Chapter 16. Labyrinths

The news about Mr. Crouch quickly spread throughout the entire school. Harry was eagerly anticipating an article from the journalist, Rita Skeeter, when Professor McGonagall entered the Gryffindor common room.

"Potter, d'Arc. The headmaster wants to see you."

Harry, who had just been playing wizard's chess with Ron, was surprised by the appearance of the headmaster, but didn't object. Jean, surrounded by books, sprang up from her chair as if on command.

"I'm ready, Professor."

To their surprise, McGonagall led them to the hospital wing. There, sitting on a hospital bed, was Mr. Crouch. He was completely coherent and drinking tea, occasionally casting a bewildered look at those around him. Snape and Moody stood next to him, Madam Pomfrey busied herself with medicine at the foot of the bed, and Dumbledore himself sat on a small stool at the end, watching Crouch with a look of pity.

"I have brought the students, as you requested," McGonagall reported.

Dumbledore gestured for Jean and Harry to sit beside him.

"I apologize, young man," Crouch said to Harry. "It is my fault that you are participating in the Tournament against all the rules. And your friend as well. I am deeply sorry."

"Did you put our names in the Goblet?" Harry asked, surprised.

Crouch waved his hand dismissively. "No, but what has happened is equivalent to me doing so myself. It was my son. He was one of the Death Eaters, caught and sentenced right in the Wizengamot. My wife begged me to save him from Azkaban."

Crouch took a deep breath, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have allowed her to make that sacrifice. We visited Azkaban in his place, using Polyjuice Potion. She took it for the rest of her life so no one would discover the substitution."

"And now your son managed to infiltrate Hogwarts and spent several months brewing polyjuice potion with my hair to impersonate me," Moody remarked. "My eye still hasn't fully recovered from him."

After hearing all this, Harry felt like Barnabas Cuffe after his attempts to teach ballet to mountain trolls. He was completely lost.

"Professor! Are you saying that..."

"The imposter taught you for the first few months!" Moody interjected. "And your safety and the safety of the other students depended on him!"

"Now, now, calm down, Moody," Dumbledore requested. "That is in the past now."

Moody only snorted in disagreement, but silently agreed with Dumbledore.

"But why did your son do all this? And where is he now?" Jeanne asked Crouch.

"I'm more interested in how her name ended up on that piece of parchment," Harry added. "Do you know anything about it?"

"He is under lock and key now," Crouch replied briefly. "He cannot harm anyone anymore. He did it all on the personal orders of You-Know-Who."

"Voldemort?" Harry's eyes widened. "So, he's alive?"

At this moment, Crouch smiled very sadly.

"Tell me, my boy, is there even one person in the world who believes in his unconditional defeat and demise that night? No, my boy, he was not an ordinary man. Few can compare to him in the dark arts. The darkest wizard of our time..."

Crouch took another sip from his cup and placed it on the bedside table.

- There is a part that survived the fateful night for him. This small part still yearns to return and avenge its defeat. He wants to perform a ritual, for which he will need the bone of a father taken without consent, the flesh of a servant given willingly, and the blood of an enemy... taken forcefully.

On these words, Crouch paused and looked meaningfully at Harry.

- My blood, guessed Harry. But why?

- To become stronger. He remembered your previous encounter. It happened here, at Hogwarts, three years ago. He couldn't touch you and he wants to rectify that.

- But how?

- Your mother's sacrificial love protects you. If he resurrects from your blood, you won't have any advantage over him. That's what he thinks.

- Mr. Crouch... I still have a question. You haven't answered how Jeanne's name ended up in the Goblet.

Crouch pondered.

- Honestly, my boy, I don't know the answer to that question. He-who-must-not-be-named wanted only you to participate in the Tournament. My son was supposed to help you pass all the challenges and eliminate competitors on the third one, subjecting them to curses and removing them from the game through various means. He wanted to use the Triwizard Cup as a portal to the ritual's location, where no one would be able to help you. Your friend's participation is a big mystery to the Dark Lord himself, let alone to my son. And what do you think, Albus?

Dumbledore simply smiled benevolently in response.

- I cannot say for certain, but I am absolutely certain of one statement. There are forces in this world far more powerful than Tom Riddle, seeking to regain lost power and authority. We should not dismiss the wisdom of the ancients, even if they seem like outdated fairy tales to someone. But who would have put such an idea into the head of a once diligent prefect? And in the end, only one thing remains to say: this time, the stakes are much higher than before. But you already know that, even without me.

- What do you mean, Albus? What force decided to interfere with the Tournament and nominate its candidate alongside Harry?

- Yes! Moody exclaimed. - Who knows whose spy is walking around Hogwarts?

Harry trained more and more, following Hermione's advice and learning new spells in his free time under the watchful guidance of Moody. He never tired of repeating that the older Tournament participants had a significant advantage over him - they knew and could do more than him, so Harry was obligated to catch up to them. When Moody couldn't train with Harry, Hermione and Ron took over, with Jeanne being the only one who preferred to learn independently, refusing any outside help or hints. The security of Hogwarts and its grounds had been strengthened, and it was noticeable through various protective spells and the presence of Aurors on the premises.

Harry and Krum sometimes went out to the Hogwarts courtyard together on broomsticks, racing and competing. They couldn't hide it, and as a result, students from all three schools came out to cheer for them, loudly chanting the names of both boys. Much to Harry's great disappointment, they were never able to play Quidditch together, and all attempts to arrange a friendly match with Madam Hooch had failed.

Time flew by and rushed towards the final task of the Tournament. The days melted away like burning candles, and each evening Harry wished more and more to turn back time and relive the day. Every day he greeted the sunrise with hope of learning more and experiencing as much as possible, and every new sunset was accompanied by the hope of making up for all the plans that had not been fulfilled today.