Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hp-4 Read online

  “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 realized 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 toward 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 destabilize 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 straightaway, 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 recognize 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 of 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 from 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 were 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 backward and forward 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 forward, 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 burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, 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 by 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.”

  He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the dormitory, and stopped at Harry’s bed.

  “Your winnings,” he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto Harry’s bedside table. “One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances…”

  He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at the group around Harry’s bed.

  “There is work to be done,” he said. “Molly… am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?”

  “Of course you can,” said Mrs. Weasley. She was white to the lips, but she looked resolute. “We know what Fudge is. It’s Arthur’s fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride.”

  “Then I need to send a message to Arthur,” said Dumbledore. “All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as shortsighted as Cornelius.”

  “I’ll go to Dad,” said Bill, standing up. “I’ll go now.”

  “Excellent,” said Dumbledore. “Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry—”

  “Leave it to me,” said Bill.

  He clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and strode quickly from the room.

  “Minerva,” said Dumbledore, turning to Professor McGonagall, “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also—if she will consent to come—Madame Maxime.” Professor McGonagall nodded and left without a word.

  “Poppy,” Dumbledore said to Madam Pomfrey, “would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody’s office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us.”

  “Very—very well,” said Madam Pomfrey, looking startled, and she too left.

  Dumbledore made sure that the door was closed, and that Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps had died away, before he spoke again.

  “And now,” he said, “it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius… if you could resume your usual form.”

  The great black dog looked up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, turned back into a man.

  Mrs. Weasley screamed and leapt back from the bed.

  “Sirius Black!” she shrieked, pointing at him.

  “Mum, shut up!” Ron yelled. “It’s okay!”

  Snape had not yelled or jumped backward, but the look on his face was one of mingled fury and horror.

  “Him!” he snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. “What is he doing here?”

  “He is here at my invitation,” said Dumbledore, looking between them, “as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other.”

  Harry thought Dumbledore was asking for a near miracle. Sirius and Snape were eyeing each other with the utmost loathing.

  “I will settle, in the short term,” said Dumbledore, with a bite of impatience in his voice, “for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any us.”

  Very slowly—but still glaring at each other as though each wished the other nothing but ill—Sirius and Snape moved toward each other and shook hands. They let go extremely quickly.

  “That will do to be going on with,” said Dumbledore, stepping between them once more. “Now I have work for each of you. Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher—the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while; I will contact you there.”

  “But—” said Harry.

  He wanted Sirius to stay. He did not want to have to say goodbye again so quickly.

  “You’ll see me very soon, Harry,” said Sirius, turning to him. “I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah… of course I do.”

  Sirius grasped his hand briefly, nodded to Dumbledore, transformed again into the black dog, and ran the length of the room to the door, whose handle he turned with a paw. Then he was gone.

  “Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…”

  “I am,” said Snape.

  He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

  “Then good luck,” said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

  It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again.

  “I must go downstairs,” he said finally. “I must see the Diggorys. Harry—take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later.”

  Harry slumped back against his pillows as Dumbledore disappeared. Hermione, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley were all looking at him. None of them spoke for a very long time.

  “You’ve got to take the rest of your potion, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said at last. Her hand nudged the sack of gold on his bedside cabinet as she reached for the bottle and the goblet. “You have a good long sleep. Try and think about something else for a while… think about what you’re going to buy with your winnings!”

  “I don’t want that gold,” said Harry in an expressionless voice. “You have it. Anyone can have it. I shouldn’t have won it. It should’ve been Cedric’s.”

  The thing against which he had been fighting on and off ever since he had come out of the maze was threatening to overpower him. He could feel a burning, prickling feeling in the inner corners of his eyes. He blinked and stared up at the ceiling.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley whispered.

  “I told
him to take the cup with me,” said Harry.

  Now the burning feeling was in his throat too. He wished Ron would look away.

  Mrs. Weasley set the potion down on the bedside cabinet, bent down, and put her arms around Harry. He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her. His mother’s face, his father’s voice, the sight of Cedric, dead on the ground all started spinning in his head until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him.

  There was a loud slamming noise, and Mrs. Weasley and Harry broke apart. Hermione was standing by the window. She was holding something tight in her hand.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Your potion, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley quickly, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

  Harry drank it in one gulp. The effect was instantaneous. Heavy, irresistible waves of dreamless sleep broke over him; he fell back onto his pillows and thought no more.

  37. THE BEGINNING

  When he looked back, even a month later, Harry found he had only scattered memories of the next few days. It was as though he had been through too much to take in any more. The recollections he did have were very painful. The worst, perhaps, was the meeting with the Diggorys that took place the following morning.

  They did not blame him for what had happened; on the contrary, both thanked him for returning Cedric’s body to them. Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs. Diggory’s grief seemed to be beyond tears.

  “He suffered very little then,” she said, when Harry had told her how Cedric had died. “And after all, Amos… he died just when he’d won the tournament. He must have been happy.”

  When they got to their feet, she looked down at Harry and said, “You look after yourself, now.” Harry seized the sack of gold on the bedside table.