Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry. ‘These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees – as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office.’
Harry nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Harry felt as though he ought to go, but his curiosity held him in his chair.
‘Professor?’ he said again.
‘Yes, Harry?’ said Dumbledore.
‘Er … could I ask you about … that court thing I was in … in the Pensieve?’
‘You could,’ said Dumbledore heavily. ‘I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others… particularly now …’
‘You know – you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch’s son? Well … were they talking about Neville’s parents?’
Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look.
‘Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?’ he said.
Harry shook his head, wondering, as he did so, how he could have failed to ask Neville this, in almost four years of knowing him.
‘Yes, they were talking about Neville’s parents,’ said Dumbledore. ‘His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort’s whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard.’
‘So they’re dead?’ said Harry quietly.
‘No,’ said Dumbledore, his voice full of a bitterness Harry had never heard there before, ‘they are insane. They are both in St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognise him.’
Harry sat there, horror-struck. He had never known … never, in four years, bothered to find out …
‘The Longbottoms were very popular,’ said Dumbledore. ‘The attacks on them came after Voldemort’s fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms’ evidence was – given their condition – none too reliable.’
‘Then Mr Crouch’s son might not have been involved?’ said Harry slowly.
Dumbledore shook his head. ‘As to that, I have no idea.’
Harry sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl. There were two more questions he was burning to ask … but they concerned the guilt of living people …
‘Er,’ he said, ‘Mr Bagman …’
‘… has never been accused of any Dark activity since,’ said Dumbledore calmly.
‘Right,’ said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts. ‘And … er …’
But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him. Snape’s face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.
‘No more has Professor Snape,’ he said.
Harry looked into Dumbledore’s light-blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. ‘What made you think he’d really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?’
Dumbledore held Harry’s gaze for a few seconds, and then said, ‘That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself.’
Harry knew that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told Harry it was time to go. He stood up, and so did Dumbledore.
‘Harry,’ he said, as Harry reached the door. ‘Please do not speak about Neville’s parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he is ready.’
‘Yes, Professor,’ said Harry, turning to go.
‘And –’
Harry looked back.
Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at Harry for a moment, and then said, ‘Good luck with the third task.’
— CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE —
The Third Task
‘Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who’s getting stronger again as well?’ Ron whispered.
Everything Harry had seen in the Pensieve, nearly everything Dumbledore had told and shown him afterwards, he had now shared with Ron and Hermione – and, of course, with Sirius, to whom Harry had sent an owl the moment he had left Dumbledore’s office. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat up late in the common room once again that night, talking it all over until Harry’s mind was reeling, until he understood what Dumbledore had meant about a head becoming so full of thoughts that it would have been a relief to siphon them off.
Ron stared into the common-room fire. Harry thought he saw Ron shiver slightly, even though the evening was warm.
‘And he trusts Snape?’ Ron said. ‘He really trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
Hermione had not spoken for ten minutes. She was sitting with her forehead in her hands, staring at her knees. Harry thought she, too, looked as though she could have done with a Pensieve.
‘Rita Skeeter,’ she muttered finally.
‘How can you be worrying about her now?’ said Ron, indisbelief.
‘I’m not worrying about her,’ Hermione said to her knees. ‘I’m just thinking … remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? “I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl.” This is what she meant, isn’t it? She reported his trial, she knew he’d passed information to the Death Eaters. And Winky, too, remember … “Mr Bagman is a bad wizard.” Mr Crouch would have been furious he got off, he would have talked about it at home.’
‘Yeah, but Bagman didn’t pass information on purpose, did he?’
Hermione shrugged.
‘And Fudge reckons Madame Maxime attacked Crouch?’ Ron said, turning back to Harry.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but he’s only saying that because Crouch disappeared near the Beauxbatons carriage.’
‘We never thought of her, did we?’ said Ron, slowly. ‘Mind you, she’s definitely got giant blood, and she doesn’t want to admit it –’
‘Of course she doesn’t,’ said Hermione sharply, looking up. ‘Look what happened to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, jumping to conclusions about her, just because she’s part giant. Who needs that sort of prejudice? I’d probably say I had big bones if I knew that’s what I’d get for telling the truth.’
Hermione looked at her watch.
‘We haven’t done any practising!’ she said, looking shocked. ‘We were going to do the Impediment Jinx! We’ll have to really get down to it tomorrow! Come on, Harry, you need to get some sleep.’
Harry and Ron went slowly upstairs to their dormitory. As Harry pulled on his pyjamas, he looked over at Neville’s bed. True to his word to Dumbledore, he had not told Ron and Hermione about Neville’s parents. As Harry took off his glasses and climbed into his four-poster, he imagined how it must feel to have parents still living, but unable to recognise you. He often got sympathy from strangers for being an orphan, but as he listened to Neville’s snores, he thought that Neville deserved it more than he did. Lying in the darkness, Harry felt a rush of anger and hate towards the people who had tortured Mr and Mrs Longbottom … he remembered the jeers of the crowd as Crouch’s son and his companions had been dragged from the court by the Dementors … he understood how they had felt … then he remembered the milk-white face of the screaming boy, and realised with a jolt that he had died a year later …
It was Voldemort, Harry thought, staring up at the canopy of his bed in the darkness, it all came back to Voldemort … he was the one who had torn these families apart, who had ruined all these lives …
*
Ron and Hermione were supposed to be revising for their exams, which would finish on the day of the third task, but they were putting most of the
ir efforts into helping Harry prepare.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Hermione said shortly, when Harry pointed this out to them, and said he didn’t mind practising on his own for a while. ‘At least we’ll get top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts, we’d never have found out about all these hexes in class.’
‘Good training for when we’re all Aurors,’ said Ron excitedly, attempting the Impediment Jinx on a wasp that had buzzed into the room, and making it stop dead in mid-air.
The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would take place a week before the end of term. Harry was practising hexes in every available moment. He felt more confident about this task than either of the others. Difficult and dangerous though it would undoubtedly be, Moody was right: Harry had managed to find his way past monstrous creatures and enchanted barriers before now, and this time he had some notice, some chance to prepare himself for what lay ahead.
Tired of walking in on them all over the school, Professor McGonagall had given Harry permission to use the empty Transfiguration classroom at lunchtimes. He had soon mastered the Impediment Jinx, a spell to slow down and obstruct attackers, the Reductor curse, which would enable him to blast solid objects out of his way, and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione’s which would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. He was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses; Hermione managed to shatter it with a well-placed Jelly-Legs Jinx. Harry wobbled around the room for ten minutes afterwards before she had looked up the counter-jinx.
‘You’re still doing really well, though,’ Hermione said encouragingly, looking down her list, and crossing off those spells they had already learnt. ‘Some of these are bound to come in handy.’
‘Come and look at this,’ said Ron, who was standing by the window. He was staring down into the grounds. ‘What’s Malfoy doing?’
Harry and Hermione went to see. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were standing in the shadow of a tree below. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be keeping a look out; both were smirking. Malfoy was holding his hand up to his mouth, and speaking into it.
‘He looks like he’s using a walkie-talkie,’ said Harry curiously.
‘He can’t be,’ said Hermione, ‘I’ve told you, those sort of things don’t work around Hogwarts. Come on, Harry,’ sheadded briskly, turning away from the window and moving back into the middle of the room, ‘let’s try that Shield Charm again.’
*
Sirius was sending daily owls now. Like Hermione, he seemed to want to concentrate on getting Harry through the last task, before they concerned themselves with anything else. He reminded Harry in every letter that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not Harry’s responsibility, nor was it within his power to influence it.
If Voldemort is really getting stronger again [he wrote], my priority is to ensure your safety. He cannot hope to lay hands on you while you are under Dumbledore’s protection, but all the same, take no risks: concentrate on getting through that maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other matters.
Harry’s nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not as bad as those he had had before the first and second tasks. For one thing, he was confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly he did, the Tournament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief.
*
Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry a good-luck card from Sirius. It was only a piece of parchment, folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its front, but Harry appreciated it all the same. A screech owl arrived for Hermione, carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She unfolded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it.
‘What?’ said Harry and Ron together, staring at her.
‘Nothing,’ said Hermione quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it.
He stared at the headline, and said, ‘No way. Not today. That old cow.’
‘What?’ said Harry. ‘Rita Skeeter again?’
‘No,’ said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight.
‘It’s about me, isn’t it?’ said Harry.
‘No,’ said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone.
But before Harry could demand to see the paper, Draco Malfoy shouted across the Great Hall from the Slytherin table.
‘Hey, Potter! Potter! How’s your head? You feeling all right? Sure you’re not going to go berserk on us?’
Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, too. Slytherins up and down the table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see Harry’s reaction.
‘Let me see it,’ Harry said to Ron. ‘Give it here.’
Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over, and found himself staring at his own picture, beneath a banner headline:
HARRY POTTER ‘DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS’
The boy who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter’s strange behaviour, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts school.
Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, mid-way through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying.
It is possible, say top experts at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potter’s brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion.
‘He might even be pretending,’ said one specialist, ‘this could be a plea for attention.’
The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public.
‘Potter can speak Parseltongue,’ reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth-year. ‘There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a Duelling Club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he’s made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he’d do anything for a bit of power.’
Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defence League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue ‘as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evil-doers.’ Similarly, ‘anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence’.
Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the Tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening.
‘Gone off me a bit, hasn’t she?’ said Harry lightly, folding up the paper.
Over on the Slytherin table, Malfoy
, Crabbe and Goyle were laughing at him, tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces and waggling their tongues like snakes.
‘How did she know your scar hurt in Divination?’ Ron said. ‘There’s no way she was there, there’s no way she could’ve heard –’
‘The window was open,’ said Harry. ‘I opened it to breathe.’
‘You were at the top of North Tower!’ Hermione said. ‘Your voice couldn’t have carried all the way down to the grounds!’
‘Well, you’re the one who’s supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging!’ said Harry. ‘You tell me how she did it!’
‘I’ve been trying!’ said Hermione. ‘But I … but …’
An odd, dreamy expression suddenly came over Hermione’s face. She slowly raised a hand, and ran her fingers through her hair.
‘Are you all right?’ said Ron, frowning at her.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione breathlessly. She ran her fingers through her hair again, and then held her hand up to her mouth, as though speaking into an invisible walkie-talkie. Harry and Ron stared at each other.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ Hermione said, gazing into space. ‘I think I know … because then no one would be able to see … even Moody … and she’d have been able to get onto the window-ledge … but she’s not allowed … she’s definitely not allowed … I think we’ve got her! Just give me two seconds in the library – just to make sure!’
With that, Hermione seized her schoolbag, and dashed out of the Great Hall.
‘Oi!’ Ron called after her. ‘We’ve got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes! Blimey,’ he said, turning back to Harry, ‘she must really hate that Skeeter woman to risk missing the start of an exam. What’re you going to do in Binns’s class – read again?’
The Goblet of Fire Page 52
