The Goblet of Fire Read online

  Sirius nodded, and stood up. He transformed back into the great black dog, and walked with Harry and Dumbledore out of the office, accompanying them down a flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

  When Dumbledore pushed open the door, Harry saw Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione grouped around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. They appeared to be demanding to know where Harry was and what had happened to him.

  All of them whipped around as Harry, Dumbledore and the black dog entered, and Mrs Weasley let out a kind of muffled scream. ‘Harry! Oh, Harry!’

  She started to hurry towards him, but Dumbledore moved between them.

  ‘Molly,’ he said, holding up a hand, ‘please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him,’ he added, looking around at Ron, Hermione and Bill, too, ‘you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening.’

  Mrs Weasley nodded. She was very white.

  She rounded on Ron, Hermione and Bill as though they were being noisy, and hissed, ‘Did you hear? He needs quiet!’

  ‘Headmaster,’ said Madam Pomfrey, staring at the great black dog that was Sirius, ‘may I ask what –?’

  ‘This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry – I will wait while you get into bed.’

  Harry felt an inexpressible sense of gratitude to Dumbledore for asking the others not to question him. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want them there; but the thought of explaining it all over again, the idea of reliving it one more time, was more than he could stand.

  ‘I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I would like you to remain here tomorrow, until I have spoken to the school.’ He left.

  As Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a nearby bed, he caught sight of the real Moody lying motionless in a bed at the far end of the room. His wooden leg and magical eye were lying on the bedside table.

  ‘Is he OK?’ Harry asked.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Madam Pomfrey, giving Harry some pyjamas and pulling screens around him. He took off his robes, pulled on the pyjamas and got into bed. Ron, Hermione, Bill, Mrs Weasley and the black dog came around the screen and settled themselves in chairs on either side of him. Ron and Hermione were looking at him almost cautiously, as though scared of him.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he told them. ‘Just tired.’

  Mrs Weasley’s eyes filled with tears as she smoothed his bedcovers unnecessarily.

  Madam Pomfrey, who had bustled off to her office, returned holding a goblet and a small bottle of some purple potion.

  ‘You’ll need to drink all of this, Harry,’ she said. ‘It’s a potion for dreamless sleep.’

  Harry took the goblet and drank a few mouthfuls. He felt himself becoming drowsy at once. Everything around him became hazy; the lamps around the hospital wing seemed to be winking at him in a friendly way through the screen around his bed; his body felt as though it was sinking deeper into the warmth of the feather mattress. Before he could finish the Potion, before he could say another word, his exhaustion had carried him off to sleep.

  *

  Harry woke up, so warm, so very sleepy, that he didn’t open his eyes, wanting to drop off again. The room was still dimly lit; he was sure it was still night-time, and had a feeling that he couldn’t have been asleep very long.

  Then he heard whispering around him.

  ‘They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up!’

  ‘What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?’

  Harry opened his eyes blearily. Someone had removed his glasses. He could see the fuzzy outlines of Mrs Weasley and Bill close by. Mrs Weasley was on her feet.

  ‘That’s Fudge’s voice,’ she whispered. ‘And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?’

  Now Harry could hear them, too: people shouting and running towards the hospital wing.

  ‘Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva –’ Cornelius Fudge was saying loudly.

  ‘You should never have brought it inside the castle!’ yelled Professor McGonagall. ‘When Dumbledore finds out –’

  Harry heard hospital doors burst open. Unnoticed by any of the people around his bed, all of whom were staring at the door as Bill pulled back the screens, Harry sat up, and put his glasses back on.

  Fudge came striding up the ward. Professors McGonagall and Snape were at his heels.

  ‘Where’s Dumbledore?’ Fudge demanded of Mrs Weasley.

  ‘He’s not here,’ said Mrs Weasley angrily. ‘This is a hospital wing, Minister, don’t you think you’d do better to –’

  But the door opened, and Dumbledore came sweeping up the ward.

  ‘What has happened?’ said Dumbledore sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall. ‘Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I’m surprised at you – I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch –’

  ‘There is no need to stand guard over him any more, Dumbledore!’ she shrieked. ‘The Minister has seen to that!’

  Harry had never seen Professor McGonagall lose control like this. There were angry blotches of colour in her cheeks, her hands were balled into fists; she was trembling with fury.

  ‘When we told Mr Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight’s events,’ said Snape, in a low voice, ‘he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch –’

  ‘I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!’ stormed Professor McGonagall. ‘I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot inside the castle, but –’

  ‘My dear woman!’ roared Fudge, who likewise looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. ‘As Minister for Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous –’

  But Professor McGonagall’s voice drowned Fudge’s.

  ‘The moment that – that thing entered the room,’ she screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling all over, ‘it swooped down on Crouch and – and –’

  Harry felt a chill in his stomach, as Professor McGonagall struggled to find words to describe what had happened. He did not need her to finish her sentence. He knew what the Dementor must have done. It had administered its fatal kiss to Barty Crouch. It had sucked his soul out through his mouth. He was worse than dead.

  ‘By all accounts, he is no loss!’ blustered Fudge. ‘It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!’

  ‘But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius,’ said Dumbledore. He was staring hard at Fudge, as though seeing him plainly for the first time. ‘He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people.’

  ‘Why he killed them? Well, that’s no mystery, is it?’ blustered Fudge. ‘He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who’s instructions!’

  ‘Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Those people’s deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.’

  Fudge looked as though someone had just swung a heavy weight into his face. Dazed and blinking, he stared back at Dumbledore as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

  He began to splutter, still goggling at Dumbledore.‘You-Know-Who … returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore …’

  ‘As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you,’ said Dumbledore, ‘we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort – learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins – went to free him
from his father, and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return.’

  ‘See here, Dumbledore,’ said Fudge, and Harry was astonished to see a slight smile dawning on his face, ‘you – you can’t seriously believe that. You-Know-Who – back? Come now, come now … certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who’s orders – but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore …’

  ‘When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort,’ said Dumbledore steadily. ‘He witnessed Lord Voldemort’s rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office.’

  Dumbledore glanced around at Harry and saw that he was awake, but shook his head, and said, ‘I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight.’

  Fudge’s curious smile lingered.

  He too glanced at Harry, then looked back at Dumbledore, and said, ‘You are – er – prepared to take Harry’s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?’

  There was a moment’s silence, which was broken by Sirius growling. His hackles were raised, and he was baring his teeth at Fudge.

  ‘Certainly I believe Harry,’ said Dumbledore. His eyes were blazing now. ‘I heard Crouch’s confession, and I heard Harry’s account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer.’

  Fudge still had that strange smile on his face. Once again, he glanced at Harry before answering. ‘You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who … well …’

  Fudge shot Harry another look, and Harry suddenly understood.

  ‘You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr Fudge,’ he said quietly.

  Ron, Hermione, Mrs Weasley and Bill all jumped. None of them had realised that Harry was awake.

  Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look came over his face.

  ‘And if I have?’ he said, looking at Dumbledore. ‘If I have discovered that you’ve been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place –’

  ‘I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?’ said Dumbledore coolly.

  ‘You admit that he has been having these pains, then?’ said Fudge quickly. ‘Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly – hallucinations?’

  ‘Listen to me, Cornelius,’ said Dumbledore, taking a step towards Fudge, and once again he seemed to radiate that indefinable sense of power that Harry had felt after Dumbledore had Stunned young Crouch. ‘Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.’

  Fudge had taken half a step back from Dumbledore, but he looked no less stubborn. ‘You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before …’

  ‘Look, I saw Voldemort come back!’ Harry shouted. He tried to get out of bed again, but Mrs Weasley forced him back. ‘I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy –’

  Snape made a sudden movement, but as Harry looked at him, Snape’s eyes flew back to Fudge.

  ‘Malfoy was cleared!’ said Fudge, visibly affronted. ‘A very old family – donations to excellent causes –’

  ‘Macnair!’ Harry continued.

  ‘Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!’

  ‘Avery – Nott – Crabbe – Goyle –’

  ‘You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!’ said Fudge angrily. ‘You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven’s sake, Dumbledore – the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year, too – his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them – the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?’

  ‘You fool!’ Professor McGonagall cried. ‘Cedric Diggory! Mr Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!’

  ‘I see no evidence to the contrary!’ shouted Fudge, now matching her anger, his face purpling. ‘It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilise everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!’

  Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had always thought of Fudge as a kindly figure, a little blustering, a little pompous, but essentially good-natured. But now a short, angry wizard stood before him, refusing, point-blank, to accept the prospect of disruption in his comfortable and ordered world – to believe that Voldemort could have risen.

  ‘Voldemort has returned,’ Dumbledore repeated. ‘If you accept that fact straight away, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the Dementors –’

  ‘Preposterous!’ shouted Fudge again. ‘Remove the Dementors! I’d be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the Dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!’

  ‘The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!’ said Dumbledore. ‘They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the Dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!’

  Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage.

  ‘The second step you must take – and at once,’ Dumbledore pressed on, ‘is to send envoys to the giants.’

  ‘Envoys to the giants?’ Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. ‘What madness is this?’

  ‘Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,’ said Dumbledore, ‘or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!’

  ‘You – you cannot be serious!’ Fudge gasped, shaking his head, and retreating further from Dumbledore. ‘If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – end of my career –’

  ‘You are blinded,’ said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, ‘by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your Dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any – and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now – take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers for Magic we have ever known. Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside, and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!’

  ‘Insane,’ whispered Fudge, still backing away. ‘Mad …’

  And then there was silence. Madam Pomfrey was standing frozen at the foot of Harry’s bed, her hands over her mouth. Mrs Weasley was still standing over Harry, her hand on his shoulder to prevent him rising. Bill, Ron and Hermione were staring at Fudge.

  ‘If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius,’ said Dumbledore, ‘we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I – I shall act as I see fit.’

  Dumbledore’s voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore was advancing upon him with a wand.

  ‘Now, see here, Dumbledore,’ he said, waving a threatening finger. ‘I’ve given you free
rein, always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students, without reference to the Ministry. But if you’re going to work against me –’

  ‘The only one against whom I intend to work,’ said Dumbledore, ‘is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.’

  It seemed Fudge could think of no answer to this. He rocked backwards and forwards on his small feet for a moment, and spun his bowler hat in his hands.

  Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his voice, ‘He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be …’

  Snape strode forwards, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm, and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.

  ‘There,’ said Snape harshly. ‘There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was, an hour or so ago, when it burnt black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burnt into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing each other, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s, too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.’

  Fudge stepped back from Snape, too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a word Snape had said. He stared, apparently repelled, at the ugly mark on Snape’s arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, ‘I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.’