Harry's stomach twisted and contorted in knots as the marble staircase ascended up to the Headmaster's office. Professor Jackson and Sirius had been quick in taking him from Godric's Hallow and back to the castle, and had joined him as they ascended up to Dumbledore's office. Harry had known that this was a possibility, a probability even. But he had been able to distract himself the last couple of weeks, and hadn't allowed himself to dwell too much on the possibility that Dumbledore had been right.
But that reality had come to fruition. And the weight of the situation began to sit squarely and painfully on his chest. He had really chosen to go through with this. To offer himself up as bait, to participate in this tournament, to bring Voldemort out from whatever rock he was hiding under.
It was overwhelming, and his breathing became shallow and fast.
A firm, calming hand gripped his shoulder. Looking over, Harry met his godfather's eyes, and relaxed somewhat at the reassuring smile Sirius was giving him. Harry did his best to match the expression, but his smile was more of a pained grimace than a look of somber confidence. Nevertheless, he appreciated the gesture, and having Sirius there with him did help calm his racing heart somewhat.
All too soon, the twisting staircase came to a halt.
Without a word, Professor Jackson stepped forward, and wrapped a knuckle on the wooden frame.
A soft, "Enter," echoed from the other side of the door, and Professor Jackson ushered Harry and Sirius inside. The cramped office, familiar to Harry after four years at the school, was even more cramped than usual. He recognized Madame Maxine, looking even more comically large in the small armchair by Dumbledore's desk, and a girl that looked vaguely familiar standing by her side. he thought he recognized her from the other evening when the schools arrived, but he didn't know who she was.
In the other chair, Karkaroff sat. His posture rigid, and his shoulders stiff. He was looking away from Harry, but Harry didn't need to see the man's face to know that he was furious. The posture alone was enough to convey his fury. More interestingly, however, was the young man watching harry enter with a curious frown on his face.
He shouldn't have been surprised that Viktor Krum would be the Durmstrang champion.
Rounding out the trifecta of champions and their professors was Professor Sprout, and oddly enough, Cedric Diggory. Harry hadn't even known that the older boy was entering his name into the competition, and of all the people to enter the tournament, Harry hadn't expected someone from the House of the Badger to actually become the champion for Hogwarts.
Cedric had an uncomfortable look on his face, and was making a show of looking down at his sneakers, clearly not wishing to meet Harry's eyes.
Professor Dumbledore, looking ever calm and collected, sat in his usual high-backed chair behind his desk. Unlike the rest of the room, he did not appear at all frazzled by the situation at hand. On either side of him were another pair of familiar faces. Ludo Bagman, the announcer from the Quidditch World Cup, was bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. He beamed brightly at Harry as he walked into the office, and Harry gave him a shaky nod.
The other man beside Dumbledore, was equally familiar. Barty Crouch, a strangely distant expression on his face, stood aloof and almost unseeing on the other side of Professor Dumbledore.
Dumbledore nodded gently at them as they stepped into the room.
"Mr. Potter, my apologies for taking you away from what should have been an evening of closure," He sounded genuinely apologetic, and Harry had the feeling that he actually meant the words that he was saying.
Karkaroff made a noise that could have been a snort or a cough, and Harry could feel Sirius stiffen behind him,
"Unfortunately," Dumbledore continued, "We have…a situation that needs our immediate attention."
"Putting it mildly," Maxine seethed venomously, "Hogwarts has cheated its way into having multiple champions, it has doubled its chances of winning the Tournament."
"Oh, you're shitting me," Professor Jackson growled, sounding convincingly like he was hearing this news for the first time. "Harry's name came out of the goblet, didn't it?"
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, "Indeed. Under the guise of a fourth school."
Professor Jackson let out a low whistle, "Would take a hell of a compulsion on the goblet to make that happen."
This time, Karkaroff didn't bother to hide his derisive snort, and Professor Jackson rounded on him,
"Got something to say? Then say it!" There was heat in his voice that Harry had rarely heard from the usually very composed professor. It was strange, while Karkaroff didn't seem like the nicest person in the world, it seemed a tad excessive for Professor Jackson to be so outwardly hostile towards him.
Karkaroff swiveled in the chair, looking over at them for the first time. His face was pinched in anger, and his nostrils flared as her sneered at them,
"It is all just so very convenient, isn't it? That the boy be gone the night of the selection, only for him to be chosen. And for some American professor to know so quickly how the goblet was fixed? Forgive me for thinking the situation is more than a little suspect."
"You accusing me of something?" Professor Jackson demanded, taking a menacing step forward. The was a flick of movement, and Harry could see the point of the Professor's wand poking through the sleeve of his shirt, ready to be drawn in an instant. Dumbledore watched the by-play with interest, but did not attempt to interfere.
"I am accusing Hogwarts of cheating the system, of abusing its hospitality for its own advantage. Typical of the British to lie and cheat their way when they lack the ability to do things the proper way."
"That why you were shoving ballot after ballot of Krum into the Goblet the other night?" Professor Jackson shot back, "In the interest of fair play?"
Karkaroff jumped to his feet, crossing the distance in only a few strides and getting into Professor Jackson's face,
"You accuse me of-" He began, a hand darting to his hip, where Harry could see the handle of a wand. But Professor Jackson was quicker. His hand darted out, and wrapped around the wrist of Karkaroff. Simultaneously, his other hand whipped out, and faster than anyone could process, Professor Jackson was pressing the tip of his wand into the throat of Karkaroff. The tip of the wand glowed with an ominous green light, flashing the same shade as Professor Jackson's eyes.
"Give me a reason." Professor Jackson said, his voice a low hiss,
"Give me a reason, I'm begging you. Give me a reason to do what should have been done to you years ago."
"You dare-" Karkaroff spluttered indignantly, but Professor Jackson was on a roll, and he wasn't about to let Karkaroff get a word in,
"I got a taste for killing your kind at the World Cup, and I found that I enjoyed it. Tell me, were you there with your boys? Or were you cowering in the corner like the sorrowful coward that you are?"
Harry's head raced at the implication, and the tension in the room seemed to grow to a boiling point. Harry glanced up at Sirius, who was glaring at Karkaroff with an intensity that matched Professor Jackson's, and he shook his head at Harry.
"Perseus, enough!" Dumbledore ordered, standing to his feet.
Professor Jackson didn't move, and for the briefest of moments Harry was certain that they were all only a few seconds away from having to duck to avoid flying spells. But Professor Jackson relented, and lowered his wand and took a step away, but didn't keep his eyes off of Karkaroff.
"Is there any way to get Harry out of the tournament?" Professor Jackson asked, not looking at Dumbledore,
"Not that we think, no." Dumbledore conceded, before turning to look at Sirius, "We were hoping that you could shed some light on what you and Mr. Potter were doing since the Goblet was lit."
"I picked Harry up immediately after the feast," Sirius said quickly. Karkaroff looked like he wanted to retort, but a menacing snarl from Professor Jackson kept him quiet.
"Harry has been with me ever since."
"It still does not explain how or why his name was entered into the tournament," Maxine said icily, "Nor how Hogwarts has ended up with two champions,"
"Why do you even care?" Professor Jackson asked suddenly, and Harry could have sworn he heard Dumbledore sigh in exasperation,
"I beg your pardon?" Maxine asked imperiously, her nose scrunching up as though someone had just shoved something particularly foul under it,
"I said, why do you even care?" Professor Jackson repeated, speaking slowly as though he were speaking to a small child,
"The way you're talking, it's like you think that Hogwarts benefits from having a fourteen-year-old in the tournament. Are the schools in Europe really that bad that you feel as though your students can't compete with someone with three years less experience?" There was a strange hint of malice in Professor Jackson's voice, and the hint of a glare that seemed to hold just a bit too much anger to be simply for Harry's benefit.
Madam Maxine didn't seem to know just how to respond to that particular query, and so she stayed quiet. Though her silence spoke volumes on her behalf. Professor Jackson once again turned his attention to Dumbledore,
"I take it that Moody didn't see anything?" He asked, and Dumbledore shook his head, and Professor Jackson hummed in thought,
"Could probably rule out one of the other students then," He thought out loud, speaking more to himself than to anyone in the room, "No way any of them are going to be magically mature enough to cast the kind of magic necessary to confound the Goblet so thoroughly. I'll send a letter to Madam Bones immediately. And Crouch," The older man started at being addressed so abruptly,
"I want a copy of that contract, I'm going to send it to a friend of mine. If anyone can figure a way for Harry to get out of this mess, it'll be her. Though I don't suppose we could just have the kids here play rock paper scissors and just hold the tournament after the fact with only three champions."
"I don't believe that would work, no," Dumbledore said, looking rather amused by the suggestion." He then looked around at the gathered staff and students, "I don't believe there will be any more to be gleaned from further investigation tonight, I would suggest that we all adjourn for the evening, and get some much needed rest. We can reconvene in the morning, and try and determine the best possible course of action then. Mr. Potter, Sirius, Perseus, stay behind will you, I wish to ask just a few more questions."
At the dismissal, all of the other occupants in the room, the champion from Beauxbatons continued to glare nastily at him as she followed her large headmistress out of the room. Harry tried once more to meet Cedric's eyes, but Cedric was keeping his gaze firmly locked on the floor. The door behind Professor Sprout closed with a soft click, yet nobody moved. They waited, each perhaps waiting on someone else in the room to speak first. Finally, after what felt like ages, Professor Jackson spoke up,
"We're clear," He announced,
"Yes…" Dumbledore said slowly, "I believe we are. Sirius, Harry, have a seat." He gestured to the vacated chairs in front of his desk, and Harry and Sirius took the proffered seats without a word.
"Need you be so antagonistic towards Karkaroff?" Dumbledore sighed at Professor Jackson, who grunted in response as he perched himself up against a bookshelf beside the desk,
"He's a bastard and a murderer." Professor Jackson said acidly, "The fact that he's allowed to be in charge of the education of children is a disgrace. You think-"
"I do not," Dumbledore said, "Igor Karkaroff, for all of his previous sins, has shown absolutely no inclination in going back to his previous master. To do so would be tantamount to suicide. Remember, Perseus, that he abandoned Voldemort after his defeat, and turned over evidence of his comrades,"
"Wait," Harry said, as the realization hit him, "Karkaroff is a Death Eater? Why isn't he in Azkaban?"
"A former Death Eater, yes," Dumbledore nodded, "Igor Karkaroff, like many, bought into the rhetoric that Voldemort espoused, however he never truly had the stomach to do many of the things necessary of Voldemort's followers. Shortly after Voldemort was defeated, he was captured by authorities and turned over several of the most high-profile members of Voldemort's inner circle in exchange for amnesty. Igor Karkaroff did not spend more than a minute inside of Azkaban."
Dumbledore turned his attention back to Professor Jackson, "I truly do not know who could have put Harry's name inside the Goblet." He shook his head sadly, "And Alastor did not see anything,"
"How?" Professor Jackson demanded, his brow furrowed, "That eye of his can see in every possible direction, the man hardly sleeps, I thought you had him on lookout overnight."
"I did, yet he saw nothing." Dumbledore said, folding his fingers together on the desk,
"I mean-" Professor Jackson began to say,
"Alastor Moody would never go over to Voldemort's side," Dumbledore said, heat creeping into his voice at the mere suggestion,
"I'm not saying he'd do it willingly, but you have to admit that its suspect Albus. The man was on duty all night, and you had people watching the Goblet during every hour of the day. The only, only, time that someone would have been able to enchant the Goblet would have been when Moody was watching it."
Dumbledore frowned, bringing a gnarled hand up to his mustache and idly playing with it. Harry glanced over to Sirius, and shared a glance with his Godfather. It felt oddly like they were outsiders looking in on a private conversation, almost like Professor Jackson and Dumbledore had completely forgotten that they were even in the room.
"It doesn't add up, Albus." Percy insisted, pushing off the bookshelf and strode to the edge of the table, gripping the fine wood tightly,
"Don't tell me that it doesn't seem extremely suspicious to you." Professor Jackson insisted, but Dumbledore didn't respond for some time. He was gazing a million miles away, his eyes staring off into nothingness.
"I admit…" Dumbledore said carefully, "That it could be…possible. But how? Alastor…well I don't need to explain to you what he is like."
"Paranoid old bastard," Professor Jackson grunted, pushing off the desk, "Can't see him getting jumped or imperioused,"
"The dustbins!" Harry blurted out, a memory had popped into his head and he couldn't contain himself from speaking up.
Professor Jackson turned around, looking at Harry for the first time in minutes. He waited for a moment, as he studied Harry intently, nodding at him to continue.
"I, erm…" He glanced over to Sirius, who gave him an encouraging nod to continue. Gulping, Harry looked back at Professor Jackson, he was more comfortable talking to him than to Dumbledore,
"Ron told me…the night Professor Moody arrived…that his father was called over to Professor Moody's house that morning, something about his dustbins coming to life and attacking a muggle postman. Maybe…maybe that was actually an attack…"
Professor Jackson frowned, and then glanced over at Dumbledore, "You hear about that?" He asked,
"I did," Dumbledore said, "I had heard about what happened, but I ignored it. Alastor has had his…eccentricities, shall we say, ever since the war. It wasn't the first time I had heard of such things happening, so I passed it over." He hummed in thought, and leaned back in his chair.
"I believe, Harry, that you may be quite right. That the morning his dustbins attacked that poor muggle, was because of an attack on his person."
"Imperious curse?" Professor Jackson suggested,
"Doubtful," Dumbledore said with a shake of his head. "Alastor took precautions against such forms of mental incapacitation."
"Polyjuice then…" Professor Jackson hummed, and then he swore violently under his breath, "The flask,"
"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, "That…would make sense. I have never known Alastor to be a heavy drinker…though I suppose I had not considered it too unusual given the way of the world."
"Just so we're clear," Sirius said, raising a hand into the air as though he were still in school, "And for the benefit of those of us trying to follow along, we have decided then, that Moody is the one responsible?"
"Decided, might be too heavy of a word for right now," Dumbledore conceded, sparing a glance in Professor Jackson's direction, "But I will grant that he certainly has my suspicions now, and he did not before. I believe the matter is worth looking into, Perseus-"
"I'll keep an eye on him," Professor Jackson dismissed with a wave of his hand, "But if that really isn't Moody under there, we need to figure out how we're going to deal with that."
"One step at a time, Perseus," Dumbledore chided, "But for now, I believe we have matters of the tournament itself to discuss." Dumbledore swiveled away from Professor Jackson, and turned to face Harry.
"The others were told this already, but the first task will take place on the last Saturday of November." He paused, giving Harry time to digest the information, "What the other students do not know, is what the task will entail,"
Harry frowned, "Does that mean that you're going to tell me, sir?"
"I am," Dumbledore nodded, "As you'll recall, Harry, your participation in the tournament is not with the hopes that you will emerge victorious, but that you will survive, and draw Voldemort out of his hiding once and for all."
"We want you to come out of this with as many pieces left as you go in with." Professor Jackson chimed in, "And that means telling what the tasks will be. The more you know, the better prepared you're going to be. The better prepared you are, the better chances you'll have of seeing this through."
"So…what is the plan exactly?" Sirius asked, "Just sit back and wait? Do we even know what it is we're waiting for? Supposedly Voldemort was the one to put Harry in the tournament, but we don't know why yet. We also don't know how exactly he plans on using Harry. Is this all just an elaborate way of killing Harry? Or is there something worse going that we just aren't seeing?"
"With Voldemort, you can almost always count on it being the latter." Dumbledore said,
"There are any number of dark rituals that involve the blood of your worst enemy," Professor Jackson mused, "But that just begs another, maybe more important, question…how is he even alive?"
"How do you mean?" Sirius asked,
"Well, in Harry's first year he was a spirit that had attached itself to the back of a man's head. Supposedly that means that he was a spirit without a body, and as far as I'm aware there aren't any sorts of rituals that exist that can restore a human body from spiritual form. How is he planning on restoring his body? And moreover, how did he live through the events of Halloween thirteen years ago?"
Harry too, had similar questions. The latter being one of the most prominent questions that had burdened him for the last several years.
"I…have my fears," Dumbledore admitted, though he seemed far too reluctant to express his thoughts.
"You're not holding back on us anymore Albus," Professor Jackson grunted, his eyes glowing dangerously in the dim light,
"I assure you Perseus," Dumbledore said wearily, "That my reluctance has nothing to do with a desire to withhold information willingly. I simply fear putting an idea in our minds, without us knowing for certain that it truly is what we are dealing with. It is merely a theory, granted a theory that is not without evidence, but it is still only a theory."
"A theory is better than what we have right now," Sirius said, "Which is nothing,"
"True enough," Dumbledore said. He sat in silence for a moment, before he stood and walked over to a small chest on a table. He opened up the chest and pulled out a small text, that was very familiar to Harry. It was a small, black, leather-bound book. It was damaged beyond repair, with a gaping hole in the center of the text, with large black ink-stains, almost like blood, staining the corners of the hole.
It was Tom Riddle's diary.
Voldemort's diary.
Harry had not seen the small book in almost two years, Harry had almost forgotten that it had even existed. He hadn't even considered that Dumbledore would have kept the small text, he had been all but certain that he would have destroyed the thing.
"I see that you recognize this," Dumbledore said with a smile,
"Yes sir," Harry said, apprehensively.
Dumbledore slowly padded back over to desk, and sat back down, placing the small diary on the desk.
"What the hell is that?" Sirius asked, looking in confusion between Harry and Dumbledore.
"About a year and some months ago, young Harry here came into possession of this diary." he explained to Sirius, "It turns out, that this diary was once the diary of Tom Riddle, you know him better as Voldemort."
Sirius swore, and Professor Jackson's expression darkened.
"Most interestingly," Dumbledore continued, "Was not just the diary itself, but rather what the diary contained."
His long, willowy fingers danced softly along the leather of the book.
"Somehow…the spirit of a much younger version of Tom Riddle existed within this diary. Almost like a memory…a ghostly apparition of the young man he was before his fall."
Professor Jackson muttered something in a language Harry didn't understand, as he walked over to the book and inspected it.
"That explains a lot," He muttered,
"I should think so," Dumbledore said, "And it is where I first had a thought about how it was that Voldemort had managed to survive that night in Godric's Hallow."
He fell silent, and Professor Jackson shifted from one foot to another as he became increasingly agitated.
"And that is?" Professor Jackson prompted,
"Horcrux's…" Professor Dumbledore said imperiously. The way in which he said the words, Harry supposed that they were supposed to mean something, but Harry didn't know what that was supposed to mean. And from the looks on Sirius and Professor Jackson's faces, neither did they.
"What is that?" Professor Jackson asked, "Some kind of…sprit magic?"
"Worse," Dumbledore said sadly, "A horcrux deals with the single most magical, most powerful, most important part of a human being…the soul."
Professor Jackson spat out a vile curse and whirled around, storming away from the desk and running a hand through his hair. Harry didn't quite understand.
"What is soul magic?" Harry asked,
"Exactly what it sounds like," Professor Jackson said bitterly turning around to face them, "It's magic that deals specifically with the soul of a human being. They draw power from their very being, their life-force, and use that power to cast their magic. But using your very soul to create magic…to reach deep within oneself and tear and rip and grip at that part of your being, it does something foul to a person. The human soul isn't meant to be touched. It's pure, untainted. But the moment the soul is touched by something as foul as magic…it tarnishes the soul. The person who commits that heinous act…they're never the same."
Dumbledore nodded gravely at the explanation,
"It makes sense…too much damned sense," Professor Jackson said, "I can make an educated guess as to what a Horcurx is," Dumbledore nodded at him to continue,
"I'm guessing he literally broke part of his soul off, and shoved it into that book."
"That…is my theory, yes." Dumbledore said, "But it is only that, a theory. As I have said, the only proof I have is on my desk," He gestured down at the ruined diary,
"Pretty damning evidence," Professor Jackson grunted, "There can't be only one," He said after a minute, "There has to be more,"
"That was my fear as well." Dumbledore said, "But I do not know how many there could possibly be, and while I agree that the diary is rather damning evidence, I am still…reluctant to box myself into the corner of believing that it really is a horcrux. It is such an unknown, obscure branch of magic…next to nothing is known about it. I hesitate to fixate too much on the subject, before we know for certain it is what we are dealing with."
"We have too many damn questions and nowhere near enough answers." Professor Jackson sighed, scratching behind his ear,
"I believe," Dumbledore began, "That for the immediate time being, we should focus our efforts and attentions on getting Harry through this tournament, and determining what Voldemort wants him for."
Professor Jackson nodded, and glanced over at Harry,
"We'll be stepping your training up from here kid, hope you're ready."
A surge of excited apprehension flowed through Harry. The idea of finally beginning to learn new and interesting magic, from someone as experienced as Professor Jackson, was something that he had been looking forward to for weeks.
"You'll keep an eye on Moody then, Perseus?" Dumbledore asked and Professor Jackson nodded,
"I'll begin poking through the Black family library." Sirius said, standing up, "Gods know that there's enough terrifying magic in those tomes to make even Snape's greasy hair curl."
It was beginning to dawn on Harry exactly how real things were becoming. Prior that evening, he had been able to shut the possibility of Voldemort coming back from his mind. But hearing all of this talking, all of this planning…it was putting the situation he was in, in a brand new perspective.
Voldemort really was coming back.
But Harry would be ready for him.
AN: And we're back! Got four chapters for you but because book four is a bastard it's still not over lol. But I wrote through the first task and got lots of interesting stuff going on! So I hope you have fun and enjoy what we got cooked up for you. As always shoutout to Double0Sxvxn for being an awesome Beta and dealing with my bullshit and as always if you enjoyed this but haven't checked out my other work, give them a try you never know you might find something else you like. I'm also on discord now, where I and a bunch of other writers hang out, chat and brainstorm ideas, you just have to copy the link that's in my profile bio if you want to come and hang out with us. Stay safe, stay healthy and have an awesome week.
All My Love and see you next week,
LilDB