he hoped would run the Ministry with understanding and protecting the innocent. Instead, he was serving a law, a rigid system imposed on people that ignored obvious differences that a person would see, that he would have seen if he had just looked at the old shopkeeper and Borgin... Instead, he got this: it's time you learned a little respect!'

'That's exactly what Scrimgeour said,' Harry said, and then he stepped to the door, walked through it, and slammed it shut behind him. The secretary at the desk fidgeted, startled.

'But Mr Potter!' the witch gasped, but he rushed past her towards the lifts.

The anger was brewing in him like lava in a volcano, just waiting to be unleashed on something; finally it was the second button of the lift that suffered when he slammed his fist down full force.

It's time you learned a little respect... It's time you learned a little respect...

The words of Kingsley and Scrimgeour echoed in Harry's head. All ministers are the same, all can only command, and they never admit when they are wrong... And Kingsley is wrong if he thinks nothing can be done. Mr and Mrs Diggory already lost a son. If the minister does nothing, he will. The least he can do is tell the Diggories that their son is alive and well.

The lift doors opened, revealing the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Harry pressed the eight button almost immediately, this time a little more gently. He got off at the atrium level and went straight to the street via one of the secret entrances. The smoky but cool air of the buzzing London alleyway was cooling after the stifling atmosphere of the Ministry. All those empty-headed officials... Harry spat in anger. To hell with Kingsley!

He spun on his heel and disapparated. The black nothingness clutched his chest like an iron strap, but it lasted no more than a few fleeting seconds, and the discomfort faded as he breathed in the fresh sea air of Ottery St Catchpol and heard the sound of seagulls. He wasn't going home, but he was only a few kilometres from the Burrow. Snow-covered hills ran along the horizon from where Harry had been looking when he arrived, with the blue waters of the channel painting the landscape far behind him. He arrived directly in front of the garden gate of the Diggory house, and took a deep breath before entering.

He knocked on the front door and waited. A few seconds later, footsteps sounded and Mr Diggory opened the door for him. He had the same unkempt beard as the last time she had seen him.

'Would you look at that,' said the wizard. 'An Auror. What on earth could he be doing here?'

It was not hard to guess that Mr Diggory was not at all glad to see him, and Harry did not blame him.

'Good afternoon, Mr...'

The door slammed in his face before he could finish the sentence.

'Mr Diggory!' he called to the door. No answer.

'Mr Diggory, please, it's about Ciaran...' Harry was sure the door would open again soon. 'I found him! He's at Durmstrang.'

As expected, the front door opened, and Amos Diggory's impassive features were gone. He let him in and offered Harry a seat in the living room, and he told him and his wife everything he knew, word for word. He didn't lie about how they had questioned Borgin – he knew Mr Diggory would be the last man on earth to tell the Ministry. He told them that Ciaran had bought his "ticket" to Durmstrang from Borgin with a music box, and that he wanted to study black magic. The only detail he didn't tell the couple was the name of the inner circle – he didn't think they needed to know, and he was already in breach of the Minister's instructions.

'So, he is well?' Mr Diggory was most anxious to know, and for the fifth time he asked Harry, who answered it patiently, and was inexpressibly glad to have good news to tell this broken man. At the same time he recollected with remorse the carelessness with which he had tried to escape from this house when he and George and Mr Weasley had brought Mr Diggory back on the day of remembrance.

'Yes, he's fine, he's at school,' Harry reassured him and Mrs Diggory, who sat on the sofa beside him with a tear-stained face.

'But he doesn't want you to know where he is,' he confessed. 'That's why you didn't get an invitation to the Triwizard Tournament...'

He saw Mrs Diggory close her eyes for a moment when he said the word Triwizard. The room was silent, no one said anything for a long time. Then Harry remembered something else he didn't understand, and felt he could ask the question if he phrased it carefully.

'Mr Diggory, I admit there is something that is not clear to me,' he began, waiting for both of them to listen to him. 'You said that your brother and his wife, Ciaran's parents, were killed by Death Eaters. I don't really understand why, if that was the case, Ciaran would travel so far to learn black magic with a Death Eater?'

Mrs Diggory sobbed, and her husband hugged her, but he looked at Harry with a stony gaze.

'Ciaran's always been a hot-headed boy,' he said. 'Easily angered. There were days when you couldn't talk to him because...' Mr Diggory bit off the sentence and took a deep breath. 'He's driven by a desire for revenge, I cannot think of anything else. He doesn't understand that there's no one left to take revenge on... He's only destroying himself.'

Harry knew this feeling very well, he knew what was going on in Ciaran's mind. But it was still odd that Draco Malfoy had been entrusted with the boy, and that he seemed to listen to him.

'May I ask what happened the day Ciaran's parents died?' he asked Mr Diggory another question.

The man was a little late in replying, but Harry didn't urge him.

'It happened exactly one day before the takeover,' the man started, his wife clutching his hand as if clinging to it. 'I had spoken to Angus through the Floo network before noon. He told me how he went to Knockturn Alley and bought that cursed music box... He feared for his family's life, Mr Potter! He didn't mean to harm anyone with it, he was just keeping it for safety.'

'You don't have to excuse it to me, Mr Diggory,' said Harry quickly. 'Please continue!'

'That was the last time I spoke to him...' the wizard's voice trailed off, but he pulled himself together. 'We woke up in the night to Ciaran banging on the door. He was in a terrible state, shaking all over, and we couldn't get a word out of him. He was clutching his mother's necklace in his hand, and that's how we knew something terrible had happened...'

Mr Diggory swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment.

'I went to the house that night. It was pitch dark, I could barely see anything even with the light of a wand... I found them in the living room...'

Harry stared at his clasped hands in silence. It keeps happening over and over again; a family wiped out, a child orphaned.

Suddenly something occurred to him, and he had to ask:

'Mr Diggory, you said you could hardly see anything even by the light of a wand. What about the Dark Mark?'

The man thought for a moment, and his wife raised her head.

'What about it?'

'Was the Dark Mark over the house?' Harry asked. Mr Diggory shrugged.

'I don't know... maybe. Does it matter?'

'I don't know yet,' Harry admitted. He knew from Mr Weasley that Death Eaters always left a sign at the scene of the crime to let everyone know who the victims had been messing with. He made a mental note to look at the crime scene report – but then he remembered the unfortunate time of the tragedy and suspected there was no time to go to the scene, as the Death Eaters marched into the Ministry the next morning.

Harry got up from the sofa and was about to leave. Mrs Diggory also jumped up and grabbed his arm.

'Please bring my son home,' the woman begged him. 'Bring him home, save him from those people, save him from himself!'

Harry considered what he had heard; he somehow guessed that this was where they would end up at.

'And what if I bring him home? What if he runs away again?'

'No,' said Mr Diggory. 'It was my fault he left. I won't make that mistake again. I won't hold him back, he can go to Hogwarts or whatever he likes, he just shouldn't be with those people!' he shook his head, his voice shaking.

He knew they were serious, and Harry knew he was going to say yes to such a request before he even knocked on their door. He owed them that much.

'The third task is scheduled for the second of June,' he said quietly, 'I'll find him at Durmstrang and bring him home. I don't know how yet how... but you can trust me.'

Mr and Mrs Diggory were unspeakably happy. Just to know that Ciaran was alive must have been a relief, but Harry's promise was one of great ease for them.

Harry felt strange. He always felt guilty when he looked at the Diggories, or Cho Chang, because whatever anyone said, he felt responsible for Cedric's death. And now that Ciaran was caught up in the web of the Fourth Tower, and he had promised to bring him back, it was as if he was repaying an old debt, paying off the sin of having brought death wherever he went...

How he was going to do it was another matter. But there was still a month or two to go, Harry thought as he apparated back into the alley next to the Ministry and went through the side door. He walked back to the lifts, through the crowds, and within fifteen minutes he found himself back in his office.

Ron was nowhere to be found, a scribbled message on the table with an unmistakable scribbling was waiting for him: where the hell are you? I went to see that guy from the wizengamot. You should come too, or you'll fail at wizarding law! Ron.

Harry sat down on the chair. He had completely forgotten that they had made an appointment for this day with a member of the magical court to give them a lecture on the legal system of the modern British wizarding world, which was expected to be surely a thrilling experience. However, the row with Kingsley and the detour with Mr and Mrs Diggory had completely wiped this important stage in his Auror studies from his mind. If he doesn't pass next week's exam, he could see his apprenticeship extended by six months.

Yet he couldn't get upset about it. He'll ask Hermione to go over the more confusing bits with him this weekend; she's probably at home with wizarding law because of her lawsuit with Rita Skeeter, Harry thought. So he didn't go down to the tenth floor after Ron, instead settling comfortably in his chair and picking up that day's issue of the Daily Prophet, which he had left off reading due to his meeting with the Minister.

He had already skimmed the first two pages, but a brief report on the third page immediately caught his attention because it was about the murder of a Greek sorcerer. He immediately remembered that the disguised Malfoy had told the teasing Durmstrang boy about it. Harry smoothed out the page and began to read.

Mourning at the Delphi Oracle

Shocking discovery in the headmaster's suite

Plinius Plutarkhos, the headmaster of the New Delphi School of Divination and Magic, was found dead in his suite four days ago, a Greek magic magazine reported. At the request of the authorities, the case was kept secret until now because, they said, it was not a simple death but a murder. The investigation proved that the director had been executed with a deadly curse, but it has not yet been established who did it and for what purpose. More outrage was caused when forensic aurors found several banned cursed objects and black magic paraphernalia in the suite of the impeccable Plutarkhos.

The Greek Minister of Magic has not commented on the case and has not shared details of the investigation. The funeral of the director will take place this afternoon and his ashes will be scattered in the Aegean Sea. With Plutarkhos' death, for the first time in nearly 200 years, the new head of the Delphi Oracle and the school will be a non-Greek sorcerer: Hektor von Grünwelt, a sorcerer of German heritage, who was named barely a month ago for the post of Deputy Director.

Towards the end of the article, Harry's eye was caught by the accompanying photograph of the New Delphi School of Divination and Magic. The black-and-white image showed a distinctive building supported by Hellenic entrance columns on a sunburnt Mediterranean island, with a tall, lighthouse-like structure rising from the school's roof.

Harry folded the paper with a rattling sound and went deep in thought. He wouldn't have saved any costs to to know what was going on. This was the second murder in two months, and both had happened at a school that was on the map. And both were Black Sorcerers... Hermione was right after all, Harry thought. Marius had killed that Chinese wizard, and now this Greek one. But then what was the scene in his dream?

He pulled out the drawer of his desk, where over the past six months he had accumulated a not insignificant collection of broken and intact quills, ink bottles, and half-chewed apples. Harry fished out a copy of the list he'd received from the Viking dementor – the original he'd been forced to give to the Auror Office's inventory clerk as evidence – and skimmed through it. His finger glided down the lines of the crooked rows until he found the name of Plinius Plutarkhos towards the middle of the page. Something was wrong with this whole affair, he felt it in his guts. It was as if he was part of a great hoax, right in front of his eyes, and yet he was being swept along by events and believed what he was let to see, like everyone else.

He got up from his creaky chair, folded up the newspaper and left the headquarters. He only went up one floor in the lift, remembering that he had once seen the sign for the library on the signpost...

'Ministry Public Library, open weekdays 9am-7pm' Harry read the sign and followed the arrow around a corner.

There were many parts of the ministry he had never been to, and this was one of them. He walked down a wide wood-panelled corridor towards a double glass door that led into the library. He stepped inside and held up his trainee's badge to the guardian wizard sitting reading a newspaper by the door, then stepped to the filing cabinet and looked up the book Hermione had shown him on Grandmaster Tiu Sunma, another, simply titled The Wizarding Schools of the World, and a third, A Comparative Evaluation of European Schools of Magic. It took him almost a quarter of an hour to find all three printed works, and he had to conclude that he was too seldom in the library. Though this was not only true for him – only three or four other people were quietly browsing the shelves, even though the library was huge, in size easily to rival the one at Hogwarts.

He retreated to a secluded corner of the reading room and laid the three books and the newspaper on a table in front of him. He searched the Chinese-language book for photographs, and soon found what he wanted – Harry's lips curled into a satisfied smile. He put the book aside and pulled the other one in front of him; in a moment he had the section on the Greek school, then the chapter on Durmstrang, and there it was, the astonishing big picture laid out before him.

'Harry?' a low voice called out.

He looked up from the pictures and saw Hermione. She couldn't deny her amazement to find her friend in a library.

'Hermione, hi,' Harry greeted her, glad to be able to immediately share his finished theory with her.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione asked.

'In a library?' Harry raised his eyebrows. 'I'm reading.'

She smiled and held up the four books with ribbed spines that could have served as dumbbell weights.

'I brought these back. If you want something exciting to read, I recommend this,' she chatted, perhaps hoping to find a reading companion in Harry. 'The Upper Limits of Magic by Miriam Daws, fascinating read. She has an interesting theory on how the development of the wizarding world is affected by the emergence of a few particularly skilled wizards.'

'Mmm, very interesting,' Harry muttered, and managed to dishearten Hermione. 'Sit down for a moment, please...'

He slid over on the bench, and Hermione sat down next to him.

'You've read it?' she asked, glancing at the newspaper that was open at the ominous article.

'Yes, and that's what I want to talk to you about,' said Harry. 'Hermione, did you see what the Chinese school looks like?'

She blinked at him, interested.

'No,' she replied. 'But why is that interesting?'

'That's why!' Harry poked at the old photograph in the Chinese book, which showed a beautiful pagoda-like building, reaching gracefully skywards like a tall tower. 'And now look at that!' He pushed the photograph of the Greek school towards Hermione and pointed to the tall lighthouse. 'And this one!' He browsed the book to the Durmstrang coat of arms, which showed a shape so similar to the Dumbledore family, yet slightly different.

Hermione said nothing, but Harry could see that she was thinking hard about what she had heard. Biting her bottom lip, she scanned each image and then looked at Harry.

'Three towers,' she said finally.

Harry was pleased to see that she understood what he wanted to say.

'Exactly. And not just any schools – these are the oldest schools, Hermione! It says here... Except for Hogwarts, of course.'

'But what is the fourth? Did you check the other schools on the map?' she asked, and immediately turned to one of the books.

'Yes, but the others don't look anything like these,' he replied.

Hermione hummed and turned the book.

'Well, yes, there aren't many big wizarding academies like Hogwarts...' she said, then looked at Harry's face. 'What are you thinking?'

'That we are being made a fool of,' he said, which he had suspected for some time.

The girl was surprised by this sentence, and Harry was not surprised. She stopped leafing through the book and turned to face him on the bench.

'Can you elaborate on this?' she asked him with a curious smile on her face.

'I think Marius got that list from the Fourth Tower. The death list.'

Hermione wondered even more, and then, before they could continue their conversation, she looked around quickly, and, drawing her wand, muttered a muffliato charm that Harry had forgotten.

'Why would you think that?' she asked, but there was no doubt in her voice, only interest.

'From the victims, the Chinese guy's room, the Greek guy's room. Both were full of dark objects. A little too obvious, don't you think?'

Hermione said nothing to that.

'Why didn't Marius take them if that's what he is after?' Harry asked rhetorically. 'Because they were put there later! Probably those who will now replace the dead directors. I bet they all belong to the Fourth Tower! Look at those schools – the Greek and the Chinese – aren't bad places at all, black magic there is being pursued with fire and sword... It says here that Moshi... Moshu... whatever, that Chinese school won the World Association of Wizarding Schools' special award for being the 'whitest school' last year!' He tapped the burgundy cover of the Wizarding Schools of the World and waited for Hermione's reaction.

'But Durmstrang doesn't really fit into that picture,' she said hesitantly.

Harry took a deep breath.

'Hermione, what makes you think they don't have Durmstrang yet? What if they started with it? Viktor said that Ula Ulatov was supposed to be the headmaster after Karkaroff, but instead, mysteriously, Moloh, a complete stranger, became the boss. And remember...' Harry raised his voice when she tried to interrupt, 'Borgin himself said that he had told the Death Eaters where Karkaroff was hiding. Borgin belongs to the Fourth Tower. And now Durmstrang. And the Chinese school, and the Greek school...'

'But on that list were known Death Eaters!' she reminded him.

'If you're going to hide a lie, surround it with a good dose of truth – or something like that...' muttered Harry.

Hermione blinked at the pictures in front of her, as if looking for something on them to refute this. Harry, meanwhile, continued in his persuasion:

'Don't you understand? Marius did not kill members of the inner circle, but quite the opposite! Innocents who were in the way of the inner... who were in the way of the Fourth Tower! It was planned all along, Moloh, or whoever else is above him! They found a black wizard strong enough, someone they thought was expendable, someone who was fit for their purposes, and they framed him. Marius thinks he's taking revenge on Voldemort by hunting down his men, but he's wrong!'

She swallowed. Harry, for his part thrilled by the discovery, now reminded himself, seeing Hermione's face, that this meant that Marius was not the only enemy, the blue-skinned man was merely a tool.

'So where do you think this Fourth Tower is?'

'Nowhere – and everywhere!' Harry said, the answer having been forming in his mind since the beginning of their conversation. 'Just like Borgin said: organisation, society. It's not a building. That is...' he thought for a moment. Another tower flashed into his mind, an actual, real building in the shape of a fourth tower, and the answer suddenly seemed as obvious as if it had always been there – and it was.

'You want a Fourth Tower?' he said again, grinning at the slightly confused Hermione. 'What about the Dumbledore house? In Godric's Hollow.'

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

'Borgin said that Dumbledore and Grindelwald founded the Fourth Tower together,' Harry explained, 'and they only had two months to do it, and two places to plan it: Bathilda's and Dumbledore's house. You know how they were, we read the letter in Skeeter's book. I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore had named the new school he and Grindelwald were going to start after his own home... You know, breaking the boundaries of magic and all that pretentious nonsense... A fourth tower to go with the three great ones, and it's theirs alone. That would have made them proud as punch.'

Hermione listened, and before she spoke, Harry knew that he had convinced her.

'I see what you mean,' Hermione said cautiously, 'And I... I think you might be right...'

Harry folded his arms, satisfied, and leaned back on the bench as if he had done his job well, but he realised there was no backrest and nearly fell off.

'Write a report to Kingsley,' she suggested, whereupon Harry grimaced. 'Don't act immature, that's your job! You're an Auror, if you found out something, you have to report it.'

'I know,' Harry muttered under his breath, and started to pick up his books and newspaper.

'I heard about your fight this morning, about Ciaran,' Hermione said quietly, and Harry gave her an unfriendly look. 'I'm not saying you weren't right... But you need to control yourself, Harry! You can't just barge into the Minister of Magic's office and shout at him in his own study,' the girl moaned.

'I know,' Harry grumbled again, and started walking with the stacked books towards the magic copiers. Hermione padded after him, whispering advice and admonitions to apologise to Kingsley for making things difficult for himself, and that Kingsley was their friend who had risked his life in a duel with Voldemort. Then, at the copy machines, Hermione remembered that she was still carrying the heavy books with her, and disappeared apologetically between the shelves.

As the copy machine worked, Harry thought that he was probably involved in something much bigger than he first suspected, and that freeing Ciaran might not be as easy as he had planned (stun him, pull him under the invisibility cloak and off they go). If the hand of the Fourth Tower reaches this far, he'll have to come up with a plan, and it won't hurt to convince Hermione first.

Bizarrely, Kingsley was right about one small thing: the Fourth Tower, the inner circle, is the real enemy. But what he didn't know was that Marius Prince was merely their puppet. At this thought, he remembered a memory, a phrase spoken by the ever-haunting hooded young wizard in Muggle clothes below his robes, 'How many times have you let yourself be made a fool of, Marius?'

Harry felt this to be true of himself as well. He had been made a fool of many times by black wizards; Quirrell, Riddle, Pettigrew, Crouch, Snape and... Dumbledore. Dumbledore made a fool of him, but Harry didn't blame him. Not anymore, those days were gone. The Fourth Tower had been Dumbledore's great mistake, his dream of taking over; a dream he had abandoned in the meantime. But the dream lived on, developed, grew, and apparently only now has it come to fruition.