Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling…unless I'm under Polyjuice! Ha! Fooled ya! Or not.

Chapter 83

Harry didn't understand what was going on. Everything seemed like a blur from the moment he touched the Portkey. He felt exhausted; his scar still burned, and every muscle in his body was aching. He was sure he didn't have the strength to stand. He heard footsteps, screams, and a bustle of activity around him. He screwed his eyes shut against the noise and thrashed when hands were laid on him.

"Harry! Harry, it's alright. You're safe."

He barely heard the words as he felt his hands pried off of the handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric's good wrist.

"Harry!"

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. He was soaked with blood. He looked like he had bathed in it. He didn't remember the blood being there before. He tried to pat himself down and find the wound, but he couldn't feel one on his own body. He looked around and was nearly sick. Cedric's entire right leg was missing—the one that had been crushed under the headstone. Shreds of torn flesh trailed from his hips. Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Snape were tending to him, trying to stop the bleeding and forcing potions down his throat.

"Cedric!" Harry cried.

"Stay back! Stay back!" someone yelled, but not at him. "This boy needs to go to to St. Mungo's now!"

"Harry!"

He saw black hair in the corner of his eye and found Sirius standing over him.

"Cedric!" Harry moaned. "K-killed—I killed him!" God, there was so much blood.

"What? What did he say?"

"Shh! Harry, Cedric's alive. The wound's fresh. They can save him."

"My boy! My boy! What happened to my boy?"

"L-leg…help…"

"We're trying, Potter," Madam Pomfrey's voice snapped. "What happened?"

"L-leg crushed under r-rock," Harry stammered.

"Ah. Portkey accident! It was a Portkey accident!" Sirius said loudly, as if to clear up any confusion in the crowd.

Harry groaned again, but to his surprise, his headache was starting to go away, though he still hurt all over.

"Harry what was it?" Sirius asked again.

"Voldemort," Harry slurred. His minded sharpened as he remembered. "Dumbledore!" he called. "Pr'fess'r! Voldemort! He's back!"

Dumbledore acknowledged him with only a nod. "Sirius, Remus, take Harry to the Hospital Wing," he said. "Find Professor Sprout to help him if she can. I will speak with him as soon as I know Cedric is safe."

"Right. Come on, Pup. Can you walk?"

Harry groaned, but he nodded. Remus swooped in to support his other arm, and they half-carried him back to the castle. He heard his friends calling behind him, but he was too far ahead of them to reply. In the Hospital Wing, Sirius laid Harry down on a bed and trying to Scourgify the blood off. Harry wanted nothing more than to go to sleep just then and hope this was some horrible nightmare, but he knew in his gut it wasn't. And he had to warn Dumbledore.

Remus found Professor Sprout, who wasn't happy about the situation. "Oh, bother, I'm a teacher, not a Healer," she said as she attempted to diagnose him. "Where do you hurt, Mr. Potter?"

"Everywhere," he groaned. At least he could speak straight at this point.

"Merlin, what got you? Something in the maze?"

Harry shook his head: "No, I wasn't hurt too bad in the maze. It was Voldemort."

Professor Sprout screamed and botched her next spell, showering Harry with sparks.

"Harry, what did he do?" Remus said, fearing the answer.

"Cruciatus."

Sirius hissed loudly and started growling a string of curses. Remus paled. "Bloody hell," the werewolf said. He started rummaging through the cabinets for himself. "I'm so sorry, Harry. There ought to be something in here…Unfortunately, all you can do is sleep it off…Here, Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"No, wait," Harry insisted. "I need to warn Dumbledore. Voldemort's back!"

"He knows, Harry," Sirius said. "It can wait."

"I saw Barty Crouch," he continued. "And I think Moody's in trouble."

"Moody? What about him?"

But before Harry could answer, the Floo roared to life, making everyone jump, and Dumbledore stepped out of it. Just as suddenly, Fawkes flew from the door of the Infirmary and landed on his shoulder.

"Professor!" Harry gasped. "Is Cedric—?"

"He is with the Healers, Harry. He was in very bad shape, but I am confident he will survive. He was very lucky we were on the scene when the Portkey dropped you." Harry sighed with relief. The Portkey mess hadn't killed him after all. "Now, Harry, this is important," Dumbledore continued. "I need to know what happened after you and Mr. Diggory entered the vault. We are missing far too many pieces of the story."

"Can't we leave that till morning, Albus?" Sirius cut in.

Dumbledore didn't answer him directly and instead turned back to Harry: "Harry, I know you had already faced more tonight then we have any right to ask of you, and you have shown bravery beyond anything we expected, but it will make it no less painful for delaying talking about it. And you may know things we must act upon at once. So I will ask you to show courage one more time and tell us what happened."

Fawkes flew over and perched on the head of Harry's bed and trilled a warm note. Harry felt strengthened, and with a deep breath, he began his tale. He spoke distantly, trying not to get swept up in the emotions. He began from when he and Cedric grabbed the Cup at the same time and described the duel and that horrid ritual in as much detail as he could remember. Sirius beamed when he explained how he had saved Cedric with Hermione's Eyelash-Curling Hex, even though he was horrified at his godson getting mixed up in a fight like that.

Oddly, Dumbledore nodded in agreement when Harry mentioned Barty Crouch Jr. was there, while Sirius and Remus were shocked. But the Headmaster was surprised when Harry informed him that Bertha Jorkins was still alive, and he showed a flash of understanding when Harry mentioned that Crouch Jr. had Moody's peg leg. When he explained how Barty had taken his blood for the ritual, all three of them were properly horrified, Dumbledore most of all, though Dumbledore quickly recovered. "So Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier," he said. "We will adapt."

The hardest part was when Harry had to tell about the spirits of his parents emerging from Voldmort's wand. Sirius and Remus both looked like they might faint at that point. Yet Dumbledore, who always seemed to have an explanation for everything, had this one figured out, too: it was an obscure effect of their wands being "brothers"—having feathers from the same phoenix…who happened to be Fawkes. That was a few too many coincidences for Harry's liking.

At that point, Harry's voice gave out, and Sirius and Remus looked equally distraught, so Dumbledore excused himself. "I will say it again, Harry," he told him. "You have shown bravery equal to those who gave their lives in the last war, when Voldemort was at the height of his powers. Rest for now, Harry, but I have something to attend to, and when I return, I hope you can help me tie up a few of the remaining loose ends from the past year."

Harry nodded numbly, and Dumbledore took his leave. He laid back on the bed, not quite sleeping. Neither Sirius nor Remus spoke. It was a few minutes later that a large group of people made their entrance into the Infirmary. Dumbledore was back, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey, Professors McGonagall and Snape, and Winky. Of course, Harry remembered, she had been the Crouches' elf. But the real surprised was that Dumbledore was levitating Professor Moody in front of him, his eye and his leg both missing.

"Professor Moody?" Harry said, blinking back to full attention.

"What happened to him?" Sirius said. "Someone attacked him here in the school?"

"No, Sirius, I think we will find that Alastor was attacked the thirty-first of August last. I found him at the bottom of his own trunk in his office with a large cache of Polyjuice Potion in one of the other compartments.

"Polyjuice Potion?" Harry asked.

"It lets you take on the appearance of another person," Remus said.

"Indeed. I'm afraid you have never met the real Alastor Moody, Harry," Dumbledore agreed. "With your story in hand, the answer is clear. For the entire year, Professor Moody was impersonated by Barty Crouch Jr., an agent of Voldemort. It was Crouch Jr. who placed your name in the Goblet of Fire, Crouch Jr. who Imperiused Viktor Krum to ensure you won the Third Task, and Crouch Jr. who turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey."

"He tried to help me with the others Tasks, too," Harry said in understanding. "But I was listening to Hermione instead."

"So it wasn't Karkaroff," Sirius mused. "I thought for sure it was him—him or one of his students."

Dumbledore shook his head: "Karkaroff told the court all he knew in exchange for his freedom. He fears Voldemort too much to have had a hand in resurrecting him. Indeed, he vanished as soon as his Dark Mark returned. I suspect he has run for it. Two questions remain, however. How did Crouch Jr. escape from Azkaban? And where is Barty Crouch Sr? I was hoping that between you, Harry, Professor Moody, and Winky, here, we may be able to answer them."

"Er, okay, sir?" Harry said uncertainly.

"I shouldn't be waking him up like this," Madam Pomfrey muttered as Moody came around.

"Alastor is a very tough old gentleman," Dumbledore said. "I'm sure he will be fine."

"I think 'fine's'a bit off the mark, don't you, Albus?" the old Auror growled. "Where's my eye. That snot-nosed kid still have it?"

"I suspect that he does, I'm afraid. We were hoping you could explain what happened."

"What d'you think happened?" Moody said angrily. "I got ambushed at my own home. The ignominy! I'm getting sloppy in my own age."

"Who ambushed you?"

"The kid—Barty Jr. And that witch, Jorkins—Imperiused, looked like. I don't know how he was alive, though—or free as a bird."

"Fortunately, Alastor, I believe we have someone who does. Winky?"

The elf looked up at Dumbledore with worried eyes. "Y-y-yes, Headmaster?" she squeaked.

"It has come to our attention that one of your former masters, Barty Crouch Jr., was not in Azkaban, as he should have been, but here in the castle instead. What do you know about this?"

Winky wailed piteously and pulled her ears. "Winky c-cannot…Winky is a good elf, Headmaster, sir…Winky does not reveal Master Crouch's secrets."

"Why not? You were freed, weren't you?" Sirius asked cluelessly. This caused Winky to burst into sobs. Even Harry, of all people, glared at him.

"Is she a Hogwarts elf?" Moody said. "Can you order her to tell?"

"I could, Alastor, but I would rather not," Dumbledore said. "She has never fully accepted the binding magic of the castle. I fear trying to force her could do her irreparable harm."

"This is preposterous." Harry jumped as Snape stepped out of the shadows. He had nearly forgotten he was there. "I'll just dose the creature with Veritaserum."

"That would carry the same problem, Severus."

"But we need answers."

"Wait," Harry cut in. Everyone stared at him. "Hermione," he said. "Get Hermione to talk to her. She's the only one who's got through to her before." He looked to Dumbledore hopefully.

"I suppose it's worth a try," the Headmaster said.

Predictably, Hermione was right outside the Hospital Wing, and the rest of Harry's friends were put out when only she was let in. Still, she ran to him and nearly hugged the life out of him. "Harry! Are you okay? We were so worried! I heard something about Voldemort being back—"

"Hermione!" he cut her off. "It's a long story. And we need your help with something else."

"Huh?"

"Professor Moody. Dumbledore found him trapped at the bottom of his own trunk. Barty Crouch Jr. was impersonating him all year with something called Polyjuice Potion."

Hermione blinked. "Polyjuice…?" she stammered. "Barty Crouch…What? How?"

"We don't know."

"No, I mean how did no one notice him? How did you not notice him, Harry? With the Map or something."

"The Map…oh, bollocks, we did see him on the Map!"

"The map?" Dumbledore said.

"The one we made," Remus explained. He'd rather not have to explain it in front of Snape, but it couldn't be helped. "It shows where everyone is in the castle."

"We kept seeing Bartemius Crouch in Moody's office," Harry said. "But the Map didn't—"

"The Map doesn't say Senior or Junior," Sirius said. "Bollocks."

Hermione's head was spinning. The Map didn't show full names. Well, it needed to—or have an option to. She immediately started working out the rune sequences in her head to do just that when she was interrupted again.

"Hermione!" Harry said.

"Sorry, what?"

"We think Winky knows something about how Crouch Jr. got out of Azkaban, and where Crouch Sr. is, but she won't tell us. She still thinks she needs to keep it a secret."

"Oh dear," Hermione said. She looked down at the crying elf. She didn't know if she could do anything, but she could try. She lifted Winky up to sit on one of the empty beds. "Winky, please look at me," she said.

The elf sniffed and met her eyes. "M-Miss Hermione Granger?" she squeaked.

"Yes, it's me," she said. "I…I know Professor Dumbledore is asking for your help."

Winky's face turned faintly angry: "He is wanting Winky to reveal her Master's secrets!"

"Now, Winky, we went over this in February. Who is your legal master?"

She sniffed again. "Headmaster Dumbledore, miss."

"That's right. I know you still care about your old masters, but you were formally dismissed."

Winky started to cry again.

"Winky! Stay with me." Hermione snapped her fingers twice in front of her face. She had dealt with elves enough to know that it was important to keep them on task when they got emotional like this. "When an elf is dismissed, is she still bound to keep her master's secrets?" More tears. "Is she?"

"N-n-n-no, miss," she whispered.

"Okay, now I know you still want to keep Mr. Crouch's secrets because you liked him very much, but we think he might be in trouble, and you're the only one who might be able to help."

"Eep? Master Crouch is being in—in—in trouble?"

"We think so. No one's seen him for a month, and he didn't look well them. We think that Barty Junior might have done something."

"Barty Junior! Barty Junior is being here?"

"No, he's not. We don't know where either of them are, right?" She looked up and saw Dumbledore nod. "We're worried about them, and if you tell us what you know, it might help us find them."

Winky sniffled some more, but with that thought, she finally collected herself. "W-Winky will be telling you, miss," she said.

"Thank you Winky," Dumbledore said. "How did Barty Junior get out of Azkaban?"

"W-Winky's…Winky's M-Mistress…She was very sick—dying, sir. She could not bear young Master Barty being locked in that horrible place, sir. So Mr. Crouch…he made them switch places. The Dark Spirits did not know."

"Polyjuice again, I suspect," Dumbledore said. "Severus, is that feasible?"

"Yes. If his wife died in the cell before the potion wore off, her body would still look like her son's."

"Crouch kept his son locked up at home, didn't he?" Harry said. The others gave him an enquiring look. "Voldemort said he was 'barred by a hypocrite of a father'."

Winky squealed in horror at Voldemort's name, but Hermione grabbed her and held her still. "Y-y-yes, Master C-Crouch held young Master Barty in his house," she said. "Master Crouch kept Master Barty locked up for many years, sirs. Winky didn't like it. Winky was ordered to help. Winky asked Master Crouch to be nicer to Master Barty. One day, Miss Bertha Jorkins came nosing around in Master Crouch's business. She found Master Barty. Master Crouch tried to….t-tr-tried to Obliviate her, b-but Master Barty stopped him. He…he…he…"

"He used the Imperius Curse on them both," Dumbledore said.

Winky sobbed, and it took Hermione a minute to calm her down.

"Is that why he really dismissed you?" Hermione asked gently. "Because his son got away?"

"N-n-no, Miss Hermione Granger. It was…it was…Master Barty was ordering his father not to order Winky to find him. But Winky…Wiinky h-heard Master B-Barty at the Quidditch World Cup, and…and she went after him anyway! Winky is a bad elf! Winky is disobeying her masters!"

"No!" Hermione said. "No, Winky! You're not a bad elf. You're a very good elf. A good servant cares more about the well-being of her masters than her orders, especially if she knows their orders aren't what they really want." Winky looked back up at her in confusion. "It sounds like Mr. Crouch only dismissed you because he was Imperiused," she continued. "He wouldn't have done if he was in his right mind, so it wasn't your fault." That was some consolation, in Hermione's mind. Crouch Senior was a bastard in a lot of other ways, but at least Winky now knew his firing her hadn't been malicious.

"So Voldemort got to Bertha Jorkins through Crouch Jr.," Dumbledore filled in the gaps. "And it was Crouch Jr. who cast the Dark Mark at the World Cup. That still leaves the question of what happened to Crouch Sr. Winky, do you know anything—"

Hermione cut him off: "She hasn't seen him since he sacked her. Who saw him last?"

"Hagrid. And from the state he described him in, I suspect he had partially broken free of the Imperius Curse. That would explain his delirium."

"Didn't you say Moody searched the area, Professor?" Harry said.

Dumbledore paled: "I did. And that would in actuality have been Crouch Jr."

"In that case, it's probably too late for him," Snape said. Winky started wailing again, but he ignored her. "Junior had long since arranged things so that his father never had to appear in public. If he managed to escape confinement at that point, Junior is smart enough to get rid of him permanently."

"Oh, Master Barty, what has you done?!" Winky cried, and she collapsed into incoherent sobs.

"I'm sorry, Winky," Hermione said. "I'm so sorry." She hugged Winky to her chest and patted her on the back. The long shot chance that Crouch Sr. was still alive had been the last chance for Winky to get back to the master she loved. Privately, though, Hermione thought it was a good thing that she was dismissed now. Otherwise, she would be bound to his monster of a son.

"Well…I think we now have everything we need," Dumbledore said. "Miss Granger, you and Harry's other friends may join him now, but I must ask you not to question him about the events of tonight before he is ready. In fact, I think a Dreamless Sleep Potion is in order, as well as one for Winky."

Hermione nodded in agreement, and within minutes, both Harry and Winky were out like a pair of lights. The Weasleys came in shortly thereafter, although Sirius and Remus only gave them a brief explanation of what happened, saying it was Harry's place to tell it.

However, Sirius also came over and patted Hermione on her shoulder as she was tending to Winky. "That was really something, Hermione," he said. "I've never seen anyone handle an elf like that."

"It was nothing," she said wearily. "I just talked to her like a person."

"I don't think you realise how much that means to her," Sirius said. "That says as much if not more about you than that journal article you rolled out yesterday. That says your smart, but that's it. This is much different. If you want to know what a person's like, take a good look at how she treats her inferiors, not her equals."

"Diggory remembered nothing after his duel with Crouch Jr., if that's really who it was."

Harry awoke to the sound of raised voices outside the Infirmary.

"—was in no condition to be interviewed in the first place."

Harry was sure he hadn't been asleep very long, despite the potion. His aches and pains were already markedly better, though.

"Nonetheless, we have only Potter's word that anything else happened there."

"It did, Cornelius. It was all part of a plan to restore Voldemort to his full strength. It succeeded. Voldemort has returned."

As Harry's mind quickened, he realised that the voices were those of Dumbledore and Fudge.

"Preposterous! You-Know-Who returned? On the word of one boy? I'm more likely to believe it a sick prank."

Dumbledore sounded almost calm, but Harry thought he could hear the frustration brewing under the surface. "Alastor also identified the man who attacked him as Barty Crouch Jr., and we have the testimony of his former house elf. He is alive and active, and his father is likely dead. You cannot deny this."

Fudge huffed. "On Mad-Eye's word, I can accept that, Dumbledore, but I will not incite a panic on the word of a boy who is known to be emotionally disturbed."

That was too much for Harry. "You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge?"

Fudge spun around in surprise, but he quickly collected himself. "And if I have, Mr. Potter?" he replied sternly. "Do you deny that you're a Parselmouth."

"No, but—"

"And do you deny that you've been having funny turns all over the place?"

"They weren't funny turns—"

"Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly even hallucinations?"

"They weren't hallucinations! I saw Voldemort come back, and I have the marks to prove it!" He rolled back his sleeve to reveal the recently-healed cut in his arm—one that had already scarred noticeably.

"All I see," Fudge said imperiously, "is a boy with a cut he could have got anywhere, and an old man seeking to exploit his ravings to his own ends."

"How dare you?!" Harry jumped. It was Professor McGonagall. "How dare you speak to the Headmaster that way, Minister? Hasn't it been his advice you've relied on since you entered office? Has he ever steered you wrong?"

"I won't pretend to know why you're doing this, Dumbledore," Fudge said, "but I will not accept such a claim without evidence, and neither will the Wizengamot."

"You want evidence?" a deep voice growled. Harry was even more surprised to hear this outburst coming from Snape, going straight to his I-will-see-you-expelled voice. "Here's your evidence." He yanked back his left sleeve and laid his arm bare to the room. "The Dark Mark. Every Death Eater had this sign branded into his arm by the Dark Lord. It's been red and faded these last thirteen years, and now it's burnt black again. Why do you think Karkaroff fled? Why don't you ask the Aurors in Azkaban if Bellatrix Lestrange is celebrating?"

Fudge stared for just a few seconds before his ironclad denial kicked in again. "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I've had enough of it. I'll be contacting you soon about the proper operation of this school. Good evening." He drew a bag from his robes and walked to Harry's bedside. "Here, Mr. Potter. Your share of the winnings: five hundred galleons. We would've had a presentation ceremony, but Diggory won't be out of the hospital for a while." He turned and stalked out without another word.

Everyone stared as he left. Harry looked around the infirmary and saw that Sirius, Remus, Hermione, and all five Weasleys in the castle were still there. Everyone was too shocked to speak, at both the disrespect and at the flat-out denial. His word alone, Harry could accept, might not be enough, even as famous as he was, but he really thought Snape's Dark Mark would get him.

"Chamberlain," Hermione spat. "Textbook Chamberlain." Only about half the room knew what she was talking about. I'd like to land just one good hex on that man, she thought.

"A not unreasonable comparison, Miss Granger," Dumbledore agreed.

"Albus, what will we do?" McGonagall asked worriedly. "What can we do?"

"The same that we would have done anyway, Minerva. Only now, we will not have the support we hoped for. We will need to find like-minded people at the Ministry to aid us, but we will need to do it discreetly. Fudge will suspect me of interfering. Without the Ministry to oppose him, Voldemort will be free to recruit Death Eaters and dark creatures both here and abroad—werewolves, giants, vampires, hags, dementors, and others. We must head him off as best we can."

"Dementors as in the monsters who are guarding the other Death Eaters?" Hermione said, not even trying to mask her hatred of the things.

"Very astute, Miss Granger. I have said for decades that Azkaban is vulnerable with them guarding it. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do about that. But while you are here, I would like you to relay a personal invitation to Madame Maxime to meet me in my office tonight as soon as she is able."

Hermione was surprised, but she agreed.

"Minerva, summon Hagrid to my office as well. William, I trust I can rely on your father?" Bill nodded. "Sirius, please contact the old crowd. Remus, I must ask you to begin putting out feelers. You know of whom I speak. Severus, if you can do so without being noticed, I want you to check the wards at Privett Drive. I do not know how they will be affected by Voldemort's resurrection. And as for the rest…if you are prepared…"

"I am."

"Then good luck."

And quick as a wink, all of the adults in the room except for Madam Pomfrey were gone, although Sirius gave Harry a quick, "I'll see you soon, Pup. And take the rest of that potion."

Hermione leaned against the windowsill, weary to the point of falling asleep on her feet. She needed to track down Madame Maxime, and even that seemed like a massive imposition at the moment. It was her indignation at Fudge that really got to her. It felt like one to many things to deal with tonight.

She was shocked back to awareness, though, when she saw a large, rather fat beetle crawling on the windowsill—one with oddly curled antennae and, if she watched closely, jewelled marking on its head. Hermione went very still and slowly reached her hand into the pocket of her robes.

"I don't want the money," Harry said. "It ought to go to Cedric. He'll need it more than I will."

"I wasn't your fault, Harry," Ginny said by his side.

Hermione worked one handed, showing no reaction, still casually gazing out at the room.

"I know. I did try to beat him," Harry admitted. "But it was still me Voldemort was after. And I shouldn't have been in the Tournament in the first place. I never would've got anywhere without Hermione."

"Hey, Hermione, maybe you should take it," Ginny said with a grin.

"Ginny, I couldn't." She said. She almost had it. "I may have invented the spells, but Harry's the one who used them so well."

Harry smiled, just a little. "I hexed Voldemort in the face for you," he said.

"Really?" she said brightly. "What spell?"

"Lumos Ardens. It was the only thing quick enough to get past him."

"Glad I could keep up my perfect record…I think."

She had it. She turned as if to gaze out at the grounds, slowly brought her hand up, and…

SLAM!

She had her! Hermione slid the jam jar she always carried off the windowsill and clapped on the special lid she'd prepared—punched with air holes, trapping the beetle inside. The rest of the room jumped.

"Sorry," she said. "Slipped for a moment. I'd better go find Madame Maxime." Hiding the jar in her pocket again, she made a quick exit from the room. Once she was out of sight, she looked at it once more. "Hello, Rita," she said with a wicked grin.

The beetle went nuts. It scrambled around for a few seconds and then, so quick you would miss it if you blinked, it seemed to expand, but its shell instantly bounced off the walls of the jar on all sides, and it shrank back to normal size. It rubbed its head with a foreleg comically. Hermione had of course researched what happens if an animagus is confined in a small space.

"Ah ah ah," she said, wagging a finger at the beetle. "I charmed the jar unbreakable. You'll get out when I say so. But don't worry. I had Mum and Dad send me a field guide to insects of Great Britain, so I can probably figure out what you eat."

Dumbledore returned to the Hospital Wing the following morning, just when Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stopped by to visit. Sirius was back, too. Dumbledore and Sirius both looked very unhappy.

"Professor? What's going on?" Harry said.

"Is Cedric alright?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Did something happen to him?"

"Peace, Harry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "I assure you that Mr. Diggory is still alive and is out of danger. He will recover, for the most part."

Hermione didn't like the sound of that. "For the most part, Professor?" she asked.

"I'm afraid that in addition to his leg, Mr. Diggory's wand arm was beyond repair, even with magic. The Healers had to remove it."

Hermione gasped. She hadn't realised it was that bad. Well, she had certainly feared for his life, but it somehow felt more real that way. For all the danger and destruction she had seen over the last four years, some part of her was still used to the storybook endings where everyone either fully recovered or (very rarely) died. But real life wasn't so kind, and it often left scars that went a lot deeper than a lightning bolt.

"However, Harry, I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you as well," Dumbledore continued.

Harry felt a weight in his stomach. Somehow, he already knew where this was going. "What is it, sir?"

"I was relieved to find that the wards at your relatives' house on Privett Drive are still functional, despite Voldemort taking your blood. This is because they are intent-based—keeping out those who mean you or your relatives harm, rather than Voldemmort personally. As such, the safest place for you to stay with Voldemort on the loose again—"

"Is back with them?" Harry said.

"I am afraid so."

"Are you serious?" Hermione snapped. "You know how they treat him. They'll resent him a lot more if he's stuck with them for the whole summer again—sorry, Harry."

"We're hoping it won't be the entire summer," Sirius said. "Harry, we're going to work on setting up another safe house. I can't tell you where, yet, but we're going to try to have it ready before your birthday, so we can come get you when it is."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well…I guess that's not so bad…"

"I'm glad you understand, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I do regret that we could not make more pleasant arrangements. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find Miss Chang and break the news to her before breakfast. Harry, I believe under the circumstances, you will be ready to attend."