The Goblet of Fire Read online

  ‘He forgave them, then?’ he said. ‘The Death Eaters who went free? The ones who escaped Azkaban?’

  ‘What?’ said Harry.

  He was looking at the wand Moody was pointing at him. This was a bad joke, it had to be.

  ‘I asked you,’ said Moody quietly, ‘whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn’t even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky.’

  ‘You fired … what are you talking about …?’

  ‘I told you, Harry … I told you. If there’s one thing I hate more than any other, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master, when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. Tell me he hurt them, Harry …’ Moody’s face was suddenly lit with an insane smile. ‘Tell me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful … prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all … you.’

  ‘You didn’t … it – it can’t be you …’

  ‘Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, under the name of a different school? I did. Who frightened off every person I thought might try to hurt you or prevent you winning the Tournament? I did. Who nudged Hagrid into showing you the dragons? I did. Who helped you see the only way you could beat the dragon? I did.’

  Moody’s magical eye had now left the door. It was fixed upon Harry. His lopsided mouth leered more widely than ever. ‘It hasn’t been easy, Harry, guiding you through these tasks without arousing suspicion. I have had to use every ounce of cunning I possess, so that my hand would not be detectable in your success. Dumbledore would have been very suspicious if you had managed everything too easily. As long as you got into that maze, preferably with a decent head start – then, I knew, I would have a chance of getting rid of the other champions, and leaving your way clear. But I also had to contend against your stupidity. The second task … that was when I was most afraid we would fail. I was keeping watch on you, Potter. I knew you hadn’t worked out the egg’s clue, so I had to give you another hint –’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Harry said hoarsely. ‘Cedric gave me the clue –’

  ‘Who told Cedric to open it underwater? I did. I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate, Potter. I was sure Cedric would want to repay you for telling him about the dragons, and so he did. But even then, Potter, even then you seemed likely to fail. I was watching all the time … all those hours in the library. Didn’t you realise that the book you needed was in your dormitory all along? I planted it there early on, I gave it to the Longbottom boy, don’t you remember? Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties. It would have told you all you needed about Gillyweed. I expected you to ask everyone and anyone you could for help. Longbottom would have told you in an instant. But you did not … you did not … you have a streak of pride and independence that might have ruined all.

  ‘So what could I do? Feed you information from another innocent source. You told me at the Yule Ball a house-elf called Dobby had given you a Christmas present. I called the elf to the staff room to collect some robes for cleaning. I staged a loud conversation with Professor McGonagall about the hostages who had been taken, and whether Potter would think to use Gillyweed. And your little elf friend ran straight to Snape’s store-cupboard and hurried to find you …’

  Moody’s wand was still pointing directly at Harry’s heart. Over his shoulder, foggy shapes were moving in the Foe-Glass on the wall. ‘You were so long in that lake, Potter, I thought you had drowned. But luckily, Dumbledore took your idiocy for nobility, and marked you high for it. I breathed again.

  ‘You had an easier time of it than you should have done in that maze tonight, of course,’ said Moody. ‘That was because I was patrolling around it, able to see through the outer hedges, able to curse many obstacles out of your way. I Stunned Fleur Delacour as she passed. I put the Imperius Curse on Krum, so that he would finish Diggory, and leave your path to the Cup clear.’

  Harry stared at Moody. He just didn’t see how this could be … Dumbledore’s friend, the famous Auror … the one who had caught so many Death Eaters … it made no sense … no sense at all …

  The foggy shapes in the Foe-Glass were sharpening, had become more distinct. Harry could see the outlines of three people over Moody’s shoulder, moving closer and closer. But Moody wasn’t watching them. His magical eye was upon Harry.

  ‘The Dark Lord didn’t manage to kill you, Potter, and he so wanted to,’ whispered Moody. ‘Imagine how he will reward me, when he finds I have done it for him. I gave you to him – the thing he needed above all to regenerate – and then I killed you for him. I will be honoured beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest, his closest supporter … closer than a son …’

  Moody’s normal eye was bulging, the magical eye fixed upon Harry. The door was barred, and Harry knew he would never reach his own wand in time …

  ‘The Dark Lord and I,’ said Moody, and he looked completely insane now, towering over Harry, leering down at him, ‘have much in common. Both of us, for instance, had very disappointing fathers … very disappointing indeed. Both of ussuffered the indignity, Harry, of being named after those fathers. And both of us had the pleasure … the very great pleasure … of killing our fathers, to ensure the continued rise of the Dark Order!’

  ‘You’re mad,’ Harry said – he couldn’t stop himself – ‘you’re mad!’

  ‘Mad, am I?’ said Moody, his voice rising uncontrollably. ‘We’ll see! We’ll see who’s mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him – and now – I conquer you!’

  Moody raised his wand, he opened his mouth, Harry plunged his own hand into his robes –

  ‘Stupefy!’ There was a blinding flash of red light, and with a great splintering and crashing, the door of Moody’s office was blasted apart –

  Moody was thrown backwards onto the office floor. Harry, still staring at the place where Moody’s face had been, saw Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall looking back at him out of the Foe-Glass. He looked around, and saw the three of them standing in the doorway, Dumbledore in front, his wand outstretched.

  At that moment, Harry fully understood for the first time why people said Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. The look upon Dumbledore’s face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody was more terrible than Harry could ever have imagined. There was no benign smile upon Dumbledore’s face, no twinkle in the eyes behind the spectacles. There was cold fury in every line of the ancient face; a sense of power radiated from Dumbledore as though he was giving off burning heat.

  He stepped into the office, placed a foot underneath Moody’s unconscious body and kicked him over onto his back, so that his face was visible. Snape followed him, looking into the Foe-Glass, where his own face was still visible, glaring into the room.

  Professor McGonagall went straight to Harry.

  ‘Come along, Potter,’ she whispered. The thin line of her mouth was twitching as though she was about to cry. ‘Come along … hospital wing …’

  ‘No,’ said Dumbledore sharply.

  ‘Dumbledore, he ought to – look at him – he’s been through enough tonight –’

  ‘He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand,’ said Dumbledore curtly. ‘Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why.’

  ‘Moody,’ Harry said. He was still in a state of complete disbelief. ‘How can it have been Moody?’

  ‘This is not Alastor Moody,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you fr
om my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew – and I followed.’

  Dumbledore bent down over Moody’s limp form and put a hand inside his robes. He pulled out Moody’s hip-flask, and a set of keys on a ring. Then he turned to Professor McGonagall and Snape.

  ‘Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens, and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid’s house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.’

  If either Snape or McGonagall found these instructions peculiar, they hid their confusion. Both turned at once, and left the office. Dumbledore walked over to the trunk with seven locks, fitted the first key in the lock, and opened it. It contained a mass of spellbooks. Dumbledore closed the trunk, placed a second key in the second lock, and opened the trunk again. The spellbooks had vanished; this time it contained an assortment of broken Sneakoscopes, some parchment and quills, and what looked like a silvery Invisibility Cloak. Harry watched, astounded, as Dumbledore placed the third, fourth, fifth and sixth keys in their respective locks, reopening the trunk, and each time revealing different contents. Then he placed the seventh key in the lock, threw open the lid, and Harry let out a cry of amazement.

  He was looking down into a kind of pit, an underground room, and lying on the floor some ten feet below, apparently fast asleep, thin and starved in appearance, was the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was gone, the socket which should have held the magical eye looked empty beneath its lid, and chunks of his grizzled hair were missing. Harry stared, thunderstruck, between the sleeping Moody in the trunk, and the unconscious Moody lying on the floor of the office.

  Dumbledore climbed into the trunk, lowered himself and fell lightly onto the floor beside the sleeping Moody. He bent over him.

  ‘Stunned – controlled by the Imperius Curse – very weak,’ he said. ‘Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Harry, throw down the impostor’s cloak, Alastor is freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger.’

  Harry did as he was told; Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak, tucked it around him, and clambered out of the trunk again. Then he picked up the hip-flask that stood upon the desk, unscrewed it, and turned it over. A thick glutinous liquid splattered onto the office floor.

  ‘Polyjuice Potion, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip-flask, he’s well known for it. The impostor needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the Potion. You see his hair …’ Dumbledore looked down on the Moody in the trunk. ‘The impostor has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done … on the hour … every hour … we shall see.’

  Dumbledore pulled out the chair at the desk and sat down upon it, his eyes fixed upon the unconscious Moody on the floor. Harry stared at him, too. Minutes passed in silence …

  Then, before Harry’s very eyes, the face of the man on the floor began to change. The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth; the mangled nose became whole, and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled grey hair was withdrawing into the scalp, and turning the colour of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place; next moment, the magical eyeball had popped out of the man’s face as a real eye replaced it; it rolled away across the floor and continued to swivel in every direction.

  Harry saw a man lying before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair. He knew who he was. He had seen him in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, had watched him being led away from court by the Dementors, trying to convince Mr Crouch that he was innocent … but he was lined around the eyes now, and looked much older …

  There were hurried footsteps outside in the corridor. Snape had returned with Winky at his heels. Professor McGonagall was right behind them.

  ‘Crouch!’ Snape said, stopping dead in the doorway. ‘Barty Crouch!’

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Professor McGonagall, stopping dead and staring down at the man on the floor.

  Filthy, dishevelled, Winky peered around Snape’s legs. Her mouth opened wide and she let out a piercing shriek. ‘Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?’

  She flung herself forwards onto the young man’s chest. ‘You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed master’s son!’

  ‘He is simply Stunned, Winky,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Step aside, please. Severus, you have the Potion?’

  Snape handed Dumbledore a small glass bottle of completely clear liquid; the Veritaserum with which he had threatened Harry in class. Dumbledore got up, bent over the man on the floor, and pulled him into a sitting position against the wall beneath the Foe-Glass, in which the reflections of Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall were still glaring down upon them all. Winky remained on her knees, trembling, her hands over her face. Dumbledore forced the man’s mouth open, and poured three drops inside it. Then he pointed his wand at the man’s chest, and said, ‘Rennervate.’

  Crouch’s son opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused. Dumbledore knelt before him, so that their faces were level.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ Dumbledore asked quietly.

  The man’s eyelids flickered.

  ‘Yes,’ he muttered.

  ‘I would like you to tell us,’ said Dumbledore softly, ‘how you come to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?’

  Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, then began to speak in a flat, expressionless voice. ‘My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favour to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draught of Polyjuice Potion, containing one of my mother’s hairs. She took a draught of Polyjuice Potion, containing one of my hairs. We took on each other’s appearance.’

  Winky was shaking her head, trembling. ‘Say no more, Master Barty, say no more, you is getting your father into trouble!’

  But Crouch took another deep breath, and continued in the same flat voice. ‘The Dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors.

  ‘My mother died a short while afterwards in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name, and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.’

  The man’s eyelids flickered.

  ‘And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?’ said Dumbledore quietly.

  ‘Staged my mother’s death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master … of returning to his service.’

  ‘How did your father subdue you?’ said Dumbledore.

  ‘The Imperius Curse,’ Crouch said. ‘I was under my father’s control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and carer. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behaviour.’

  ‘Master Barty, Master Barty,’ sobbed Winky through her hands. ‘You isn’t ought to tell them, we is getting in trouble …’

  ‘Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?’ said Dumbledore softly. ‘Did anyone know except your father, and the house-elf?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Crouch, his eyelids flickering again. ‘A witch in my father’s office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house, with papers for my father’s signature
. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she’d found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently.’

  ‘Why is she coming to nose in my master’s private business?’ sobbed Winky. ‘Why isn’t she leaving us be?’

  ‘Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup,’ said Dumbledore.

  ‘Winky talked my father into it,’ said Crouch, still in the same monotonous voice. ‘She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house for years. I had loved Quidditch. Let him go, she said. He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once. She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end.

  ‘It was carefully planned. My father led myself and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say that she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. When everyone had left the box, we would emerge. Winky would appear to be alone. Nobody would ever know.

  ‘But Winky didn’t know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight my father’s Imperius Curse. There were times when I was almost myself again. There were brief periods when I seemed outside his control. It happened, there, in the Top Box. It was like waking from a deep sleep. I found myself out in public, in the middle of the match, and I saw a wand sticking out of a boy’s pocket in front of me. I had not been allowed a wand since before Azkaban. I stole it. Winky didn’t know. Winky is frightened of heights. She had her face hidden.’

  ‘Master Barty, you bad boy!’ whispered Winky, tears trickling between her fingers.