Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we continue with fourth year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...
–
Christmas Day arrived, and it was time for the Yule Ball. Harold and Draco went to their dormitory to change into their dress robes. Of course, Harold refused to wear dress robes, and instead wore black, handmade shoes, black slacks, a white silk shirt along with a white cravat, a red waistcoat with golden buttons, and a long, black overcoat, the very same overcoat he had been wearing in his reflection in the Mirror of Erised. Over this, he wore, of course, his usual high-collared, black cloak with red lining.
The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black.
They left the common room, Draco wearing high-collared dress robes, with Pansy Parkinson clinging to his arm.
The entrance hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o'clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Fleur was passing, looking stunning in robes of silver-gray satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies.
"Where's Hermione?" Draco asked, looking around.
"Hi, Harold! Hi, Draco!" a girl said as she came up to them, and both Harold and Draco felt their jaws drop.
It was Hermione.
But she didn't look like Hermione at all. In fact, if it wasn't for the scent, he never would have believed it. She had done something with her hair. It was no longer bushy, but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow... or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling, rather nervously.
"You look beautiful," Harold commented, and Hermione blushed.
"Oh, thank you. I was hoping to look extra nice for the occasion. I may get to dance with Viktor, after all."
"Viktor?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "Viktor Krum?"
"Yes, he asked me to the Ball. He was so devastated when he found out I had already been asked. But I promised him a dance, and told him that Harold and I were only going as friends."
The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes Harold didn't recognize. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights, meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.
Then, McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!"
Hermione and Harold walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let them through. McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside. They were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest to the door. Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Cedric and Cho Chang were close to Harold, too. Krum and his date, who looked at Krum kind of like how Fleur's date looked at her, were standing behind Harold, who nodded in greeting to Krum, who nodded back.
Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the hall, where the judges were sitting.
The walls of the hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished. Instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.
Harold smiled as Hermione beamed around at everybody. He caught sight of Weasley and one of the Patil twins as he neared the top table. Weasley was watching Hermione pass with narrowed eyes.
Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Weasley's as he watched Krum and his date, a Hogwarts girl, draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students, and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. But Crouch, Harold suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley. When the champions and their partners reached the table, Harold made sure to sit as far away from Percy as possible, despite the pointed look he got from him. He had no intention of sitting with that man.
There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harold picked his up and looked around in confusion. There were no waiters... Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, "Pork chops!"
And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too.
"This must mean so much extra work for the house-elves..." Hermione muttered, looking down at her own menu.
"Hermione, for once, stop thinking about others, and just enjoy yourself," Harold said, placing his order for a bloody steak, which appeared on his plate.
Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies.
"Zis is nothing," she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. "At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we 'ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course... zey are like 'uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we 'ave choirs of wood nymphs, 'oo serenade us as we eat. We 'ave none of zis ugly armor in ze 'alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, 'e would be expelled like zat." She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.
Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harold had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying.
"Absolutely right," he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. "Like that. Yeah."
"He truly is weak-minded, isn't it?" Hermione asked with a faint laugh as she watched Roger Davies. "He has completely fallen for her allure."
When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.
The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause. They were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harold and Hermione got up along with the rest of the champions and their partners, making their way onto the brightly lit dance floor as the Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune.
Harold had to admit, he really enjoyed himself, revolving slowly on the spot. He would have to host a ball of his own someday. It was only right.
Very soon, many of the others had also come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. Neville Longbottom and Ginny were dancing nearby, and Harold could see Ginny wincing frequently as Longbottom trod on her feet, and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin. However, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.
Harold heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe, and the Weird Sisters stopped playing to wild applause, which filled the Hall once more. Harold let go of Hermione and left the dance floor as the Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster. Hermione was immediately met by Krum, who asked her to dance.
Within minutes, the song ended, and a slow song started playing again. Harold set his eyes on Fleur, who was talking with Roger Davies over a butterbeer. He walked off.
"Excuse me, Miss Delacour," Harold spoke as he reached the two, making sure to lay on his Romanian accent thick. "I was wondering if I may have this dance?"
"Can't you see we're having a drink?" Davies demanded angrily, looking very upset that someone interrupted his time with Fleur.
"You have finished your drink," Harold said simply, staring into his eyes, and Davies blinked, before splashing the contents of his butterbeer bottle in his own face, looking rather dazed.
"So I have..."
"Miss Delacour?"
Fleur looked Harold up and down, then nodded and took his hand, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor.
"I 'ave 'eard many zings about you, Count Dracula," Fleur said as they slowly revolved on the dance floor, the very picture of beauty and elegance. "Zey say you are ze descendant of ze first Dracula, and a bloodzirsty vampire 'oo should be killed."
"Is that what they say about me?" Harold asked, giving a soft chuckle. "Yes, I am a descendant of the first Dracula, and yes, I am a vampire, but not bloodthirsty, I assure you. I drink no more than I need, and only from those willing to give up their blood."
"Are you sure about zat?" Fleur asked, staring deeply into his eyes, and he noticed that many eyes were upon them. Without a doubt, they were the most beautiful pair on the dance floor.
"Alright, so maybe there some thirst for blood, but can you blame me?" Harold asked, smirking widely. "You and I, we are so much alike. Both creatures of great beauty and grace, yet so alone in the world. There is really not many who can compare to us, is there, draga mea?"
"You say us, but I am afraid I see none of zat beauty or grace in you," Fleur said, trying to sound disdainful, but Harold just gave another soft chuckle.
"So you say, but we both know the truth, and in time, you will come to admit it. Until then..." With perfect timing, the song stopped, and Harold gave Fleur a bow, before walking off to join Draco and Hermione, who sat at one of the tables with Krum.
–1995–
Harold surfaced in the lake, holding both Aleera and the little girl who had been Fleur's prisoner. Having seen Fleur get attacked by grindylows but unable to help her, he couldn't very well leave the little girl there in good conscience. If Aleera was hurt by this...
Obviously, she wasn't, because at that moment both girls opened their eyes. The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise, shouting and screaming, while the girl looked scared and confused. Aleera, however, just pointed at the girl.
"What did you bring her for?"
"I couldn't very well leave her there," Harold said calmly. He hadn't needed a spell or anything to get down. Being a vampire, he didn't actually need to breathe. "Fleur got attacked, and couldn't make it."
"You didn't take the song seriously, did you, Master?" Aleera asked.
He had. He felt rather silly now, but with Aleera's life having been at stake, he didn't feel like risking it.
"In any case, let's get back to shore. I'll help this girl. I don't think she can swim very well," Harold said. If he was capable of it, he would have been blushing for being so silly as to take the song seriously. In any case, he rescued the girl, and came in first. He pulled Fleur's sister through the water, back toward the bank where the judges stood watching.
Dumbledore and Bagman stood beaming at Harold from the bank as they swam nearer. Meanwhile, Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water.
"Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?"
Dumbledore and Bagman pulled Harold and Aleera upright. Fleur had broken free of Madame Maxime's grip and was hugging her sister.
"It was ze grindylows... zey attacked me... oh, Gabrielle, I zought... I zought..."
"Come here, you," Madam Pomfrey said, appearing out of nowhere. She seized Harold and pulled him over to a small, empty tent, wrapped him so tightly in a blanket that he felt as though he were in a straitjacket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of his ears. Madam Pomfrey went over to grab Aleera. She led her over to Harold, gave her a blanket and some Pepperup Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms, and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them.
"Look after Gabrielle," she told her, and then turned to Harold. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage."
"I couldn't just leave her there," Harold said simply, still feeling stupid for taking her with him.
Fleur bent down and kissed Harold twice on each cheek.
"Zank you."
"I approve, Master," Aleera whispered to Harold, who smirked.
–
Harold really didn't like the daytime, he thought as he walked across the lawns one sunny day. He was so weakened, he could hardly even use half his strength, let alone half his powers...
"'Arold!"
Harold stopped and turned toward the Beauxbatons carriage, to see Fleur making her way toward him through the melting snow. She came up next to him, and together, they made their way toward the castle.
"So, 'ow are you?" Fleur asked, and Harold shrugged.
"I could be better, if it wasn't for the sun," he said. "I much prefer the night."
"Not surprising, considering what you are," Fleur admitted. "I would like to zank you again, for saving my seester from ze lake."
"There was no real threat to her life," Harold said simply, "so there is no need to thank me."
"But you zought zat ze zreat was real, and so you acted as zough it was, and saved my seester," Fleur said, seeming adamant in her belief that Harold had heroically rescued her sister, which, in a way, he had. "She won't stop talking about you now."
"That's nice," Harold said without blinking. He didn't know what she was trying to achieve with this small talk. Was she trying to apologize for her earlier attitude toward him?
"So, what do you zink ze zird task will be?" Fleur asked with a dazzling smile as they made their way into the entrance hall, through it into the Great Hall.
"I am unsure. I try not to think about these things until I am face-to-face with them," Harold said as he moved over to his usual seat at the Slytherin table, Fleur taking a seat next to him. They were some of the first students there.
"I 'ave seen some of ze judges around ze Quidditch pitch. I believe it will 'ave somezing to do wiz underground tunnels."
They were quiet for a while. Then, Fleur said, "I was lying, you know."
"About what?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow.
"During ze ball, when I said zere was nozzing graceful about you," Fleur clarified, looking a bit ashamed of herself. "I was... I was cruel to you, wizzout a real reason for it, and I would like to apologize for it."
"Apology accepted," Harold said immediately. Then, a smirk appeared on his face. "If you will allow me to take you out to dinner next Hogsmeade visit," he added, and Fleur's eyes widened.
Harold thought he saw a blush rising on Fleur's face, but she held her head up high, dignified, and tossed her hair.
"You may take me out to dinner, Count Dracula," she spoke in an official-sounding tone of voice. Harold's smirk widened.
"Excellent."
–
The start of the summer term arrived, and one dinner with Fleur turned into several dinners. Harold didn't even have to hypnotize her to get her to agree to more dinners. She did it out of her own volition, something that he hadn't expected from her. Perhaps it was because she was such a high-class girl, and being seen with an alleged vampire would have smeared her reputation, but she didn't seem to care about that.
Dinners turned into late-night dinners concluded with dancing. They both, they found, loved to dance, and took every opportunity they had to do so. The house-elves down in the kitchens were more than willing to whip up some late-night food, no matter what they requested.
The third task of the Triwizard Tournament was approaching, and Harold still had no idea what he would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Snape held him back in Potions.
"You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock, Dracula," he told him. "Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task."
So at half past eight, Harold left his Draco in the Slytherin common room and went upstairs. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.
"What d'you reckon it's going to be?" he asked Harold as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. "Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels. She reckons we've got to find treasure."
"Yes, she has shared her theory with me, but I highly doubt it," Harold said, looking quite imposing with his cloak wrapped around himself, showing hardly any of the clothing he wore underneath, except for his cravat. "It will be something extravagant."
They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.
"What've they done to it?" Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.
The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.
"They're hedges," Harold said simply, bending to examine the nearest one.
"Hello there!" a cheery voice called.
Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harold and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harold as he came nearer.
"Well, what d'you think?" Bagman said happily as Harold and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month, and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expression on Cedric's face, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"
No one spoke for a moment. Then...
"Maze," Krum grunted.
"That's right!" Bagman said. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."
"We seemply 'ave to get zrough ze maze?" Fleur asked.
"There will be obstacles," Bagman said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures... then there will be spells that must be broken... all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champion who is leading on points will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at Harold. "Then Mr. Diggory and Mr. Krum will enter, and finally Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"
Harold knew very well the kind of creatures Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, but he had always had a decent amount of control over all manner of beasts, so he was sure he could handle anything that was thrown at him.
"Very well... if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..."
"Actually," Fleur spoke as Bagman hurried alongside Harold as they began to wend their way out of the growing maze, "I am feeling quite tired, and I zink I will go back to ze carriage. 'Arold, accompany me?"
"Of course," Harold spoke with a bow, moving over to Fleur, who looped her arm with his.
Bagman looked slightly perturbed.
"I'll wait for you, Harold, shall I?"
"No, it's alright, Mr. Bagman," Harold said. "I can find my way back just fine."
"I 'ave 'ad a very good time zese last few weeks," Fleur said as they walked, arm-in-arm. "I shall be sad to go."
"You don't have to go," Harold said, stopping and turning to face Fleur, staring into her eyes. "You could stay with me, share my life, see what I see, live how I live."
"Are you saying..." Fleur gulped, suddenly sounding nervous. "Are you asking me to...?"
"Will you be my bride, Fleur?" Harold asked, taking Fleur's hands in his own and kissing them. "Will you share eternal life and beauty with me?"
"We... We hardly even know each other, 'Arold," Fleur said, but Harold could hear her heart racing, a heart that, if she would but say yes, would soon stop beating...
"We would have eternity to do so," Harold said, leaning closer. "Life is fleeting, not even a footnote in the history of the world. But eternal life, the life of a Dracul, is eternal."
"I 'ave read up on vampires," Fleur said. "Zey live as long as us."
"Magical vampires, yes, but not vampires descended from Dracula himself. We live forever, just like him. I have his powers, and I need someone to share them with," Harold said, placing a soft kiss on Fleur's lips. "Please let me share it with you."
"I shall need time to zink about zis," Fleur said breathlessly, gulping.
"I have all the time in the world," Harold said, bringing her hands up to kiss them again. "And so can you."
With that, he gave Fleur a deep bow, before spinning and fading away into the night as he walked off.
–
"Ah, to be free!" Sirius said as he sat in the Three Broomsticks, happily chugging down Madam Rosmerta's famous oak-matured mead and feasting on a chicken.
"Tell me, will you always be this... chipper from now on?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat across from Sirius, reading the Daily Prophet.
"Why, bothering you, is it?" Sirius asked, grinning.
"As a matter of fact, it does. I don't like chipper in the mornings. The sun rises, and my powers weaken. I don't like anyone being happy around this time."
"Well, can't help it, my beloved godson," Sirius said. "I'm finally free, after thirteen years, and it feels great!" He grinned widely at Harold. "So, I heard from a certain quadruplet that you proposed to the French bird, Fleur."
"I did," Harold said, nodding, keeping his eyes firmly on the newspaper.
Sirius was silent for a while, then leaned closer and urged, "And...?"
"And she's thinking about it," Harold said simply, not looking up. "I've got nothing if not time..."
"But she doesn't," Sirius said, leaning back. "She'll turn old... and gray... while you stay young and fresh... Can you live with that if she says no?"
"I will be forced to. I love the woman, but not that much. This is merely what one would call love at first sight, and not true love. True love takes years to achieve."
"Tell me about it..." Sirius muttered, scoffing. "Took your mum years to warm up to James. But then again, he was a right prat in our school days... We all were. Remus was the only decent one of the lot of us. He didn't partake in most of our more harmful pranks. Was made prefect, he did."
"Not... Remus Lupin?" Harold asked, finally looking up from his newspaper, and Sirius nodded.
"Yes, him. Why?"
"He taught at Hogwarts last year," Harold said, furrowing his brow in confusion. "But he never made any mention to me about knowing my father..."
"Well, considering he's dead, Wormtail was supposedly dead, and I was supposedly a mass-murderer, it's no surprise that Remus would want to forget most of that time."
–
On the morning of the twenty-fourth of June, the day of the third task, Harold was sitting at the Gryffindor table, reading the Daily Prophet, when Snape came walking alongside the Slytherin table toward him.
"Dracula, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," he said.
"But I thought the task wasn't until tonight, Professor," Harold said politely in confusion.
"I'm aware of that, Dracula," she said. "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."
She moved away, and after Harold finished his breakfast, he saw Fleur get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterward. Wiping his mouth, Harold got up and walked across the Hall, opening the door into the chamber.
Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing in rapid Bulgarian with his dark-haired mother and father. He had inherited his father's hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. She waved at Harold, who waved back, smirking. Then he saw Sirius and the quadruplets standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at him. Well, Aleera was looking around with a distasteful expression on her face.
"Hello!" Sirius said excitedly as Harold walked over to them. "Thought we'd swing by and watch the third task. It's during the night, after all."
"I don't like this castle," Aleera spoke, scrunching up her nose. "It's much too bright..."
"It is good to see you too, Aleera," Harold spoke with a smirk.
"Wouldst thou care to giveth us a tour of this grand castle, Master?" Marishka asked, and Harold nodded. Sirius grinned and rubbed his hands together.
"Let's go find Sir Cadogan. I want to mess with him a little."
Harold gave them the grand tour of the place, then they whiled away the afternoon with a long walk around the castle, and then returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and wasn't talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Harold saw that her eyes were red.
There were more courses than usual, but Harold, who had filled up on blood from Pansy, didn't eat much. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now?"
Harold got up. The Slytherins all along the table were applauding him. His friends, Sirius, and the quadruplets all wished him luck, and he headed off out of the Great Hall with Cedric, Fleur, and Krum.
"Feeling alright, Harold?" Bagman asked as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds, Harold's soles clacking each time they made contact with the stone. "Confident?"
"Naturally," Harold said confidently.
They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy. Harold smirked. Just the way he liked it.
Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill. The air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Moody, McGonagall, and Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.
"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," McGonagall said to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"
The champions nodded.
"Off you go, then!" Bagman said brightly to the four patrollers, who walked away in different directions, to station themselves around the maze. Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, "Sonorus," and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with eighty-five points... Mr. Harold Dracula, from Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "Tied in second place, with eighty points each, Mr. Cedric Diggory, of Hogwarts School, and Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause. "And in third place, Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"
Harold could make out Sirius and the quadruplets in the crowd, politely applauding Fleur, halfway up the stands. He gave them a bow of his head, and they bowed back at the waist.
"So... on my whistle, Harold!" Bagman said. "Three... two... one..."
He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harold walked leisurely into the maze. No need to rush, after all.
The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment he entered the maze. Harold, however, could see perfectly, despite the darkness.
After about fifty yards, he reached a fork, and took the left path. He heard Bagman's whistle a second time. Krum and Cedric had entered the maze. His chosen path seemed completely deserted. He turned right, and sped up.
Harry kept looking behind him. The old feeling that he was being watched was upon him.
The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. He reached a second fork.
"Point Me," he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm.
The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go northwest for the center of the maze. The best he could do was to take the left fork and go right again as soon as possible.
The path ahead was empty too, and when Harold reached a right turn and took it, he again found his way unblocked.
Harold didn't know why, but the lack of obstacles was unnerving him. Surely he should have met something by now? It felt as though the maze were luring him into a false sense of security. Then he heard movement right behind him. He held out his wand, ready to attack, but his gaze fell only upon Cedric, who had just hurried out of a path on the right-hand side.
Cedric looked severely shaken. The sleeve of his robe was smoking.
"Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts!" he hissed. "They're enormous! I only just got away!"
Bagman's whistle sounded again, and Harold and Cedric looked up.
"All of us are inside now," Harold said, getting a nod from Cedric.
The two glanced at each other, and nodded. Then, Cedric dived out of sight, along another path. Keen to put plenty of distance between himself and the skrewts, Harold hurried off again. No matter how capable he was of controlling most manner of beasts, he had no interest in running into the skrewts.
Left... right... left again... Twice he found himself facing dead ends. He did the Point Me Spell again and found that he was going too far east. He turned back, took a right turn, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of him.
Harold approached it cautiously, staring hard at it. This looked like some kind of enchantment. He wondered whether he might be able to blast it out of the way.
"Reducto!" he said.
The spell shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact. He supposed he should have known better. The Reductor Curse was for solid objects. What would happen if he walked through the mist? Was it worth chancing it, or should he double back?
He was still hesitating when a scream shattered the silence.
"Fleur?" Harold yelled.
There was silence. He stared all around him. What had happened to her? Her scream seemed to have come from somewhere ahead. He took a deep breath and ran through the enchanted mist.
The world turned upside down. Harold was hanging from the ground, with his hair on end, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. It felt as though his feet were glued to the grass, which had now become the ceiling. Below him the dark, star-spangled heavens stretched endlessly. He felt as though if he tried to move one of his feet, he would fall away from the earth completely.
Think, he told himself, as all the blood rushed to his head, think...
But not one of the spells he had practiced, or that his ancestor had at his disposal, had been designed to combat a sudden reversal of ground and sky. Did he dare move his foot? He had two choices: try and move, or send up red sparks, and get rescued and disqualified from the task.
Suddenly, Fleur's scream was heard again. Harold shut his eyes, so he wouldn't be able to see the view of endless space below him, and pulled his right foot as hard as he could away from the grassy ceiling.
Immediately, the world righted itself. Harold fell forward onto his knees onto the wonderfully solid ground. He took a deep, steadying breath, then got up again and hurried forward, looking back over his shoulder as he ran away from the golden mist, which twinkled innocently at him in the moonlight.
He paused at a junction of two paths and looked around for some sign of Fleur. He was sure it had been she who had screamed. What had she met? Was she all right? There was no sign of red sparks... did that mean she had got herself out of trouble, or was she in such trouble that she couldn't reach her wand?
Her scream was heard again, and Harold shot off, following it. This time, the scream lingered, and Harold turned right at a fork, to see her on the ground, with Krum standing over her, apparently holding her with a Cruciatus Curse. Krum looked up, spotting Harold, who noticed that his eyes looked glazed over. However, Harold rushed forward nonetheless, socking Krum in the face, hard. Krum crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Harold rushed up to Fleur, kneeling beside her and cradling her.
"Fleur?" he asked the shivering Fleur, who was just staring up into the sky, gasping. "Fleur!" This got Fleur's attention, and she looked at him, though still wide-eyed and shivering. "I'm going to send up sparks, alright? Teachers will come and get you out, so I need you to stay here," he said as he pulled her over to the hedge, setting her down and leaning her against it.
Fleur took long, deep breaths, and nodded. Harold raised his wand and shot red sparks into the sky. Then, he leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.
"I'll see you later," he said, before rushing off.
He took a left path and hit a dead end, a right, and hit another. Forcing himself to stop, heart hammering, he performed the Four-Point Spell again, backtracked, and chose a path that would take him northwest.
He had been hurrying along the new path for a few minutes, when he saw something. Red sparks shot into the sky. That could only be Cedric, since he was the only other champion in the maze.
Harold was alone now, he thought triumphantly. Now, all he needed to do was find the Triwizard Cup, and then he could go back to taking care of Fleur.
Harold moved on, continuing to use the Four-Point Spell, making sure he was moving in the right direction. Every so often he hit more dead ends, but the increasing darkness made him feel sure he was getting near the heart of the maze. Then, as he strode down a long, straight path, he saw movement once again, and his eyes landed on an extraordinary creature, one which he had only seen in picture form, in his Monster Book of Monsters, one that didn't even exist in Castle Dracula.
It was a sphinx. It had the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, however, was that of a woman. She turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Harold as he approached. He raised his wand, hesitating. She was not crouching as if to spring, but pacing from side to side of the path, blocking his progress. Then she spoke, in a deep, hoarse voice.
"You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me."
"Well then... Move, please?" Harold asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.
"No," she said, continuing to pace. "Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess, I let you pass. Answer wrongly, I attack. Remain silent, I will let you walk away from me unscathed."
"I don't have time for this," Harold said, grabbing his cloak. Then, he swiped it at the sphinx. A crescent moon of green energy was sent flying from the cloak, flying straight through the sphinx, who went wide-eyed. Then, its upper half slowly slid off its lower body, hitting the ground with a thud. Scoffing, Harold moved on.
He had to be close now, he had to be... His wand was telling him he was bang on course. As long as he didn't meet anything too horrible, he might have a chance...
Harold broke into a run. He had a choice of paths up ahead. "Point Me!" he whispered again to his wand, and it spun around and pointed him to the right-hand one. He dashed up this one and saw light ahead.
The Triwizard Cup was gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away. Smirking triumphantly, Harold broke into a sprint. In seconds, he had reached it, and he was looking forward to seeing Fleur again as he reached for the cup. Then, he froze.
Wait a minute...
No obstacles, other than a few here and there... a distant-looking Krum torturing fellow champions... This was all too easy. Someone didn't want to harm him in this tournament... They wanted him to win! But why?
That was all Harold could think, before a flash of red hit him in the back, and all went black.
–
When Harold woke up, he woke to a slight pain in his back. He slowly blinked his eyes open, to find that he had been tied from neck to ankles with thick ropes to a stone cross. From the looks of things, he was in a graveyard, judging by the many headstones surrounding him. He strained against his bonds, but found to his surprise that he couldn't break them. He felt... weakened...
"Don't bother," a voice growled, though Harold recognized it immediately. Moody... "Those ropes are drenched in holy water. Not to mention that you're tied to a cross, and I have drawn a restraining circle of holy water around you."
Harold chuckled.
"Ah... So, you have read Stoker's fable..."
"I have. Now, shut up, Potter."
Harold twitched in anger at the name. Then, Harold's eyes widened as, before his very eyes, the face of the man in front of him began to change. The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth. The mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair was withdrawing into the scalp and turning the color of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place. Next moment, the magical eyeball had had popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it. It rolled away across the grass and continued to swivel in every direction.
Harold saw a man standing before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair. He saw some facial traits that he recognized, and a name popped into his head.
"Barty Crouch... Junior..."
Barty Crouch froze and turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised.
"You know of me, Potter?"
"I've heard of you. And the name is Dracula."
The man grinned viciously.
"Of course it is..."
Some way beyond Crouch, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. A portkey, then... Of course. It was so simple! How could Harold not have seen it?
"So... you put my name in the Goblet of Fire... all for this?" he asked, and Crouch nodded, forcing a very large stone cauldron across the ground to the foot of a grave whose headstone read TOM RIDDLE. The cauldron was full of what seemed to be water. Harold could hear it slopping around, and it was larger than any cauldron Harold had ever used, or even seen, a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside a bundle of robes at Crouch's feet, which Harold only just noticed, was stirring persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Crouch was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. A large snake near the headstone slithered away into the darkness.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Crouch tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harold heard a high, cold voice say, "Hurry!"
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds the way it sparked.
"It is ready, Master."
"Now..." the cold voice said.
Crouch pulled open on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harold scrunched up his nose in revulsion.
It was as though Crouch had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimey, and blind, but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing on the ground had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harold had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face... no child alive ever had a face like that... flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless. It raised its thin arms, put them around Crouch's neck, and Crouch lifted it. For a moment, Harold saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Crouch lowered the creature into the cauldron. There was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface. Harold heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Crouch raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
The surface of the grave next to Harold's cracked. Harold watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Crouch's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed. It sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
Without hesitation, Crouch pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" he said triumphantly, stretching his right hand out in front of him. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
Without so much as a scream of pain, Crouch sliced off his arm at the middle of his forearm. It fell to the ground, and Crouch bent over, picked it up, and dropped it into the cauldron. The potion turned a burning red. Strangely, Crouch wasn't even gasping in pain. He was just hyperventilating from excitement as he made his way over to Harold.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"
Harold felt the point of the dagger penetrate the skin on his right arm, and felt the blood seep across his skin. Crouch sheathed the dagger and reached into his cloak, taking out a glass vial and holding it to Harold's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He moved back to the cauldron with Harold's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Crouch, his job done, fell to his knees, panting from the blood loss.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened...
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harold, so that he couldn't see Crouch or anything by vapor hanging in the air...
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," the high, cold voice said from behind the steam, and Crouch, cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harold.. and Harold stared back at the face that he had first seen three years prior. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils...
Lord Voldemort had risen again...
–
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