Chapter 14. dealing with mazes and beasts

Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, June 24th 1995

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the third task of the Triwizard tournament!" - - the overly jovial voice of Ludovic Bagman, one of the geniously foolish masterminds of the deadly competition, announced. The stands were overcrowded again, banners fluttered, children argued, betting pools ran not unlike some muggle casino, even some wands could be seen with (hopefully harmless) spells on their tips, where arguments got too hot. Once again, five people seemed oblivious to all the kerfuffle around them, too concentrated on the task or their own thoughts. Any minute, any second now four of them will run into the hedge maze lining the desecrated playing field, and the fifth, time traveler stuck neck deep in the year 1995 with no way back to 2023 whatsoever, would be forced to watch. In other words, the situation was the same as at first two tasks.

Finally, the whistle sounded. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it meant start signal for all four champions, as per the last minute decision of the committee. Three of age contestants loped into the maze like a pack of hyenas, leaving young Harry Potter to trail behind in a sedated pace. The boy glanced at the highest row of seats, where Marcus Longhurst sat between two grey-cloaked figures (why did the unspeakables get interested in the task?), adjusted his strange helmet and disappeared into the thirty-foot-tall hedges. The shrubs closed behind him, cutting all the outside light and sound; only his godfather's heavy sighs peneitrated the artificial silence, only the flickering wand light guided its user. "and there goes nothing again", - gods, even his own voice sounded distant, more so than in the lake in February. "so, easy in, easy out…" even that phrase Alexa was so fond of the last two months, appeared somehow inappropriate. It would have suited his meeting with a dragon, as well as adventure at the lake, but the maze was too quiet, too peaceful for whatever the author of that book he didn't care to remember the title of, wanted to express. And this unnatural stillness scared him more than dragons or sea creatures. In truth, he was calmer when going to the mervillage for the second time, to meet with historian and portal guardian elder Triton. Even the wisenned merman's warning not to cross the doorway "without at least a ship as heavily armed as Durmstrang or "you'll be sea snow before you flip your tail, youngling!" gave him reassurance, for he knew what waited ahead. The endless darkness though was unnerving, but he plowed ahead anyway.

High up in his seat, Marcus fidgeted nervously; Harry Potter had just disappeared into the hedges. The maze closed behind him as it was supposed to, but something felt off. There had to be beasts, obstacles, anything to challenge the champions yet there was nothing in close proximity. The wizard had seen the abundance of creatures and magical puzzles just the previous day in Dobby's memory, but now the better part of them were missing. Even knowing who was responsible didn't alleviate Marcus' growing fear. A month prior Dobby, Winky and some other brave souls managed to rescue Alastor Moody, leaving quite a convincing illusion with some hairs in his place, but the imposter was still at large. Even more suspitiously, Moody (no, death eater in Polyjuice) was spotted slinking around the hedge perimeter in early morning, no doubt enacting his evil plan, but Hagrid scared him away (not suspitious at all). Harry though seemed unfaized by the lack of challenge, walking briskly and using his wand as a cumpus. Left, right, left… Cedric Diggory passed him, heading in the opposite direction, checking ahead for traps… Victor Krum slinked by, his ever grumpy face illuminated by strong wand light… the French champion was nowhere in sight just yet, probably having got lost… something moved ahead, emerging from the shadows and shifting to an image of dead half-man, half-dog. "Come on Harry, it's just a boggart!" – seeing the boy's fearful expression, Marcus couldn't help but reassure. "ridiculus!" the shape shifted into something he couldn't discern. One of the grey-cloaked figures hissed at him not to break the tournament rules (by then the communicator helmet had become standard piece of equipment for the unspeakables, to Marcus' momentary annoyance) but he didn't care. Harry also seemed undisturbed, steadily approaching the reverse field and clearing it easily by moving one foot. After the dizzying trap there extended another obstacle less passage, then followed the sphynx with her ridiculously easy riddle, if the time it took to answer it was saying something. After that, two creatures Marcus wished to never see again jumped from nowhere – an enormous acromantula chased by something between a scorpion and an ironclad giant fire-breathing centipede. "damn you Hagrid!" – the wizard hissed, ignoring another nudge from someone. While Harry was trying to repel one, Cedric engaged in battle with the other; the two remaining contestants lay sprawled nearby, both imperioused and stunned by each other. As expected, the competition was now between the two – the oldest and the youngest.

Seeing straight path ahead, the two contestants broke into a dead run, making even the unspeakables chuckle. In front of them, in the very center of the maze, stood a pedestal holding the Triwizard cup. The boys hesitated for a moment, then approached the trophy; Harry cast the general magic revealing spell, then a more specialized charm to show the destination of portkeys. Realizing how serious his situation had become and using the knowledge picked while training, the boy transmitted through his mouthpiece a standard auror/unspeakable call of distress: "code red! Repeat, code red! It's a portkey, destination Little Hhangleton!" Marcus flinched but decided to calm Harry down before the inevitable: "Merlins beard Harry, you sound like some damned auror! Leave cedric behind and grab the cup, the reinforcements on the way."

The graveyard was even darker and more silent than the maze, despite of it being late June. The only sound came from somewhere in the distance, snapping branches and shuffling leaves under someone's feet. Harry stood facing the approaching figure, wand in hand, Marcus and twelve grey-robed individuals under heavy disillusionment to the side. By one of the older graves, an enormous cauldron was set on a tripod over a pile of wood, half-full of unfinished potion. The man clad in black approached slowly, seemingly unaware of Harrys protection detail. He carefully lowered what looked like a deformed baby into the cauldron and set preparing what looked like a ritual. Ropes sprung from his pale wand and tied Harry to the nearest headstone, fire started under the tripod, then the man spoke, his harsh voice sending goosebumps down everyone's spine: "bones of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son." The grave next to the cauldron split open, a few bones rising from its depths. Out of a sudden, fear was replaced by confusion on at least ten faces: the bones were obviously not human. the only person to know what was really going on was Marcus, for he and his daring elf were preparing for this day in advance.

Flashback: Goldcrest perch, June 1st

"master flier, come play!" the squeaky voice of a little elfling drew Marcus from his daily detour to the pensive. Since Alexa's report from Hogwarts about Bartemius Crouch junior, posing as professor Moody, being involved in mysterious disappearance of his father, the displaced wizard kept searching through his memories for clues to what lord Voldemort was up to. he dutifully reread each and every book and old newspaper, relistened to every lecture or conversation he had ever participated, and generally reviewed everything concerning the false dark lord. He had not a vaguest idea why, of all things, the Second war appeared so interesting to a pack of Hufflepuffs as himself, and later to a gang of half-drunken fliers, but tried to use the available information anyways. Unfortunately, his search bore no results whatsoever, also Alexa's son Hermes, no matter how cute and adorable, made trips down memory lane as rare and short as Scottish summer. that day though Marcus was determined to do some serious work. "go play with your mum, ok? Hermes pursed his lips: "mum at Hogwarts, come plaaaaayyyy!"

Pop! Did she read peoples' minds or something?

"damn you Alexa! did you do it on purpose?"

The creature just fixed him with a glare equal to maybe that of a basilisk. "Hermes is right. Leave the pensive alone and help me just once!" the wizard blanched but held his ground: "don't you ever use that tone with me, elf! If that deranged baboon returns, we can as well forget about setting things right anytime soon!" not the most pleasant reply, but he needed to return to the pensive. Badly. The evilest wizard in history was trying to regain his body by performing the darkest ritual if not counting the creation of a horcrux, if history books and newspapers were right. to Marcus' ever growing frustration, he could do absolutely nothing about it, and the elf knew that. Or did she? The sudden twinkle in her eyes screamed mischief, and the next comment she absentmindedly threw at her master reminded him why the elf was sometimes scarier than his own mother: "deranged baboon? Oh that's too much even for you. But if master really wants, we can as well disrupt Voldemort's resurrection ritual and turn him into a baboon."

And so the wildest planin Marcus' life was constructed by devious minds of himself, Alexa and Hermes who, despite of being just a month old, showed more cunning than his mother and father put together. Through a bit of search the strange trio found a recently dead baboon at London zoo, retrieved a few bones from its legs and arms, and hid them in Tom Riddle sr's grave at Little Hangleton. Hopefully, if everything goes as expected, lord Voldemort would get a body of an ape, therefore making himself a laughing stock as well as experiment material for the unspeakables.

End flashback

Ignoring the strangeness, the mysterious man directed the bones into bubbling liquid. The potion turned blue, but not the shade its brewer anticipated – the black-robed wizard almost lost his wand in shock. Again, ignoring the impossibility of something being wrong, the figure pulled a silver dagger from his robes and sliced his left earlobe off: "f-flesh of the s-servant, w-willingly given, you will re-vv-vive your m-master…" even through pain his voice sounded menacing enough to keep Harry's protection detail on their toes. The brew turned a blinding shade of red, hissing and spitting sparks all over the place, nearly setting the graveyard grass alight. The man stumbled, blood dripping from a fresh and not so small wound, hands trembling like leaves; somehow gathering himself he approached Harry, roughly pulled the left sleeve of his robe up and stabbed the exposed arm with the dagger, reciting the last words needed: "b-blood of the enemy, f-forceably taken, you will resurrect your foe!" "take it, you imposter!" – the boy couldn't believe himself, words tumbled out of his mouth seemingly on their own, making the blood sacrifice willing and thus sealing Voldemorts fate. Add the remains of the other wizard's blood on the knife, and the potion was ruined, even if the man didn't realise it at that moment. The concoction flashed hot white, then turned asphalt grey and promptly exploded, sending bits of clay cauldron and burning embers outwards, smoke and steam spreading, forming an impermiable cloud…

After what looked like an infinity but was actually a few minutes, the cloud dispersed, but so did the disillusionment of the unspeakables. Fortunately, their helmets kept fumes out, but nothing could keep the shock of what they saw afterwards contained. By the grave of Tom Riddle senior, covered head to toe in ash, soot and clay shrapnel, sat a baboon. Or more exactly, something between a baboon and Barty Crouch junior, with some slight resemblance to Harry Potter. The creature was bald save from a few black hairs on (its? His?) neck, had blood red eyes with ridiculously long eyelashes, sported a few scars on the chest and hands, and displayed quite a few symptoms of rabies. To top it all, when it tried to leg it and was stunned by Marcus, the unspeakables confirmed the impossible – the abomination was a female! A few wizards even lifted their visors to reassure themselves it was real, others just shook their heads in wonder. Only Marcus and Harry seemed unfaized, the former having known everything from the beginning, the latter too shaken to understand what happened.

"Harry?" – Marcus' surprisingly soothing voice brought the boy out of his stupor.

"let's get out of here, you need to see a healer." The spot where Barty Crouch had stabbed him was closing up thanks to Alexa's quick reaction (if magical Britain haven't been so stuck up, that elf would become a healer for sure) but Marcus was worried nonetheless. Also, aurors were due to show up at any moment (late for the interesting part as always), and no one wanted to be seen at the place with "lady apemort", as one of the unspeakables dubbed the creature after the initial shock passed. Wasting no time, everyone went their separate ways: the unspeakables aperated with the abomination straight to their department, while Marcus and Harry returned to Hogwarts by cup portkey. after the day of dealing with mazes, beasts and reporters (Harry was lawfully the winner of Triwizard tournament) a party (with no mention of what happened out there!) and long, hard earned rest was in order.