Harry Potter and the Fourth Tower

by The-Nameless90

With Dumbledore gone, Grindelwald's remaining followers are finally able to carry out their plans for "the greater good" and install a Nazi-Germany-like regime. But luckily, the Deathstick found a worthy successor who will oppose them. Based solely on the original 7 books, Harry's story is continued. Realistic, increasingly powerful Harry, no AU. BOOK 1/3.

23. Ciaran Diggory

- Chapter Twenty Three -

Ciaran Diggory

'As you can see, a lot has changed since you were last here, Mr Eakle. Since then, the woods have grown back, we've cleared away the rubble, built our festival hall and have a new quidditch pitch that we're very proud of.'

During the entire walk, Moloh gave an enthusiastic account to Harry, who tried to convincingly play the role of the important and respected guest. Ron and Hermione were a few yards ahead of him in the crowd, but Harry only saw them a few times and had to pace himself to keep up with Moloh. He could forget to look him in the eye, for his dwarf stature next to the Durmstrang Headmaster made him look even more gigantic than usual.

'Very nice. Very nice...' said Harry, looking with expert seriousness in the direction Moloh was pointing.

'Because of the Triwizard Tournament, we had to make some minor changes to the school,' explained the headmaster. 'The quidditch pitch... The wild animals' runway... And most recently, we had to build the new stadium for the third task.'

Then they came out of the trees and looked down into the valley, where the Durmstrang tower rose – next to it was a new, round building, similar to a quidditch court, but smaller.

'Is that it?' Harry asked, looking up at Moloh's waist.

'Yes, the third task's location,' he said. 'Unfortunately, we had to change our plans due to a minor accident.'

Harry frowned.

'Accident?' he asked back, and as Moloh guided them along the path towards the school. Professor Ulatov passed Harry by brushing his side, and if she got a little closer she was sure to knock him over.

'Yes...' the director replied reluctantly. 'There was a minor accident during the preparation of the third task... Some house-elves perished, but nothing serious.'

'Nothing serious,' Harry repeated, pursing his lips. 'Fortunate.'

'Yes, thanks to the Nibelungs, no one was hurt,' Moloh continued in a light voice, and Harry thought how lucky it was that Hermione couldn't hear the wizard's words, because she might have attacked him.

'But we had to change the last task. It wasn't possible to carry out our original ideas, so we had to come up with a new event. Unfortunately it's not as spectacular as the original, but it'll do...'

Harry was just humming now. Moloh's talkative mood and seemingly devoted respect for John Eakle might make things a little easier, he thought. He could use it to get some information...

'I heard about that magical eruption from some of my friends who were here at the last task,' he said cautiously, watching his reaction. 'Did you find out what happened then?'

As Harry had expected, the headmaster was reluctant to discuss the subject. For a few moments he didn't reply, just nodded and searched for the right words.

'The truth is...' he finally said, 'we haven't really figured out what caused it.'

And that's all he said. Harry didn't question him further, he didn't want to ruin the positive start with Moloh already, he might need it later.

In the meantime they reached the Durmstrang tower, and the sky-scraping director excused himself to join the delegates of the German chancellery of wizards and a number of high-ranking invitees, but to none of them did he speak with the respect he had shown to the as Eakle disguised Harry, on the contrary: he puffed out his chest, pulled himself up to his full height, and looked down at the little people with a stern look.

Harry waited with his hands folded beside the stairs crowded with students and teachers leading to the large front door, watching his two friends slowly and unobtrusively approaching.

'There's a problem,' Hermione said through gritted teeth as they reached them, looking all around, avoiding Harry with her eyes.

'What is it?' Harry asked. Ron nodded his head to the right.

'There it stands...'

A few yards away, a little out of place from the other guests, John Dawlish, in a simple street gown, was striding along, his hands in his pockets, and a blind man could see that he was holding his wand.

'What the hell is he doing here?!' Harry snapped.

'He's looking after Percy,' said Hermione in a whisper.

The Auror eyed everyone suspiciously, some even stared back at him, some curiously, others rudely, and Harry could hear some of them growling under their noses ("What the hell is that guy staring at?").

'In the encyclopedia under the amateur heading, it says Dawlish...' muttered Hermione, commenting on the Auror's appearance. Ron laughed, but his laughter seemed almost bizarre paired with the look on Percy's face.

The guests wound their way around the school building and down a wide, paved walkway, while Harry and his friends stood near the large front door, trying to pretend they were excitedly discussing the spectacle that was about to begin in just over an hour.

'Look, there's Newt Scamander!' whispered Hermione excitedly, pointing to a tall, gaunt old man, wearing a distinguished green robe and shaking hands with everyone who came along.

'I'm about to have a stroke from this incredible honour...' Ron muttered under his breath, careful to make sure only Harry heard the comment.

'He's the greatest magical creature researcher in the world!' Hermione chatted enthusiastically, and despite Penelope's voice, she was as Hermione-like as ever. 'He discovered nine magical animal species, he founded the Werewolf Registry, he introduced the law banning experimental crossbreeding! And he's done the most for the welfare of house elves since Helga Hufflepuff!'

'I don't see a spew badge on his robes,' Ron remarked in another whisper.

Harry spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, like McGonagall – who said hello to him – and others from Hogwarts; Viktor Krum, who this time passed him without looking at him; Madame Maxime, who seemed somehow thinner in her form-fitting satin dress...

Harry spotted someone else he knew from the Ministry: among the British wizards following Scamander, he spotted Mrs Parker, a Ministry Department employee, who also spotted him. Mrs Parker gave him a meaningful look, as if she knew him, ringing the alarm bell for Harry. Two things occurred to him: could the mystery Unspeakable tell who was standing before her, as Luna had done at Fleur and Bill's wedding, or was it simply that she knew Professor Eakle well?

'No one's looking right now,' Ron whispered, nudging him in the shoulder, 'Go on, we'll distract Dawlish...'

'I'm more worried about Moloh,' Harry remarked, but he too saw the moment as having come. The giant leader of Durmstrang was discussing the third task with Madame Maxime, and he did so with such vehement gesticulation that he might not have noticed if a herd of elephants trotted through the school door.

Harry slipped unobtrusively into the building, and forcing an indifferent expression on his face, strode with determined steps down the stone corridor supported by massive pillars. The key to the whole thing was naturalness – he said to himself – Act natural! Only now was he beginning to feel the lack of the cloak of invisibility, of having to walk visibly into such a place.

Students rushing to the stadium rushed past him, some journalists were putting the finishing touches to their cameras, but none of them gave the red-bearded dwarf a passing glance. Harry reached the central hall, with its blazing red fire, and the ornate spiral staircase that took him up to the eighth floor. There were only students in his way, but they showed no undue attention to an old, short wizard, and in their haste he was almost knocked over once.

'Hey!' shouted Harry, forgetting where he was.

'Entschuldigung!' one of the children shouted back.

Harry made his way up to the floor of the teachers' offices, the staff room and the headmaster's residence, and, once again putting on the mask of naturalness, he walked towards his right hand with his hands in his pockets. Then he thought that a man like Eakle wouldn't walk around with his hands in his pockets, so from then on he just waved his arms. Then he came to the conclusion that he was trying too hard to be loose. He stopped in the empty corridor and exhaled; it was harder than he thought. It was like he was out of practice, like his instincts were rusty, and he was acting as unprofessional as Dawlish.

He looked around the corridor that ran around the school in a circle. The staff room was to his right, its door ajar, and he could hear a rustling inside. Harry didn't dare go and see who was inside, preferring to look at the doorway on the left wall.

Here another spiral staircase led up, and Harry guessed the headmaster's room as the destination, on the basis of elimination. He glanced back over his shoulder once more, then took a deep breath and staggered up the stairs. He found a carved oak door, similar to the rest of the building, with a black iron knocker in the shape of a dragon. There was no sign of a keyhole. Harry suspected that, like most doors in Hogwarts, it opened with a password, and cursed himself for not having thought of this very likely scenario earlier.

But he would have been a fool not to try to open the door, knowing that he would not have a better option. He drew his wand and pointed it at the knocker, then whispered the lock-opening spell.

There was a crackling sound, but before the door opened a very strange thing happened: suddenly there was a deep, cracking sound, as if the oak door had cracked, and with it sparks of fire burst out of it. There was a squeak, another crack, then sparks again, then the sound of some metallic cracking, or perhaps tearing, then silence.

Harry listened to the door's agony from three paces away and watched with widened eyes as it opened, clearing the way to the headmaster's room. He glanced uncertainly at his wand, then shrugged and, pointing the wand forward, entered the study. There was not a scratch on the door.

The room was similar to the director's residence in Hogwarts, except that there were no paintings and the walls were made of wood. But the large desk and high-backed chair in the centre were just so, and the bookshelves and oddly constructed display cases lining the walls gave the impression of being in Dumbledore's room.

'Accio Cloak!' Harry said the incantation, expecting that, like the Stone, the third Hallow would fall into his hands. To his disappointment, however, the spell had no effect, and it crossed Harry's mind that Moloh might have shielded the cloak with some kind of charm, making it impossible to summon.

Conversation filtered up from the small stairwell, someone was arguing with a child, and it sounded like a slap had been given. Harry listened, petrified, for approaching footsteps, but no one came towards the headmaster's room.

'Where could it be?' Harry mused, looking around the room carefully for a suitable hiding place. He had found almost a hundred in a minute, and it seemed increasingly hopeless to find anything here that was surely better kept than anything else. It could easily be that Moloh was not guarding it in this room, but in another hiding place, perhaps not even in the tower.

Harry had another goal in mind: to find evidence against Moloh. He looked through the desk drawers, drooling over papers, but they were all in German, so even if one of them had said in large print that "Maude Moloh is an evil black sorcerer," he would not have been able to read it.

'Wait a minute!' he said to himself in a loud voice.

There was one thing he hasn't thought of. Why would a monster like Marius obey a sycophantic black sorcerer like Moloh? The answer slowly took shape in Harry's mind as he recalled Riddle's words. Marius also had a Horcrux hidden somewhere that even Voldemort hadn't been able to find. If Moloh had somehow found it – or even if he'd gotten it from someone, say Eakle himself – he could easily blackmail the blue-skinned man with it to serve him, to kill the headmasters of the schools, to bring him valuable dark objects.

Harry raised his wand and whispered the incantation again:

'Accio horcrux!'

Nothing happened as he expected, but he had to try. The office seemed to have been equipped with very powerful protective charms.

Harry was beginning to despair of failure. There were so many places to find signs, clues, that he had no idea where to start. With no other ideas, he decided to go back to Hermione and Ron and together they would figure out how to proceed.

He closed the door of the director's room behind him, and cast a reparo and an imperturbable charm on it, trying to restore it to its original state. Hoping for the best, he hurried down the stairs and out into the corridor, directly opposite the staff room, where a young boy in a Durmstrang uniform had just sneaked out. He closed the door carefully behind him, but when he turned and saw Harry, he gave a loud shout.

'Uncle Eakle!'

Eyes wide with surprise, he rushed towards him, arms outstretched, which made Harry automatically take two steps back in shock, but he threw herself at him and hugged him tight.

'Uncle Eakle!' he greeted enthusiastically. 'I didn't know you were invited to the Tournament!'

The boy was thirteen or fourteen years old, with light brown hair and light blue eyes exactly like Cedric Diggory's...

'Ciaran,' Harry muttered, a little shocked by the unusual encounter.

He let go of him and looked at him with a happy grin on his face. They were exactly the same height.

'I heard from my uncle that you are teaching at Hogwarts,' said Ciaran. 'Are you really the new head of House Gryffindor?'

'Er... yes,' Harry replied. How the hell does this kid know Eakle so well? – he wondered to himself.

'Have you met my uncle and aunt? Did you talk to them? They must be angry with me for running away from home, but I couldn't stay there any longer.' The words just gushed from Ciaran, and Harry listened with frequent nods, while looking around careful not to be overheard.

They walked down the corridor past the teachers' room and finally turned through a half-open door, which turned out to be a boys' room. Ciaran kept talking.

'They wouldn't let me go to Hogwarts, they wouldn't let me go anywhere alone!' the boy complained, and Harry got a better look at him. He bore a striking resemblance to Cedric, not only his face, but also his voice, and that only made Harry more uncomfortable. He was still wondering what to say to him. '... Just imagine, sometimes my uncle called me Cedric! Seriously, it was bad for them too, me living there, but... after my mum and dad died... I had nowhere else to go,' he lowered his head.

Harry finally got himself together to form a coherent sentence.

'It's okay, Ciaran, I'm not angry,' he said, lowering his voice. 'And Amos isn't angry either, he just got really scared. They thought you'd been kidnapped.'

Ciaran nodded guiltily.

'I should have left a letter,' he muttered, 'I should have told them I'd be all right...'

'But this place isn't very safe,' Harry said emphatically, and the boy shook his head. 'There are dangerous people here, too, Death Eaters, I suppose...'

Ciaran snorted heavily.

'Death Eaters! Like I was interested in Death Eaters, Uncle Eakle!' he said with a mischievous nonchalance. 'I leave them alone, and they leave me alone. In fact, they're glad they have someone to talk to in English, because there aren't many people here who...'

'How can you say that?' Harry cut him off, listening to Ciaran's words. 'You're living under the same roof with Death Eaters after they killed your parents! You need to come home, Ciaran...'

But the boy stood back, staring at Harry in shock. The expression was so strange to him, for Harry had never seen Cedric like that.

'So this is the case?!' Ciaran shouted angrily. 'Is that still the rumour?'

Harry frowned too.

'What are you talking about?' he asked.

Ciaran was about to answer loudly when Harry heard footsteps in the hallway, so he quickly moved forward and put his hand over the boy's mouth. Ciaran's eyes widened, but he remained silent until the hallway outside quieted.

'Are you hiding, Uncle Eakle?' he asked in a whisper when Harry let him go.

'No... I just don't want to be overheard. Like I said, the Death Eaters...'

'It wasn't Death Eaters who killed my parents!' Ciaran shook his head.

Harry was speechless. He wanted to ask if he had heard it right what he said, but then he didn't. He saw in Ciaran's eyes a perfect certainty and a genuine pain.

'The Death Eaters had nothing to do with my father and mother,' Ciaran continued. 'They only thought so.'

'I still do not understand.'

Ciaran took a deep breath and looked a little impatient. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned casually against the side of a toilet cubicle, which some hardworking hands had enriched with obscene scrawls, perhaps taking the opportunity to have found carving-free surface at the school.

'I wanted to tell my uncle and aunt, but there was no point after the Dark Lord took over...'

'Dark Lord?' Harry questioned, curious that Ciaran would call Voldemort what Death Eaters call him.

The boy was momentarily embarrassed and a little ashamed.

'So-sorry,' he hesitated. 'Just a bad habit. That's what everyone here calls Him Who Must Not Be Named.'

Harry smiled.

'All right, go on,' he said, soothingly. Ciaran took a deep breath.

'After Potter killed You Know Who... well, I wouldn't dare tell them what really happened...'

'Why, what happened?' urged Harry.

'My parents were killed by Aurors,' Ciaran said. 'Two Aurors who were investigating Death Eaters. I think they thought we were in their service, because my dad told me he'd been to Borgin's shop on Knockturn Alley... Do you know which one, Uncle Eakle?'

Harry was a little late with his answer, because he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

'Y-Yes, of course, I know it,' he said. Ciaran continued.

'Dad bought a cursed music box that sent anyone who listened to it into a deep sleep. He said that in such dangerous times, a little extra protection wouldn't hurt... I remember Mum being angry at him for bringing home a cursed object, especially one that cost so much.'

Harry saw the boy swallow hard at the memory, and from then on he told the story looking at the floor.

'They broke down our door in the night. Dad opened the box right away... told Mum to run away with me. He thought Death Eaters were coming, he wanted to hold them up. It never occurred to him that they might be Aurors, so he attacked them. And they attacked back... And they killed Dad...' Ciaran's voice trailed off and he wiped his eyes.

Harry stood petrified before him, listening.

'My mother ordered me to run away, but I couldn't leave her... She was pointing a wand at them too... My mother kept screaming... I think... I think she wanted to kill them for what they did to my father. But they killed her too...' Ciaran's eyes were already tearing up and he was shaking with tears. 'I hid from them, I don't think they knew I was there... I think they soon realised they'd made a mistake. The older one shouted to get out of there...'

Aurors – the word echoed in Harry's head, like some terrible truth. He knew, of course, that just as Bartemius Crouch had felt the need to allow his Aurors to use Unforgivable Curses long ago in the First War, so had Rufus Scrimgeour, but until now he hadn't considered what that might entail. How many more innocent people had fallen victim? Stan Shunpike came to mind, the young conductor of the Kinght Bus who had been imprisoned for speaking loudly about Death Eaters in a pub. He too would have been killed if he had resisted, or if he had been frightened and drawn his wand. But to wipe out an entire family...? That was Voldemort's method, not the Aurors'.

'Ciaran,' he said softly to the boy.

He gave a hiccupping hum to indicate that he was listening.

'Do you remember who the Aurors were?' Harry asked. He had gotten to know his former colleagues quite well over the last few months, so he hoped he would be able to identify the perpetrators if he told him what he had seen. 'Can you tell what they looked like?'

Ciaran sniffed a few more times before replying.

'One of them was quite old,' he said. 'He had a plaited white beard and moustache... He wore glasses... He was a short, curvy fellow.'

Harry gave a disappointed nod. He couldn't remember such a colleague.

'And the other?'

To his surprise, Ciaran laughed. Not with mirth, but with bitter despair.

'You won't believe me...' he muttered, shaking his head.

'Give it a try!' Harry encouraged, impatient for a response. Ciaran cleared his throat and said.

'The Minister for Magic.'

Harry stared at him in silence for a full minute, and he just sniffled, continuing to stare at the cold stone tiles covering the floor.

'Like as in Pius Thicknesse, who was the minister under Voldemort? O-or you mean perhaps Rufus Scrimgeour?' Harry knew the answer before he even asked it, but it was so unbelievable that part of his mind just didn't want to accept the alternative.

'None of them,' Ciaran shook his head again.

'You mean to say...' Harry said, when he finally found his voice again, 'that the other murderer was Kingsley Shacklebolt?'

The boy nodded.

'Yes, him,' he said. 'I didn't dare tell my uncle and aunt after Potter made him Minister. I'm not stupid, I know that the bigwigs always get away with everything... And besides, I'm just a kid. A child's word against the Minister for Magic.'

Ciaran took a few deep breaths and blew his nose.

'Anyway, I don't care anymore,' he growled under his breath, with feigned indifference. 'Professor Ulatov says I'm going to be a great sorcerer one day. Maybe big enough to one day stand up to Shacklebolt like Potter did to the Dark Lord... I'm learning a lot about curses. I have friends. And the older ones won't hurt me, because Draco Malfoy will protect me... Yes, a Death Eater who protects me, I know that, Uncle Eakle!' he added with unprecedented flaring anger.

Harry didn't say a word, he couldn't think of anything to say. Ciaran reached into his pocket and fished something out.

'I have my mother's necklace here...' he muttered to himself rather than Harry, blinking at the stone hanging on the small gold chain in his palm. 'It's like... it's like a part of her is always with me...'

Harry stood before him with pity mixed with anger. He was surprised that there was any room for pity left in him, for he had such a terrible rage for Kingsley that he thought his chest would burst. His clenched fist trembled as his nails dug into the flesh of his palm.

Everything was enlightened in an instant. Kingsley's continual interference to complicate the investigation; his terrified look when Harry told him he had found Ciaran; his subsequent refusal to inform the Diggory family; his stubborn resistance so that Harry would not take further action. It was all to save his own skin and that of his partner... An old Auror Harry had never seen at Headquarters – an old Auror who might have retired just before he joined...

Kingsley must have been terrified when he heard that Amos Diggory had reported his nephew missing – until that day, they hadn't even known he was alive.

And his, Harry's, suspension took on a new meaning for him: he knew that if he found out the terrible secret he was keeping, he could kiss the ministry and his freedom goodbye, because, as Ciaran said, a thirteen-year-old boy's word would be too little, but Harry Potter's would have been quite enough.

Harry gulped, stepped up to Ciaran and gently put his hand on his shoulder. He wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that Kingsley would be punished for what he had done, that everything would be all right – but he knew that was a lie. Nothing would ever be all right, the tragedy had happened and the damage it had done was irreparable: a family destroyed, a boy's future shattered.

So Harry just looked at him, a serious look on his face, waiting patiently for Ciaran to feel strong enough to look up at him. He squeezed his shoulders as if to give him strength, and it worked – the boy lifted his head and looked into his eyes through a curtain of tears.

'Ciaran, I can help you,' said Harry in a serious tone, 'I have some influence in the Ministry.'

The boy snorted again.

'That's not enough, Uncle Eakle,' he said dejectedly. 'Don't get involved, or you'll only get into trouble!'

Harry smiled when he heard this, even though he knew full well that the words of caution were not really directed at him. From what he had heard so far, he suspected that Ciaran would not trust Harry Potter at all.

'I swear to you, I will see that Kingsley Shacklebolt goes to jail for what he did!' Harry persuaded him. 'Just come home with me after the Tournament... I spoke to your uncle. He realised his mistake and said he'd let you go to Hogwarts.'

At this, the boy's eyes finally sparkled with interest.

'Did he really say that?'

'Yes,' nodded Harry. 'They were very afraid of losing you. But they recognized they've made a mistake. They love you and they want you home.'

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, Harry's instincts telling him to let the boy decide what he wanted. He waited patiently until Ciaran looked at him.

'Okay,' he said in a hushed voice. 'I'll go home.'

Harry smiled and patted Ciaran on the shoulder, who slipped the small necklace back into his pocket and took something else out.

'I have to drink this...' he held up a small vial of brown liquid. 'It's Polyjuice potion, so no one will recognise me.'

'Leave it,' said Harry. 'There's no one else here who can recognise you, is there?'

Ciaran seemed to hesitate.

'They said I had to hide because of Potter. Me as well as Draco.'

'Who told you?' Harry raised his eyebrows. The boy shrugged.

'One of the teachers,' he said. 'You sure Potter is not here?'

'I didn't see him,' Harry said, and waited for Ciaran to put the bottle away.

'Shall we go?' the boy asked.

'I still have some work to do at the tournament,' he replied, thinking of the cloak. 'It's important, and I might need you, so don't wander off!'

'Understood,' the boy said, and Harry's lips twitched.

He felt strange in this slightly upside down situation. It was as if he was looking at an old memory of himself in the Pensieve, only now he was Professor Dumbledore, and Ciaran was in his place as the outcast orphan seeking revenge.

They went out of the toilet – Harry glanced around cautiously – and headed for the staircase. They met Hermione at one of the support pillars of the stadium, she was pacing up and down, nervously biting her nails. As soon as she spotted Harry, she dropped her arms in a 'at last' type of gesture and rushed forward.

'Oh, but here y...,' her eyes slid to the boy next to Harry, and she became speechless.

'Penelope, this is Ciaran Diggory,' Harry said, anticipating her possible slip of the tongue.

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione sent a warm smile towards the boy.

'Nice to meet you! Penelope Clearwater... I know Professor Eakle from Hogwarts.'

'The safest way to tell a lie is to tell as much of the truth as possible,' Harry thought. He and Hermione stared alternately at each other and Ciaran for a long moment, and finally, seeing no other option, Harry turned to the boy.

'Excuse me, Ciaran, but could you please wait for us by the stairs?' he pointed to the ramp leading up to the entrance of the stadium, where a few wizards stood with their backs to them, watching the action inside.

The boy nodded obediently and left. Harry wiped his sweating brow and looked at Hermione.

'You won't believe what this kid told me...'

He told her in detail what he had heard about Kingsley and the other Auror. Her face, after an initial curiosity, became one of profound astonishment, then turned to disgust, finally settling on a stubborn denial.

'No!' she said, after listening to him. 'No!' she shook her head wildly, her blonde hair dancing around her face. 'This can't be...'

'I didn't want to believe it either, but it all fits,' sighed Harry. 'During the investigation, Kingsley was sabotaging our work. Think of it: suddenly he's got us involved in the Marius investigation, he's sent us to Durmstrang, he's got Dawlish off Ciaran's case, and then he starts spreading the word that Mr and Mrs Diggory are insane, that the boy wasn't staying with them because he's long dead or never existed! Then when I told him that I'd found Ciaran right here, where he'd sent me to avoid the case...'

'He suspended you,' Hermione finished.

Harry nodded. He saw her complexion turn deathly pale, her lips pressed tightly together as if trying to hold back nausea, and a tiny tear glistening in the corner of her eye – whether from sadness or anger, Harry could only guess.

'Kingsley wasn't even interested in the inner circle,' he said in a bitter tone to Hermione, who was now looking at Ciaran, who was bored and cowering on the stairs. 'Ron had also said that the Ministries didn't care because they weren't the enemy.'

'It's unbelievable...' she whispered, wiping the moisture from her eyes with an angry gesture. 'I can hardly believe it. Kingsley...'

'When we get home, we'll have something to talk to our old comrade about,' Harry said, eager to bring the lying, fake friend, hiding behind laws, Kingsley, the murdering minister, to face the Wizengamot.

They couldn't talk more about Kingsley's shocking secret, because Moloh got their attention. The Durmstrang headmaster hurried into the stadium with a few other teachers. To be precise, Moloh galloped at a seven-mile pace, while his teaching staff tried to follow him. Moloh was speaking German irritably, and Harry, glancing at Hermione, was surprised to see her smiling contentedly, somewhat forgetting her earlier nausea.

'Why are you in such a good mood?' he asked her.

'It seems to have worked,' Hermione murmured, then leaning closer to Harry's ear, she continued, 'I heard that Moloh wanted to skip the last task because he had something urgent to do and he wanted to hire that guy from the wizard chancellery to take his place. But I stunned him and put him in one of the broom closets so that Moloh would be forced to attend the competition. That'll give us time to search his room.'

Harry raised his eyebrows appreciatively.

'You are a genius!' he said from behind his beard, grinning. 'But his room is hopeless. We couldn't inspect it in a week. Can't Ron help us?'

Hermione shook her head.

'He has to be there, he has to give out scores,' she said. 'We are on our own.'

Waiting on the stairs, Ciaran drew his wand and waved pebbles in front of him in boredom. Harry stared at him thoughtfully for a while, then said:

'Maybe not.' Then he started walking towards Ciaran. Hermione followed a little late.

The boy noticed Harry and immediately jumped up, looking at him like a model child at his teacher, waiting for the next task.

'Ciaran,' Harry began, though he found it a little difficult to formulate the question without sounding too revealing.

'Yes, Uncle Eakle?'

'You know Draco Malfoy quite well...' The boy nodded quickly.

'Do you know where he was two weeks ago?' Harry waited for an answer with his fingers crossed behind his back.

'He said he was going to England to visit relatives, but I think he was lying.'

Harry and Hermione immediately looked at each other, and as they exchanged a silent message, they turned back to Ciaran.

'What makes you think that?' Hermione asked.

Ciaran now looked at her as if he had just realised she was there, and replied somewhat reservedly.

'I don't know,' he shrugged. 'He was just... weird. Secretive. Not like usual.'

'Did he bring anything back from England?' Harry tried from the other side. The boy thought for a moment, then his face suddenly brightened.

'Yes, he had some fancy cloth!' he said, eliciting a satisfied sigh from Harry and Hermione. Ciaran glared at them with a frown. 'Did he steal it?'

None of them replied. Harry looked at him with his friendliest face and took his shoulder.

'Ciaran, can you tell me where Malfoy put the cloth?'

'In the cupboard in our room, but...' Hermione squealed happily, and she and Harry were about to head back to the tower, but Ciaran stopped them. 'It's not there anymore. Draco took it down to the erkling castle today.'

'Where did he take it down?' Harry thought he heard wrong.

'To the castle of the erklings, to the erklings!' Ciaran repeated, pointing towards the stadium. 'To the place where the third task will be at.'

Harry's jaw dropped. What would they want with his cloak at the Triwizard Tournament? What could Moloh and Malfoy be planning with it? He could could see by the look on Hermione's face that she was equally perplexed, and then as he looked at Ciaran, the boy shrugged visibly, indicating that he knew nothing and it was none of his business.

Another batch of people came out of Durmstrang – this time it was Beauxbatons students in their navy blue uniforms, followed by a few other invited guests. No one was watching them: the wizards standing guard at the stadium entrance were just watching the events on the inside of the stadium, apparently too entertaining to pay attention to their jobs; Professor Ulatov was talking to a tall man in a hat near the school's big front door; there was no sign of Moloh, sitting in his seat in the stands; Dawlish was strutting like a petty bourgeois in the back row of the stadium. Harry could only see his back, but he recognised him easily from that.

'We should go and find Malfoy,' Hermione said what Harry thought about. 'We need to find out from him what they're planning to do with the cloak. I don't like this.'

'Me neither,' Harry admitted, and took a deep breath. He was sure that they were trying to hide someone or something with the cloak that couldn't be hidden with an ordinary piece or a disillusionment charm; something had to be hidden so well that it required the third Deathly Hallow.

'Draco's gone back to the tower,' Ciaran pointed towards the school, 'What are you going to do with him, Uncle Eakle?'

'We'll just ask him a few things,' Hermione said kindly for Harry, who again didn't bother to answer. Ciaran stared at her, a little reservedly, but then at Hermione's signal they walked together towards the school building, unobtrusively, keeping a watchful eye left and right.

The Beauxbatons students were chattering merrily as they walked past them towards the stadium, some waving supporters' flags, two carrying a large banner with the name of their champion in colour-changing letters surrounded by cirrus lilies, and all wearing their usual immaculate navy blue robes. The French teenagers were joined by a few teachers, parents and other invited guests, some of whom sang the Beauxbatons anthem with the pupils.

A mouldy stench...

Harry jerked his head up like a hunting dog and sniffed the air. Lately his nose and brain had been sharpening to this unpleasant smell, and with it his instincts were on the alert, his hand already finding its way to his pocket, to his wand. He stumbled and turned to follow the crowd.

Among the students and the honorary guests, he spotted the cuckoo's egg as if he had been expecting him: he was wearing a standing collar robe and a wide-brimmed hat.

The wizard with the hat also glanced back over his shoulder, as if sensing Harry's gaze on the back of his head. Like a fleeting wink, his eyes flashed blue...

'Marius,' Harry hissed between his teeth.

'What?' said Hermione, but by then the wizard in the hat had blended into the crowd. 'Is Marius here?' Harry could hear the fear in her voice.

'Who is Marius?' Ciaran wondered, craning his neck to follow the people who were slowly walking into the stadium.

Harry was no longer looking in their direction; he was looking in the other direction from where Marius had come, towards the entrance to Durmstrang, where the deputy headmaster stood at the top of the stairs with some students.

'What are you doing?' cried Hermione.

Like an enraged animal, Harry started towards Professor Ulatov. If he had been a little taller, he would have roughly pushed aside the people in his way, but instead he suffered a few shoves in the shoulder, which were followed by sincere apologies from those around him.

Harry ran up the stairs and stepped up to the witch, who then sent her pupils after their companions, but the kind smile faded from her face as she spotted Harry arriving in the form of Eakle.

'How can I help you, Mr. E...' she began with cold contempt.

Harry drew his wand from his pocket and concealed by his cloak, pointed it at Ulatov. The witch was speechless for a moment.

'What is the meaning of this?!' she hissed with a frightening suddenness blazing anger.

'What are you planning with Marius?' Harry whispered, and his old voice took on an ominous rasp.

The anger disappeared from Professor Ulatov's face in an instant, and she became as pale as a ghost, her hand started immediately moving to her robe pocket.

'Ah-ah!' warned Hermione, who then came up beside Harry. Ciaran watched from the background, not daring to make a sound.

'Answer me, Madam Ula,' Harry ordered. 'What is your deal with Marius?'

'I-I don't know how you know him...' Professor Ulatov stammered in total confusion, and stopped trying to reach for her wand.

'I know that monster very well!' Harry sputtered. 'Come on, what did you talk to him about? Tell me, or I swear I'll curse you!'

Hermione had been nervously fidgeting beside him, but now she gently pulled on the sleeve of his robe. Harry did look at her, just continued watching Professor Ulatov, who was beginning to regain some colour to her face, but her lips were trembling with fear.

'Uncle Eakle...' Ciaran muttered hesitantly.

At the sound of his voice, the deputy headmaster glared at him, sternly, the way McGonagall used to look at Harry when she caught him breaking the rules. Professor Ulatov, however, could not reprimand Ciaran for poking his nose into adult business, for Harry's wand glowed menacingly.

'I don't know where he came from,' she finally whispered, blinking anxiously around to see if anyone was watching. 'I don't know... I have no clue, I swear! I hadn't even heard of him until yesterday... but then...'

'Then what?' Harry urged.

Ulatov glanced around again, flashed a nervous smile at one of her students, who greeter her, then took a deep breath and stepped closer to Harry.

'Mr Eakle...' she began, looking deep into his eyes, 'I know what you think of me. But I swear, I only want what's best for this school...' with another big sigh, she wiped away the tear that had sprung from the corner of her eye, then looked at Harry again. 'It's not me who you should be afraid from for Durmstrang. Director Moloh however...'

'Yes?' snapped Harry at the abandoned sentence, but he didn't lower his wand. He could no longer trust anyone or anything. The shroud of Kingsley's secret had dropped, instilling bitter and toxic doubt in his heart. 'What about Moloh?'

The deputy director looked at him with a strange expression for a moment, but the slight flick of the wand tip pointed at her made her continue in a hurry:

'Maude Moloh has made some very questionable decisions since he took over as headmaster,' the old woman grumbled. 'It all started when, for seemingly no good reason, he started replacing respected members of the teaching staff with... people who... who weren't really cut out for teaching, if you know what I mean. And now this blue-skinned man...' scorned Professor Ulatov, 'he said... he... threatened me. He ordered me to meet this Marius Prince here at this time, to hand him a two-way mirror and show him where he could get into the stadium. That's all,' she finished afterwards, and then quickly added, muttering, 'If I hadn't done as he ordered, he would have locked me up in Nurmengard, just like he did with Professor Fisker. Even though he only divined...'

Moloh wants to maintain direct contact with Marius, Harry thought, and glancing at Hermione beside him, he saw that she was thinking the same thing. Harry himself had a two-way mirror, or more precisely, one of the broken halves of one that Sirius had given him. Through the mirror, he could have an uninterrupted conversation with the person who had the mirror's pair, and on one occasion it proved to be a lifesaver.

'Any idea what Marius is doing here?' Hermione asked urgently.

Professor Ulatov was silent and wrinkled her nose bitterly, indicating that she was reluctant to answer this question.

'Please, Professor,' Hermione said again, and for emphasis, she lowered her wand and stepped closer to her. 'If you suspect anything, you must tell us! You don't know how dangerous he is. He's already killed three people in cold blood, who knows what he'll do to the champions?'

Harry also lowered his wand – his confidence was starting to return, if not too quickly.

'I believe...', Ulatov continued, slowly picking her words, 'that Director Moloh is keen to get into the forbidden part of Durmstrang.'

She said all this as if she had already given Harry enough information, and waited anxiously to hear what her audience would say.

'And what's there?' asked Harry innocently, but as soon as he said it, he saw that this time he might have messed up. Professor Ulatov dropped her jaw and stared at him in disbelief. Hermione tugged gently on the sleeve of his robes.

'Well, the enchanted cellar that was closed after the fall of the Master of Death, of course!' the deputy headmistress opened her arms as if she was explaining something obvious to one of her clueless students. 'But you know that Karkaroff was also reprimanded by the supervisory board for trying to get in there! You conducted the investigation into the matter yourself!'

'Of course... of course...', Harry muttered quickly, saving what could be saved. 'So is Moloh trying to do the same?'

'Yes,' nodded Ulatov. 'Indeed. After the second task, something disturbed the spell protecting the cellar and caused a strong eruption. Moloh believes it was one of the Deathly Hallows.'

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock; Harry was sure that was the case, wearing the Cloak, Ron and Dawlish had walked right over part of the cellar.

'And you think Moloh found one of the Hallows?' Hermione asked cautiously.

Ulatov spread her arms again.

'I... I don't know... Until recently I didn't even believe in the existence of the Hallows. I thought it was just the Master of Death spreading the word, until last year when Harry Potter told everyone that they really existed.'

'And committed one of the biggest mistakes of his life,' Harry added mentally, berating himself for wanting to tell people everything, even the Cloak and Stone. He had naively believed that he was no longer in danger, that he could live his life in peace with Voldemort's downfall.

'But now it seems Moloh has found one of the Hallows,' Ulatov continued, 'I think it might be the Cloak, since Harry Potter said the Stone was destroyed by Albus Dumbledore, and the Wand is very well kept, I hear...'

'How?' Hermione gasped. 'How did Moloh find out about the Cloak?'

The witch looked at them with a miserable expression.

'He said he checked how many people were on the ground because of what happened after the second task. He said there were two people there hiding under an invisibility cloak.'

'And how did he...?' asked Harry carelessly.

'Of course,' Hermione nodded quickly, cutting him off. 'Homenum revelio.'

Professor Ulatov also nodded. Harry still didn't understand anything, but he didn't dare question her any more, lest he look too stupid for John Eakle.

'What does Moloh hope to gain by getting into the sealed section?' Hermione took over.

A horn sounded from behind them and hundreds of people began to applaud. Harry was getting more and more nervous; time was running out.

This time, too, only after a short pause, Professor Ulatov forced herself to answer, but somehow she also gathered her courage; her voice was no longer shaky and her head was up.

'The Master of Death... I mean Grindelwald, during his student years, conducted many forbidden experiments at Durmstrang, for which he was finally expelled,' she explained to Hermione, while Harry tried to pretend that he knew all this very well. 'Some of the results of these experiments are locked away in a large stone chest. We've always known that Albus Dumbledore sealed the chest... Moloh thinks that the Deathly Hallows can unlock this powerful enchantment, because Harry Potter told us that Dumbledore had won the Wand of Destiny and used it to enchant the chest...' The witch shook her head and looked towards the stadium with a worried look on her face. 'Mr Eakle, I think the headmaster is planning something terrible.'

Harry frowned.

'What terrible thing?' he asked. "He wants access to what's in the box, I understand that. But why does he have to do it during the tournament? Why didn't he do it before?'

'I think he was trying,' Professor Ulatov said, 'one time the director was down in the basement, near the forbidden part, and when I ran into him, he seemed very upset. Later, I saw him outside his office with Benedetto Modesto, they were obviously arguing...'

'With whom?' slipped out of Harry's mouth.

'With the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards,' Ulatov replied this time without hesitation; Harry relaxed – judging by the Professor's reaction, he hadn't spoken out of turn this time. 'I did not dare to eavesdrop, lest I should get into trouble, but I heard a few words: they were talking about the stone chest, and about some "right person." Perhaps it is not enough to break the spell...' the witch speculated. 'Maybe it matters who wants to open it...'

That would sound like Dumbledore, Harry thought. He remembered the devious spell Dumbledore had used to protect the Philosopher's Stone within the walls of Hogwarts. No one else could have got the Stone except the one who didn't want to use it for anything. He may have chosen the same method at Durmstrang to forever lock away the dangerous experiments of Grindelwald? In his mind's eye, all sorts of distorted, black magic-transformed creatures and menacing, shapeless objects loomed before him...

'Mr Eakle, please believe me!' Ulatov pleaded unnecessarily. Harry already believed her. 'I'm sure Maude Moloh will want to open it during the task – perhaps with one of the champions themselves...'

Harry knew that they had to act now, or else something much worse than what had happened at the Burrow or the Strangled Cat could happen. Whatever was hiding in that stone chest was bad enough that Dumbledore had locked it away forever from greedy and prying eyes, and he couldn't let Moloh get his hands on it.

'Ciaran!' cried Hermione, when Harry turned around. 'He was right here... He was standing right next to me, but now... Ciaran!'

Harry was not particularly concerned at the moment where the boy had wandered off to, they would have to look for him later, as he could not have left the school grounds anyway. They had more important things to do, and they couldn't wait...

'Ciaran!'

'Come on, we have to hurry! We have to stop Moloh!' he grabbed her by the arm, and leaving Professor Ulatov in the lurch, they ran towards the stadium, where people were already clapping and whistling loudly, the schools' anthems were playing again.

The final task of the competition was about to begin, and Harry had no idea what the game was up to this time, for he had no idea what the erkling were that Ciaran was talking about.

They ran along the paved walkway, circling the building in a semi-circle, aiming straight for the main staircase entrance to the stands. Both of them had their wands in hand, ready to put a stop to the competition at all costs, by disarming one or two security wizards, before trouble happened again, just as it had five years earlier. Dumbledore didn't lock away those dark things for nothing...

There was a loud shout, causing Harry and Hermione to stop.

'It's them!'

Four figures appeared out of nowhere, loosely surrounding Harry and Hermione. They all knew each other: the grinning, muscular Durmstrang student and his skinny friend standing opposite them was flanked by the tall, black-haired boy, in whose brown eyes Harry thought he detected the gloomy gaze of Draco Malfoy. A step behind him, Ciaran stumbled nervously, his hand trembling as he pointed straight at Harry, his ice-blue eyes reminiscent of his cousin squinting beneath his furrowed brow.

'Ciaran, what...?' Harry would have asked, but he cut him off.

'He is not John Eakle! He's a fraud!' shouted Ciaran Diggory, his face flushed with anger, as four glowing wands were pointed at Harry and Hermione's heads.