Once more, Cassiopeia found herself assaulted by dozens of
childhood memories when she arrived at Grimmauld Place to begin
her vigil over Harry whilst he would be visiting Britain.
Having stepped through the fireplace, she immediately noticed that
the smell of decay was prevalent, and the kitchen table was as
polished to a smooth finish, just as it was when she had been a little.
Running her fingers across it as she passed, she remembered the
many meals here she had shared with her mother, father, and
siblings.
They were the better times of her life, but then, her mother had fallen
suddenly ill and perished quickly.
The Black household had never been the same since.
Her father had always been a rather abrasive man who seldom
showed any warmth to his children, and with the passing of his wife,
he had only become colder and bitter until he too had died.
Cassie had not been around to witness his decline.
Shortly after the death of her mother, she had taken her leave of
Britain, and what happened next was well documented in the annals
of history.
Still, there was still an echo of fondness she held onto here;
watching Arcturus and Dorea grow, the smile of her sweet mother,
and those few precious moments of them being a whole when she
had not understood how cruel the world could be.
"Mistress Black has returned," a voice croaked from the door.
"I have," Cassiopeia replied stiffly. "The house seems to be in a
much more acceptable order since I last visited."
"Kreacher has been busy," the elf explained.
Cassiopeia hummed.
The elf had indeed followed her orders.
"And has Walburga's portrait remained silent?"
"Mistress has not spoken a word," Kreacher said sadly.
"Good," Cassiopeia declared as she stepped into the hallway and
made her way towards where the portrait of the woman hung.
She was torn between destroying the painting and keeping it.
Despite how vile, uncouth, and unpleasant Walburga was, her
knowledge on the pureblood families could prove to be useful in the
future, even if Cassiopeia had to endure the baleful glare of the
woman whenever she looked at her.
With a flick of her wand, the curtains around the portrait were closed
and Cassie turned back towards the waiting elf.
"I would like for you to prepare my room for me, third floor, second
on the left."
"That room was given to Master Regulus," Kreacher replied, unable
to hide the dejected edge to his voice.
"What happened to Master Regulus?"
Cassiopeia knew little of the boy.
As the second son of Orion and Walburga, he had been rather
insignificant in the grand scheme of the family standing.
Kreacher became visibly upset by the question.
"Master Regulus was k-killed, Mistress."
"Killed?"
"M-murdered… by him."
"Him?"
Kreacher looked around the hallway, seemingly checking that they
could not be overheard.
"The Dark Lord," he whispered.
Cassiopeia was taken aback by the answer.
"Why would the Dark Lord kill him?"
From what Cassiopeia had learned, Regulus had been proud to
serve Voldemort, and had been recruited the moment he had left
Hogwarts.
What could have transpired that had seen him killed by the very man
he had chosen?
Kreacher's eyes darted around the hallway once more before he
leaned in closer.
"Because Master Regulus discovered his secret," he informed her
quietly, wincing at his own words.
"His secret?"
Kreacher nodded.
"A dark secret, darker than anything any Black has done that
Kreacher has served, so dark that even Master Regulus was
appalled."
"What is the secret, Kreacher?"
The elf swallowed deeply before reaching within his soiled apron.
From it, he produced a gold locket, one bearing the letter 'S' that was
made up of small emeralds.
Immediately, Cassie felt a shudder run through her spine.
The magic oozing from the locket was heavy, oppressive, but as
enticing as anything she had ever experienced.
"What is it?" she asked.
"He lives in here," Kreacher croaked. "The Dark Lord lives inside."
Cassiopeia released a deep breath, her eyes not leaving the locket.
"He lives in there?"
Kreacher nodded.
"A part of him," he answered. "I hear him whispering sometimes,
telling Kreacher that he should give the locket to a powerful wizard
so that he might live again, but he is not Kreacher's master."
"No, he is not," Cassiopeia agreed.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher he must destroy it, but Kreacher does
not know how."
The elf began to sob, and fell to his knees, declaring his sorrow for
failing to follow what was likely the final wish of his master.
"Would you like me to help destroy it?" Cassiopeia asked.
After a few moments of composing himself, Kreacher looked up and
met her gaze.
"Could you destroy it?"
Cassiopeia nodded.
"I will find a way," she assured the elf. "The future Lord Black is
going to kill the Dark Lord, and Master Regulus will be remembered
as the brave man he was."
"He was very brave," Kreacher echoed as he stood. "Even when
Kreacher begged him not to go to that cave, Master Regulus went to
get this," he added, holding up the locket.
"Could you show me where the cave is?" Cassiopeia requested.
Kreacher shook his head.
"Kreacher cannot go back there," he choked. "There are terrible
things in the cave; the men that don't breathe but still move."
"Men that don't breathe?"
"The ones that can only be killed with fire."
Cassiopeia frowned.
"Killed by fire," she mused aloud, her eyes widening at the
implications. "Inferi?"
"Yes," Kreacher confirmed, "hundreds of them, and the nasty potion.
No one must ever drink that."
The elf began to shake uncontrollably.
Cassiopeia nodded her understanding.
She was not foolish enough to put herself in such danger needlessly,
especially when the object the inferi and other protections had been
put there to guard was already in her possession.
"No one is going to the cave, Kreacher."
The elf deflated, evidently relieved by her decision.
"I will take the locket, and I have a job for you, if you think you can
manage it."
"Kreacher serves the House of Black," the elf replied firmly.
"Do you think you can find Sirius?"
The grimace she received in return spoke volumes of how little
Kreacher thought of the man. Nonetheless, he nodded, albeit
reluctantly.
"Kreacher might find him."
"Then do it, and bring him to me," Cassiopeia instructed.
"And you will destroy this?" the elf asked.
Cassie nodded and levitated it from his grip, encasing it in a glowing
white ball.
Immediately, the oppressive magic vanished, and with only a nod of
gratitude, Kreacher vanished.
Left alone with her thoughts, Cassiopeia eyed the locket warily.
She had no doubt as to what it was, but where to begin with
destroying it, she knew not.
However, if there was one person who had the knowledge, it would
be the very one she could rely on in her most trying moments of
need.
Gellert would know what to do, and with that in mind, she took her
leave once more of Grimmauld Place to pay him a much-needed
visit.
"Come on you lazy clods!" Olaffson encouraged in his typical,
impatient way.
Having learned that both Harry and Viktor would be away from
Durmstrang for the school year, the man had taken it upon himself to
volunteer to come along.
It seemed as though he too did not relish the prospect of his two
favourite victims escaping his grasp for so long.
"One day, I'll swing for him," Eden, one of the Dutch seventh years
vowed.
Harry chuckled as he continued rowing, both he and Viktor having
grown accustomed to hard labour long ago.
"This is abuse," Bielert grumbled.
"Shut up and get on with it," Viktor sighed irritably.
It was like this whenever they were tasked with rowing the ship.
There was no need for it as the vessel moved through the depths
with ease under the power of magic, but this being Durmstrang,
Olaffson and Karkaroff agreed the physical activity would serve the
students well.
They certainly couldn't be allowed to be idle for so long whilst
aboard.
Harry couldn't be certain, but he believed this was the fifth or sixth
day they were experiencing since they'd departed.
Without seeing the sun rise or set, it was difficult to tell.
"Alright, that will do," Karkaroff announced, nodding approvingly at
the sweating teens. "Get yourselves cleaned up. We will be arriving
at Hogwarts within the hour. MOVE!"
The students didn't need telling twice, and Harry gratefully headed
towards the galley where the communal showers were, gasping in
utter bliss as the hot water ran over him.
"What do you think Hogwarts will be like?" Bielert asked excitedly.
"Like Durmstrang, just without Olaffson, Karkaroff, and the cold."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Eden snorted. "I bet they have their own
miserable bastards there to make people's lives unbearable."
The others laughed, though Harry expected the boys' words were
not far from the truth.
"Who do you think will be chosen as champion?" Bielert questioned
the others.
"Krum," Brandt, a German prospect answered. "I can't see how he
won't be chosen. He's just better than us at most things."
Most of the others nodded their agreement.
"Imagine if Potter was picked," Eden guffawed.
"Piss off," Harry returned. "I've got no interest in it. If it wasn't for this
tosser, I wouldn't even be here," he added, jerking a thumb towards
the grinning Viktor.
"If Harry was chosen, I bet he'd win," the Bulgarian declared
thoughtfully.
"Probably," Eden muttered, rubbing the back of his head, which was
still swollen from when he had duelled Harry a few days prior.
The seventh years had known of his prowess in the art, but that
didn't stop them challenging him, though Harry suspected they had
no understanding of his magical ability outside of duelling.
He suspected that he would surprise them all considerably.
"Alright, that's enough," Karkaroff's voice sounded from the doorway.
"Dress in your smart attire. The ship will be surfacing soon enough."
Despite having his reservations of making the voyage here, Harry
found that he had been caught up in the excitement of experiencing
a new school, and though he had his reasons for not attending
Hogwarts, a part of him felt that his parents would be pleased that he
had decided to come now.
His time here would be interesting to say the least.
Albus could only smile as the students of Hogwarts gathered in front
of the castle, eagerly excited to greet their guests for the year.
He too was excited, not merely for the commencement of the
tournament, but that he would get to experience something that no
headmaster had in several centuries.
For the first time in living memory, perhaps other than Nicholas and
Perenelle Flamel's, Hogwarts would host their counterparts from two
other premier schools of magic.
"Straighten your tie, Weasley, and if I get a whiff of anything from the
two of you, you will spend the remainder of the year in detention with
Mr Filch," Minerva warned the redheaded twins.
"We will be on our best behaviour, Professor."
"We promise," the other twin added.
Minerva shook her head as she approached Albus, who offered her
an amused smirk.
"Trouble with some of your students, Minerva?"
The woman bristled slightly.
"Honestly, I do not see how the two of them have not found
themselves expelled for all of their exploits."
"Because most of them are rather harmless," Albus pointed out. "I
find them to be quite fascinating young men."
"You wouldn't be saying that if you had to deal with their escapades
as often as I do," Minerva muttered.
"Perhaps not," Albus acknowledged.
The two fell silent for a moment before Minerva spoke once more.
"Is he truly coming?"
Albus did not need to question whom the woman was referring to,
and he nodded sagely.
"Igor made the request himself," he explained. "Harry is here to
assist Viktor Krum with his Quidditch training, and to attend lessons
that he chooses to."
"That only makes me wish he had come here more," Minerva sighed.
"If he is able to assist Krum, he must be rather gifted at Quidditch. If
he was here, maybe we would stand a chance at winning the cup."
"According to Igor, he has even beaten Mr Krum in training," Albus
revealed. "Apparently, Mr Potter has very much followed in his
father's footsteps."
"Merlin help us all," Severus grumbled from Albus's left.
The headmaster shot him a pointed look.
He had already discussed Harry's imminent arrival with the man and
had warned him that any grudge he harboured towards James Potter
was not to be transferred to Harry.
"I do believe the delegation from Beauxbatons has arrived," Albus
murmured, nodding towards the approaching speck in the sky. "And
so it begins."
Pansy shared a look with Daphne, and the other girl rolled her eyes
as she elbowed Blaise sharply in the ribs, jerking him from his
stupor.
The boys in her house, much like the others, were gawping dumbly
at the blonde who was being escorted into the castle by the giant
Madame Maxime.
"What did you do that for?" Blaise groaned.
"Because you were making a prat of yourself," Daphne replied.
Blaise scowled and rubbed his ribs, his eyes widening as he pointed
towards the lake.
"Bloody hell, why don't we have anything like that?" he asked as an
enormous ship broke the surface.
It was impressive, but Pansy preferred the horse drawn carriage the
Beauxbatons students had arrived in.
"They look like a surly lot," Theo commented as the Durmstrang
delegation, garbed in red military dress, made their way off the ship.
Pansy nodded her agreement, though her mouth fell agape as the
students drew closer.
Amongst them was a familiar face, and it didn't belong to Viktor Krum
as Draco and the others were whispering about.
No, it belonged to another, and in her frozen state of shock and awe,
she expected that she perfectly mimicked the expression the boys
wore when they had been affected by the French, blonde girl.
"What is wrong with you, Pansy?" Daphne huffed.
Pansy said nothing, her feet carrying her without thought towards
Harry until she was sprinting.
"MISS PARKINSON!" the voice of Professor McGonagall cut across
the grounds, but Pansy ignored the deputy headmistress and flung
herself into Harry's arms.
"Do you know this girl, Harry?" an amused voice questioned.
"Well, if I didn't, you'd make a terrible bodyguard, Viktor," Harry
huffed. "She could have killed me already."
The other boy snorted.
"Not you, Potter," he sighed. "Even the devil himself wouldn't take
you."
"No, but he'd take you, you git."
Pansy heard the spoken words, but she wasn't taking them in.
She was too wrapped up in the surprise of seeing Harry again after
so long.
"Pansy, everyone is staring at us," Harry murmured.
Extracting herself from his arms, she slapped him on the chest.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she growled.
"I thought it was better if you found out this way."
"Idiot," Pansy huffed. "I can't really play that off as anything else, can
I?"
"You could pretend you recognised me and that you were starstruck
by my enormous fame," Harry suggested. "Or you could say you
mistook me for Krum, but then again, I'd be insulted if I was mistaken
for that ugly sod."
"Ugly, am I?" Viktor asked. "We'll see how pretty you are when I
pound your face in."
"Empty words, Krum," Harry said dismissively.
"For now," Viktor returned with a frown, "but I won't need you one
day."
Harry chuckled, and the group continued on their way towards the
waiting Hogwarts students, the presence of both Harry and Viktor
having been noticed by now.
"Whoever that woman is, she doesn't seem happy with you," Harry
whispered.
"That's Professor McGonagall," Pansy muttered. "She'll give me a
detention or two. I'm more concerned about my housemates," she
added, nodding towards the students in black robes trimmed in
green and silver who were looking at them in a mixture of confusion
and interest.
"The blonde is Malfoy?"
Pansy nodded.
"Well, it looks like you have some explaining to do to them," Harry
said with a shrug. "Maybe they'll be too distracted by Viktor's
presence."
"Oh, so we are resorting to using each other, are we?" the Bulgarian
questioned.
"You've been using me since we met."
"True," Krum conceded. "I always thought you were too stupid to
notice."
"I always thought you should trim your eyebrows."
Viktor offered Harry a smirk, before replacing it with the scowl he
was known for.
"Looking unfriendly keeps some people away," he explained to
Pansy. "It works, sometimes."
Pansy could only nod and look on as Dumbledore shared a brief
conversation with the Durmstrang headmaster, the gaze of the
former shifting towards Harry as they approached, though her own
focus remained on her housemates.
She deflated as the students were ushered inside the castle, and
much to her relief and equally trepidation, the Durmstrang students
chose to sit with the Slytherins.
Pansy found herself beside Harry on one side, and Daphne on the
other who had elbowed her way through to reach her.
"Well, someone has some explaining to do," the blonde said airily.
"You never mentioned you knew Harry Potter."
It seemed as though the entire table was focused on her, as was
every other pair of eyes in the hall, but it was Harry who spoke
before Pansy could answer.
"Pansy and I met over the summer," he lied brazenly, a grin tugging
at his lips. "We had quite the pleasant and often sordid fling."
Daphne choked on her pumpkin juice, and the rest of her
housemates were no less shocked by the revelation.
"That is not true," Pansy sighed, "and you can stop laughing," she
added to Harry and the Durmstrang students who were rather
amused by the reactions.
"Then how did you meet?" Draco broke in, his eyes narrowed
suspiciously.
"We met around ten years ago," Harry answered honestly. "Lord
Parkinson has business with my guardian, and Pansy has been
sworn to secrecy ever since. You know how family business can be."
The Slytherin students nodded their understanding, but Draco did
not seem to be appeased by the explanation.
Before he could speak, however, he was cut off by Harry.
"You must be Lucius's son, Draco," he acknowledged.
"How do you know my father, Potter?"
"I had the pleasure of his and your mother's company in the
Minister's box during the final," Harry explained. "You look just like
him. Do pass on my gratitude to him, will you?"
"Gratitude for what?"
"Oh, did he not tell you of our wager?" Harry asked, feigning
surprise. "I must say, your father was a good sport and paid his debt
with all the haste one would expect from a man of his station."
Malfoy frowned in confusion, but Harry's intervention served to
distract him from whatever questions he had.
"So, you have been friends all this time?" Daphne questioned.
"Friends, lovers, all of the above," Harry answered, and Pansy
kicked him under the table.
"We have not been lovers," she huffed, ignoring the blush forming on
her cheeks.
"Ah, I must be better at Divination than I thought," Harry mused
aloud. "I must be seeing into the future."
"Oh, shut up, Harry," Pansy grumbled as the others laughed.
"No offense, Potter, but why are you sitting here?" Blaise broke in.
"I'm with my schoolmates."
"But haven't all of your family members been Gryffindors?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"For the most part," he agreed, "but that's only the Potter side."
"You only have the Potter side," Draco snorted. "Your mother was
a…"
"I would choose very carefully how you finish that sentence," Harry
cut in. "I will not have a bad word said against my mother. If it wasn't
for her, most of you would probably not be sitting here."
Pansy reached under the table and squeezed Harry's knee
comfortingly, but he seemingly wasn't finished saying what he
wanted to.
"Now, I expect there may be some of you here that bears a grudge
against me, and I would advise you to forget it," he urged. "I can
assure you that any attempt against me will be met with more
violence and pain than you could hope to cause me. For now, I am
willing to leave the past where it is, but if anyone wishes to drag it
back up, then do so at your own peril. I will not repeat myself."
Pansy swallowed deeply, she alone garbed in Hogwarts robes
knowing that this was Harry at his most diplomatic when it came to
dealing with potential enemies.
"Ah, Draco, could you pass me the potatoes, please?" Harry
requested with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
It was around an hour later that Pansy found herself in the common
room with her housemates, many of whom seemed to want to ask
questions of her.
"How dare he!" Draco cursed. "The filthy half-blood thinks he can
come here and threaten us? Who does he think he is?"
"He's Harry Potter," Daphne pointed out. "If you think that he hasn't
had extensive training, then you are a fool. He has no bodyguards
here. That should tell you all you need to know about him, right
Pansy?"
Pansy nodded.
"I can't say who his guardian is, but they are one of the most
dangerous and gifted people of the last century. Harry knows his
stuff, and it's not a good idea to get on the wrong side of him."
Draco snorted and began ranting once more, evidently not heeding
the warning, and Pansy shook her head.
Perhaps the only way he would learn was by making such a foolish
error, though there was no guarantee that Harry would be so
forgiving to all of it.
"He's here helping Krum with his Quidditch training." Draco chuckled.
"How lacking must Durmstrang be if they have Potter as his training
partner?"
Once more, Pansy shook her head.
"I would be very careful of Potter, Draco," Blaise broke in.
The usually quieter boy of the group had always been content to
watch Draco make his blunders, but his expression was deathly
serious.
"What are you talking about, Zabini?" Draco snapped.
"My sister is at Durmstrang," he revealed, much to the surprise of the
others, "and she may have mentioned that Potter was there."
"And you thought it not relevant to mention it to us?"
Blaise shrugged indifferently.
"Potter is of no concern to me or my family," he replied. "Where he
goes to school is hardly important."
"Your sister mentioned him?" Daphne questioned before Draco could
speak.
Blaise nodded; his next words being chosen very carefully.
"It would be foolish to make an enemy of him," he declared. "My
sister is an exceedingly gifted duellist, and even she speaks very
highly of Potter. She says that he does things that she has never
seen; that he has never been beaten."
Draco snorted derisively.
"All the Durmstrang students probably lose to him on purpose," he
declared, and Blaise shook his head.
"If you wish to believe that, then that's your choice," he returned
uncaringly. "I'm giving you fair warning of what I know. I just wouldn't
want to see you embarrass our house or yourself for that matter."
Draco laughed uproariously.
"The only one who will be embarrassed will be Potter!" he declared.
Pansy raised an eyebrow at Blaise who only offered a final shrug in
response.
Draco always had an ego, an edge of cruelty also, but compared to
Harry, he was nothing, and if he carried on the way he had started
where Harry was concerned, it would likely end terribly for the Malfoy
heir.
"Dumbledore wasn't joking about the age restriction, was he?"
Neville chuckled.
"Don't worry your sweet little head, Longbottom, we will find a way
around it," one of the twins declared.
The Gryffindor common room was abuzz with the excitement of the
tournament, the lighting of the Goblet of Fire having been fascinating
to witness, but it was their guests that had piqued their curiosity most
of all.
"Forget that, who knew that Harry Potter was at Durmstrang?" Ron
interjected, "and he's friends with Viktor Krum!"
Hermione frowned thoughtfully.
She too was pondering why Harry Potter had attended Durmstrang
instead of Hogwarts. She had taken it upon herself to learn his story
when such a fuss had been made about his absence during first
year, and if half of what she read was indeed true, he was quite the
fascinating boy.
"I expect everything about him has been kept a secret," Neville
mused aloud. "If you think about it, it's not surprising that he's not
here. He wouldn't get a moment of peace."
"But doesn't Durmstrang study dark magic?" Ron asked.
"No one really knows what they study," Neville replied. "It's widely
accepted that they are more relaxed about what they are allowed to
pursue, but only a student can tell you, and I doubt they'd do that.
Durmstrang protects its secrets very closely."
Hermione hummed.
She had read what information was available about both Durmstrang
and Beauxbatons, and the former was much less forthcoming than
the latter about what went on behind closed doors.
"I think the question we should be asking is why Harry Potter is
here?" Dean broke in. "He's not a seventh year, so he can't enter the
tournament."
"Maybe he's transferring," Neville suggested.
"No, we asked one of the Durmstrang lot," one of the twins informed
them. "They reckon he's only here to help Krum keep up with his
training."
"He trains with Krum?" Ron groaned wistfully.
"If he's half as good as his father, it makes sense," Fred, or George,
pointed out. "The trophy room is full of awards for James Potter.
Even McGonagall says he was the best she's seen pass through
since she has been here, and that's a long time."
"Do you think they'd let us train with them?" Ron asked excitedly.
"If you fancy having your face caved into the ground, I don't see why
not," one of the twins snorted. "You saw Krum play at the World Cup.
He's lunatic on that broom, and I bet Potter is too."
"It would still be cool."
"It would," the other twin agreed. "Maybe we can convince them to
train with us."
"If the Slytherins don't beat you to it," Seamus muttered.
"Great, that's all we need," Ron despaired, throwing his arms up.
"Malfoy is already a git, and he'll just be even more smarmy."
"Well, they did sit with the Slytherins first," Dean sighed.
Hermione was quickly losing interest in the conversation.
Quidditch was not something she had any interest in, but from what
little had happened thus far, she couldn't deny that she was looking
forward to the rest of the school year.
Having arrived on a Friday evening, there had been no lessons to
attend the following morning, and having been rudely awakened by
Olaffson, who evidently was not willing to give Harry and Viktor a
respite, the two had completed their training with the man.
Upon doing so, Harry had decided to begin familiarising himself with
Hogwarts. However, with all the attention he had received the night
before, he decided that he would wear his father's cloak.
It was strange roaming the grounds and the castle.
Much of it already felt familiar to him, though he knew he had never
been here, other than during the brief visions he'd experienced up
until a couple of years ago.
Still, it was like he had already tread through the corridors, and even
beyond the first line of trees of the forest they had been warned not
to enter.
As familiar as it felt, it was still a strange place, and though Hogwarts
was larger than Durmstrang, Harry seemed to already know many of
its secrets.
"There you are," Viktor sighed in relief as he entered Harry's cabin
on the ship. "Where have you been?"
"I watched people submitting their names for the tournament for a
while," Harry answered with a shrug, "and just went for a wander."
"Well, you're not going to like this," Viktor murmured as he placed a
newspaper in front of Harry.
Harry Potter Returns!
By Rita Skeeter
"They were bound to find out about it," Harry said dismissively. "She
must be keen to have gotten this out so soon. I didn't think
journalists were allowed on school grounds."
"They're not," Viktor confirmed, "not without the permission of the
headmaster."
Harry merely shrugged in response.
"It doesn't matter," he assured the older boy. "I'm not getting hung up
on an article. It's not like she's said anything untruthful."
"I suppose not," Viktor conceded. "Anyway, we need to head into the
Great Hall. The goblet should be ready soon."
"Nervous?"
Viktor shook his head.
"No, if it is meant to be, my name will be the one chosen."
"And if it isn't?"
"Then it looks as though my final year of teaching will be spent
mostly with Karkaroff," Viktor chuckled.
Harry shook his head amusedly.
"He's not that bad," he assured him. "At least with the Dark Arts, he
knows his stuff, and it's not like the other professors haven't
prepared everything else for us."
"I know," Viktor replied, "but being taught by him will be strange. He's
just not the teaching type."
"True," Harry agreed, "but you do have the option to attend the
lessons here too, but it's not like you will need to. If your name
doesn't come out of the Goblet, I'll eat the caretaker's cat."
Viktor chuckled as they joined the others who were eagerly
anticipating the announcement of the champions.
"Remember," Karkaroff barked, silencing them, "that it truly could be
any one of you that is chosen to represent us for the tournament,
and regardless of who it is, you will have our full support. I do not
see a face among you that is not worthy of being called champion,
but there can only be one. We are Durmstrang! Now, let us show the
other schools why we are the best!"
After the unexpectedly impassioned speech from the headmaster,
the delegation left the ship and made their way towards the castle,
arriving shortly after the Beauxbatons students.
As excited as everyone undoubtedly was, there was a tension that
had settled over the castle since the other schools had arrived the
previous night, one not so dissimilar to the any Quidditch match
Harry had attended.
Competition.
As incredible as this would be to experience, the three schools
attending were competing with one another, and who was chosen to
represent them would be the first look at each champion whom the
honour of their schools would rest upon.
The meal provided by Hogwarts was eaten in silence for the most
part, and the tension only grew when the plates were cleared and
Dumbledore stood to address the room.
"If I am not mistaken, the Goblet will soon be ready to name its
chosen champions."
With a wave of his hand, the candles and chandeliers dimmed, and
he peered at the wooden cup interestedly until a sudden gout of blue
flame erupted from the opening, spewing out a piece of parchment.
"The Champion representing Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour,"
Dumbledore announced.
A round of applause sounded for the French girl who approached the
head table where she was ushered through a side door.
Once more, the hall fell silent and the Goblet produced another piece
of parchment only a moment later.
"The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum," Dumbledore
informed them.
The Durmstrang students, and most others within the hall cheered
uproariously for Viktor, and Harry clapped him firmly on the shoulder
as he stood, his scowl firmly in place as he followed in the footsteps
of the French champion.
When he was gone, the attention of the room shifted towards the
Goblet for a final time, and Dumbledore nimbly snatched the last
piece of parchment form the air as it was expelled.
"Representing Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"
The applause for the boy garbed in black robes trimmed with yellow
was deafening.
Evidently, Diggory was a popular boy at the school, and there
seemed to be little disappointment from any that he had been
chosen.
When the final champion had been shown into the room beyond the
head table, Dumbledore turned his attention towards the Goblet,
nodding satisfactorily as the flame extinguished itself.
"Our champions have been selected, and more information
regarding the first task they will face will be made known only to
them," he explained. "It truly is my honour to declare that the TriWizard Tournament has officially begun!"
Harry clapped along with the rest of the students as the three
respective leaders of their schools left via the same door as the
champions, followed by two others that Harry did not recognise, and
as he fell in with the other Durmstrang students, he too found himself
anticipating just what was to come.
His time here would be interesting to say the least, and he found
himself looking forward to what entertainment the Tri-Wizard
Tournament would provide in the months to come.
Lucius could only look on in shock at the man who was seated
before him. He had aged terribly in the past thirteen years, but there
was no denying who he was.
"How?" he asked simply.
"My father switched me out with my mother as a final mercy to her
when she was dying," Barty explained. "I have been under the
Imperius Curse since. I managed to break free eventually."
Lucius shook his head in disbelief.
Barty Crouch was nothing if not a stickler for the rules. For him to do
such a thing, he must truly have had a soft spot for his wife.
"And your father?"
"Is now under my curse," Barty replied with a grin.
"That is very risky," Lucius sighed. "What will you do now?"
"Well, I had considered killing you and the others for your lack of
loyalty to our master," Barty said airily as though he was merely
discussing the weather, "but I am not like the rest of you. I remain
loyal to the cause, and maybe there is a part of me that believes you
and the others do too."
Lucius leaned forward in his chair.
"There is no longer a cause," he murmured. "The Dark Lord is gone,
and we have none that can lead us like him."
"Is he gone, Lucius?" Barty replied with a grin.
Lucius frowned.
"What do you know, Barty?"
"Many things," the man replied, tapping the tip of his nose with a
finger. "My father is currently investigating the disappearance of one
of his workers."
"Bertha Jorkins."
Barty nodded.
"She was sent on a trip to Albania and has not been since. Very
suspicious, is it not?"
"What is your point, Barty?" Lucius sighed impatiently.
"My point is that my father, whilst investigating, made the
acquaintance of an old friend of ours who was looking for someone.
Pettigrew's attempt at placing my father under the Imperius Curse
was rather pathetic, but I had him play along. Who do you think he
was taken to?"
Lucius frowned at the other man, wondering if he had become
delusional from his exposure to the Dementors.
"Well?" he questioned.
"I don't know," Lucius huffed.
"The Dark Lord," Barty announced excitedly. "He lives, Lucius, but
he is weak, and with only Pettigrew to assist him, he will not grow
stronger."
It felt as though his heart had stopped in his chest, and Lucius was
now convinced the man before him was indeed insane.
"No," he denied, "it cannot be."
"It is true!" Barty replied firmly. "I came to you for help, Lucius. We
must find a way to bring him back. You cannot deny it, the mark is
growing stronger. Surely, you have noticed it."
Barty's eyes had become wild, and Lucius felt a trickle of fear run
down his spine.
The mark had indeed grown darker over the past few months, but he
had chosen to ignore it.
If the Dark Lord was indeed returning as he claimed would happen if
he was somehow robbed of life, then things would change, and
Britain would once more be plunged into war.
For Lucius, there was no positive outcome to this.
Undoubtedly, he would be welcomed back into the fold of the Dark
Lord's inner circle, and he would have no choice but to obey.
The mark was for life, and service to the Dark Lord was in perpetuity.
For the first time since he and Macnair had done so, Lucius regretted
setting Pettigrew free in his panic at finding him alive instead of
simply having him murdered before he could stand trial.
How the rat had found their master was irrelevant, but Lucius should
have known that if the man heard even a whisper of a rumour of him,
he would seek out the protection the Dark Lord afforded him.
Thinking quickly, he realised he had two choices, one being to ignore
what he had learned and dispatch of Barty or accept what was
seemingly the inevitable and perhaps not find himself the victim of
the Dark Lord's ire when he returned.
Neither were desirable, but with no other option available to him, and
being the consummate survivalist, he nodded.
"What do you need from me, Barty?