Chapter Fourteen - The Resurrection
Crouch Junior’s confession took a full fifteen minutes, and things seemed to fall into place in Hermione’s head, much as they had in the Shrieking Shack the year before.
This time, however, it was just a little bit too late.
If only … Hindsight’s 20-20, I suppose …
For a few minutes, the office was silent, everyone staring at the now unconscious Barty Crouch Jr, still wearing a maniacal grin.
Hermione felt physically ill, her stomach churning at the thought of everything this man had done. Any shred of childhood innocence that she had somehow retained was now well and truly gone. She swallowed hard, determined not to start crying, and felt Harry’s arm tighten around her shoulder.
Looking disgusted, Dumbledore conjured thick, heavy cords that bound the fugitive tightly. “Minerva, can I ask you to stand guard while I take Harry upstairs?”
“Of course.” McGonagall looked sickened, but she moved away from the two Gryffindors and drew her wand, aiming it at Crouch with a perfectly steady hand.
“Hermione?”
Hermione started at the use of her first name and looked up into the Headmaster’s face.
“Do you need the Hospital Wing?”
Hermione looked at Harry, who was still staring at Crouch. “I could do with a Calming Draught, sir, but it can wait if Harry wants me to stay with him …”
“I do.” Harry said quietly, turning to look at her. “Please?”
Hermione squeezed the hand not on her shoulder. “Of course.”
Dumbledore didn’t appear surprised. “Very well. Severus, if you could, I would like you to fetch Madame Pomfrey and help her get Alastor to the infirmary. Then I would like you to go down to the grounds and alert Cornelius Fudge – no doubt he will want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the Hospital Wing in a half an hour’s time if he needs me.”
Snape nodded briskly and swept from the room, his robes billowing behind him. Dumbledore nodded to Hermione and she stood up, pulling Harry to his feet.
He swayed dangerously, and she tucked herself under his arm again, frowning as he leaned heavily on her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t take his weight – Harry was ridiculously light – but it was unlike him to admit so readily to needing help, even if it was silently.
“What happened to your leg?” She asked in a whisper.
“Maze.” Harry answered shortly. “Acromantula.”
Hermione bit her lip, only just managing to avoid swearing in front of the headmaster. “Whose brilliant idea was it to put one of those things in the maze?!” She whispered furiously. “They could have …” She cut herself off hastily, before she could comment on the likelihood of a fatality, but Harry didn’t seem to notice as they made their way into the dark corridor.
“I want you to come to my office first.” Dumbledore told them quietly. “Sirius, Amanda and Arabella are waiting for us there.”
Hermione had completely forgotten that Dumbledore had sent McGonagall to find them, and felt a rush of relief flood through her. She glanced sideways at her best friend and felt her heart clench – just what had happened when he left the maze?
What little he had said seemed unbelievable – or, rather, it seemed too horrible for her to want to believe it. His emotions seemed to be swimming in an ocean of numbness, for which she was grateful, because her head was pounding, and she was sure that when he finally surfaced, they were bound to escape for once.
James and Lily walked either side of them, an invisible sentry, and it was James that broke the silence first, though only Hermione could hear him.
“Hermione,” he said quietly, “it might sound stupid, but … we don’t want Dumbledore knowing about us. There’s something froggy about all this.”
“Froggy?” Lily repeated, a faint glimmer of amusement seeping into her tone.
“Isn’t that the Muggle phrase?” James asked, sounding a little proud. “See, honey, I do listen.”
“Fishy, sweetheart.” Lily corrected. “There’s something fishy about all this.”
Hermione coughed, covering the snort of laughter that threatened to escape, but she leaned in closer to Harry, repeating their request in a murmur.
Harry looked confused, but nodded, before clearing his throat. “Professor Dumbledore?” His voice echoed through the silent corridor. “Where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?”
Hermione and Lily exchanged a fond smile. Trust Harry to think of everyone else first.
“They are with Professor Sprout.” For the first time, Dumbledore’s voice shook slightly, and James breathed a sigh that sounded relieved. “She was Cedric’s head of house and she … she knew him best.”
They reached the gargoyle, which sprang aside without a password, and they stepped on to the spiral staircase, which slowly carried them up to the heavy oak door.
The three occupants looked up when they entered, each of them white-faced and bearing the same fear-filled expression.
For a second, there was silence, and then Mandy let out a choked sob and darted forwards. “Oh, Harry!”
“His leg …” Hermione said hoarsely, before she could throw her arms around him. “He’s hurt.”
“Thank you.” Mandy helped him to one of the heavy chairs, sitting him down to hug him tightly. “Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright!”
“What happened, Harry?” Arabella asked softly, kneeling in front of him. “I knew it – I knew something like this would happen.”
Hermione stayed where she was, unable to move. The nausea welled up inside her again and she closed her eyes, swaying dangerously as she tried to swallow it back. Tears pricked behind her eyelids, and when she opened them again, Sirius was standing in front of her. “Are you alright?”
“Cedric’s dead.” Hermione said softly, looking up into his face. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Sirius flicked his wand and turned her hastily towards the bowl he had just conjured, as her stomach promptly emptied itself.
Once she was reduced to dry heaving, now through sobs, Sirius vanished the bowl and led her over to the sofa. She collapsed into his offered embrace, tears seeping into his robes as he stroked her hair soothingly. She vaguely heard Dumbledore telling the three Marauders about Crouch, and what he had confessed.
As the story came to a close and Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk, Hermione finally managed to pull herself together. “Sorry.” She mumbled, sitting up.
Sirius handed her a tissue. “You’re taking it better than I would have at your age.”
“Much better.” Mandy agreed.
“Harry, I need to know what happened when you touched that Portkey.” Dumbledore said quietly.
“We can leave that until morning, can’t we?” Sirius asked sharply, as Mandy rested a protective hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Dumbledore did not answer. In the corner, Fawkes sang one long, quivering note, and seemed to send warmth flooding through Hermione, right through to her very soul.
Seeing Harry’s pleading look, Hermione stood up, relieved to find that her earlier vertigo seemed to have vanished with her dinner. She knew that Harry would tell them, simply because he needed to get it all out now.
On shaky legs, she made her way to the chair beside Harry, hearing Sirius follow her, and sank into it, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly.
Harry took a deep breath. “It took us to a graveyard. Looked like a private one; the graves were all really big and it looked like it was attached to this big, creepy old manor house. Cedric and I pulled out our wands … there was a cauldron, a huge one … Then a man appeared holding a bundle. A voice said “Kill the spare”, there …” he faltered, his voice catching “… there was a flash of green light and … and Cedric was … he was dead.”
Mandy moved as if to pull Harry into her arms again, but Sirius stopped her, shaking his head. She frowned, but resisted.
Hermione agreed with Sirius though; Harry needed to get all of this out in one go, or he’d never finish. The words echoed in her mind. The spare. That’s all he was to them. Tears welled in her eyes once more, and she wiped them away with a free hand.
“The man tied me to a headstone labelled Tom Riddle.” Harry said softly, glancing at Hermione. She understood, but, judging by the perplexed expressions of Sirius, Mandy and Arabella, they didn’t. She could also see that there was something about this man that Harry was reluctant to tell.
“Who was it, Harry?” Hermione prompted softly, falling into the role of straight woman.
Harry sighed. “Wormtail. It was Wormtail.”
The three adults tensed behind them, and Hermione chanced a glance at Mandy, who had gone even paler, which she had previously considered impossible. She turned to Arabella, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders and exchanged a dark look with Sirius.
“He lit a fire at the base of the cauldron and whatever was inside started bubbling. Then he opened the bundle and took out … something. Like a baby, but … but horrible.” Harry shuddered, and Hermione tightened her grip. “He put it in the cauldron and started doing this … this ritual.”
Hermione closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply. She knew there was nothing in her stomach to come up, but she also knew that wouldn’t stop her body from reacting.
Sirius’s hand rested on her shoulder and she leaned into him, unashamedly seeking comfort.
“Bone of the father …” Harry said hoarsely. “Dust lifted from the grave I was standing on, went into the cauldron. Flesh of the servant … Wormtail … he … he cut off his right hand …”
Mandy let out a small cry and began to sob, crumbling into Arabella’s arms. Sirius moved to stand between the two teenagers, his other hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder.
“Blood of the enemy …” Harry swallowed hard. “He … He cut my arm and …”
“Dammit!” Sirius hissed.
Dumbledore stood up faster than Hermione would have considered possible and told Harry to stretch out his arm. Harry did so, revealing the tear in his sleeve and the cut beneath it.
“He said my blood would make him stronger than if he’d used someone else’s.” Harry said, staring at the cut himself. “He said the protection Mum left in me … it would be in him too. And he was right … he could touch me now. It didn’t hurt him … just me.”
Hermione could hear Lily muttering under her breath as she hovered between Harry and Mandy, but she didn’t bother trying to catch the words – she had a feeling she didn’t want to know. She stared at Harry in horror, unable to comprehend everything her best friend had gone through in the last few hours and why it had to be him anyway. Wasn’t it someone else’s turn to save the day by now?
As though reading her mind, Sirius moved his hand to grasp hers tightly.
Dumbledore had seated himself behind his desk again. “Very well. Voldemort has overcome that particular obstacle. Please continue, Harry.”
Harry took another shuddering breath, clinging to Hermione’s hand like a lifeline. “For a moment, nothing happened. But then … he climbed out of the cauldron … Voldemort … he came back … He used Wormtail’s Dark Mark to call the Death Eaters … gave Wormtail a silver hand …”
Hermione furrowed her brow. Even as a reward, that seemed too nice of Voldemort. There had to be a catch somewhere.
“He forgave the Death Eaters … at least I think he did.” Harry frowned. “He seemed pretty angry with them … said they should have known that he wasn’t gone … that he had travelled further than any other down the path of immortality. He addressed them by name.” He glanced at Hermione, who didn’t need prompting to rummage in her cloak for a piece of parchment and a quill.
“Could I borrow some ink, sir?” She asked softly.
Dumbledore pushed an ink-pot towards her. “A wise idea, Miss Granger.”
Blushing slightly, Hermione loaded the quill and nodded to Harry.
“Lucius Malfoy … Crabbe and Goyle Sr … Macnair … Nott … Avery …” Harry listed. “He passed over quite a few of them … There were about thirty there.”
“I’m sure there’s more than that.” Hermione murmured. “That was probably his most faithful, right?”
“As always.” Sirius confirmed from behind her. “His inner circle. I suppose there were gaps?”
Harry nodded. “There was one really big one. He said that three people in that gap were dead, one was too cowardly to return …”
“Karkaroff.” Hermione put in.
Harry nodded. “One he believed had left him forever, and one who was his most loyal.”
“Crouch.” Hermione scowled.
“He told them that he was the reason I was there. He …” Harry’s voice, which had got stronger, shook and died. “He cast the Cruciatus Curse on me.”
Now Arabella let out a cry, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, but no one moved, staring in horror at Harry.
“Wormtail untied me … gave me my wand back … Voldemort forced me to duel …” Harry closed his eyes. “Every single spell promptly flew out of my head.”
“I’ve been there.” Sirius murmured. The ‘but you shouldn’t have been’ was left unspoken.
“He cast the Killing Curse and I cast the Disarming Charm …” Harry sighed. “In hindsight, it seems stupid.”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Hermione asked gently.
“Our wands connected …” Harry said, opening his eyes finally.
“The wands connected?” Sirius repeated. “Why?”
“Priori Incantatem.” Dumbledore murmured, catching Harry’s eye.
“The reverse spell effect?” Arabella questioned, sounding confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s wand share cores.” Dumbledore explained. “Each contains a feather from the same phoenix.”
Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. Harry had never mentioned that – although she could hardly blame him.
His eyes flickered in her direction and she attempted a smile, squeezing his hand comfortingly.
“This phoenix, in fact.” Dumbledore added, effectively distracting Harry.
“My wand’s core came from Fawkes?” He asked.
“Indeed it did. Mr Ollivander wrote to me the moment you left his shop four years ago, to tell me that you had been chosen by the second wand.”
“So what happens when a wand meets its brother?” Sirius asked.
Hermione opened her mouth automatically, then closed it again.
Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “Do you know, Miss Granger?”
Hermione blushed slightly. “Brother wands will not work properly against one another. If the wands are forced to duel, one of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed in reverse until the connection is broken.”
“Correct; ten points to Gryffindor.” Dumbledore glanced at Harry. “Which means that some form of Cedric appeared.”
Mandy gasped. “He … He came back to life?”
“Unfortunately, no spell can reawaken the dead.” Dumbledore said heavily. “All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo … a shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand … am I correct, Harry?”
Harry nodded, his hand tightening around Hermione’s, seeking reassurance. “He told me to hang on … And then an old man appeared, with a walking stick … I think he was a Muggle; he said something about Voldemort being a real wizard and that I could beat him. And then a woman appeared – I think it was Bertha Jorkins … she told me to hold on … and then …” He swallowed hard. “Then Mum appeared … she told me to hang on because Dad wanted to see me … and then …”
“Then your father appeared.” Hermione finished softly, seeing that Harry was having trouble.
Harry nodded, and Mandy finally freed herself from Arabella’s arms and pulled Harry into a hug. He accepted it gratefully, releasing Hermione’s hand to bury his face in her shoulder.
Hermione looked up at Sirius, who was watching them with an unreadable expression. She’d never tried to push thoughts into other people’s heads, but now seemed as good a time as any to try it.
James and Lily want to keep this a secret from Dumbledore for now. I’ll tell Mandy and Arabella later.
For a second, Hermione didn’t think it had worked – at least, Sirius didn’t seem startled by a sudden voice in his head – but then he caught her eye and nodded slightly.
“What happened then, Pumpkin?” Mandy asked softly, running a rhythmic hand through his hair.
“Dad told me that they could stay for a few moments to give me some time, but that I needed to get back to the Triwizard Cup …” Harry answered, turning his head so they could hear him. “Cedric … he asked me to bring his body back … When Dad told me to, I broke the connection and ran to Cedric … I summoned the Cup and we landed back on the Quidditch pitch.”
A sudden lack of pressure on her shoulder caused Hermione to look up again. Sirius had slumped into another chair, his hands over his face.
With a rushing sound, Fawkes took off from his perch and landed on the floor beside Harry’s leg. Resting his crimson head against the wound, he sang a few notes, and two pearly white tears slid from his feathers onto Harry.
Hermione watched with no shortage of relief as the skin healed, knitting back together like the wound had never been there.
“Thank you, Fawkes.” She breathed, knowing better than to reach out and touch the beautiful bird. Phoenixes were notoriously difficult to handle, and very picky about who handled them. They were even pickier about who they donated their tears to, and Fawkes had cried on Harry twice now.
To her surprise, the phoenix fluttered up to her knee, looking her straight in the eye. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and she lifted a hand, hesitating, but Fawkes butted his head against it, allowing her to stroke his feathers.
After a few seconds, Fawkes seemed to find what he was looking for in her eyes. He sang a few melodic notes that sent shivers down her spine and flew back to his perch, tucking his head under his wing.
“Hermione?” Sirius asked quietly. “What was all that about?”
Hermione shook her head slowly. “I have no idea.”
A soft cough brought their attention back to the Headmaster, whose eyes were twinkling as though he knew something they didn’t. A quick scan of the surface, however, told Hermione a whole other story – he was as befuddled as she was and he didn’t like it.
“You have shown bravery beyond anything I would have expected of you tonight, Harry.” Dumbledore told him gravely. “You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Lord Voldemort at the height of his powers and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the Hospital Wing – I do not want you returning to your dorm tonight.”
It was a mark of how awful Harry felt that he didn’t argue at this – normally, it took Hermione a good two hours to get him to even go near the infirmary.
“We’ll stay with you, pumpkin.” Arabella told him softly. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Thanks.” Harry mumbled, standing up. His leg may have healed, but the exhaustion and after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse were starting to hit him, and he sagged against her as she wrapped an arm around him.
“Sirius?” Dumbledore asked. “Would you like to stay with him?”
“Ask a silly question.” James muttered.
Hermione disguised her snort with a cough, while Sirius simply nodded and transformed into Padfoot, pressing himself against her legs.
The six made their way to the hospital wing, where – rather predictably – they found Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Ginny, talking nine yards a minute, grouped around Madam Pomfrey, who looked very hassled.
Everyone looked up when they entered, and Mrs Weasley let out a muffled scream, moving towards them. “Harry! Oh, Harry!”
“Not now, Molly.” Mandy said firmly, stepping between them. “Harry has been through an awful ordeal tonight and he just had to relive it for us. What he needs is peace and sleep and quiet.”
“Indeed.” Dumbledore agreed. “You are welcome to stay with him, but I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer.”
The intervention seemed to have quelled Mrs Weasley’s initial reaction, for which Hermione was grateful. She loved the woman dearly, but she could be a little overbearing and that really wasn’t what Harry needed right now.
Mrs Weasley nodded seriously, before rounding on the other three. “Did you hear? He needs quiet!” She hissed, as though her children had expressed a wish to throw a party right there.
Harry cleared his throat, catching Hermione’s attention. She caught his eye and he lifted his left hand to his forehead, tracing a circle around his scar, before tapping his belt where his wand was.
Hermione glanced down at her right hand and made a fist, before opening and closing it rapidly, silently assuring him that she understood. When the Weasleys asked her (which she knew Ron would), she would tell them everything, except the connection between the wands.
“Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey said suddenly, eyeing Padfoot with trepidation, “may I ask what …?”
“This dog will be staying with Harry for a while.” Dumbledore informed her vaguely. “I assure you he is incredibly well-trained.”
“Oh, very well.” Madam Pomfrey huffed, ushering Harry to a bed.
Hermione moved over to the window, sinking onto a seat and resting her head against the wall.
“Padfoot,” Mandy said quietly, “go and wait with Hermione while we get Harry settled, okay?”
Padfoot trotted over to where Hermione sat, jumping on to the chair beside her, resting his head on her knee. She didn’t look down, but rested a hand on his head.
Arabella smiled innocently. “I swear he understands everything we say.” She glanced at Mrs Weasley, who was staring at Padfoot as though she’d seen a ghost. “I assure you, Molly, his uncanny resemblance to a Grim is merely coincidence. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Rats, he doesn’t like.” Ginny added sweetly, earning a chuckle from Ron and a glare from Hermione.
“Harry, I will wait here until you are settled.” Dumbledore told him. “Then I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Minister Fudge. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.”
“What about the rest of term?” Bill asked, a sharp tone in his voice. “There’s still two weeks.”
“I’m alright.” Harry insisted in a whisper. “I’m just tired.”
Hermione snorted mentally, but didn’t retort, even as the doors to the hospital wing opened.
Fred and George, both white-faced, strode into the Hospital Wing, only to be intercepted by their mother.
“Sorry we’re late …” Fred said.
“… we had to talk the girls out of coming.” George finished.
Hermione couldn’t help smiling. “How did you do that?”
“Promised them they could …”
“… fuss over Harry all they liked tomorrow.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks guys; throw me to the wolves, why don’t you?”
“Come on, Harry.” Madam Pomfrey said softly, guiding him behind a curtain.
The Weasleys approached Hermione, Molly explaining what they knew to the twins in an undertone.
“Hey Padfoot.” Ron greeted, scratching his ears.
Hermione saw the twins perk up at the nickname and gave them a warning glance. Thankfully, for once, they listened, not trying to question them.
“Is he really alright?” Ron asked.
“Ron!” Mrs Weasley hissed.
“It’s alright, Mrs Weasley.” Hermione said tiredly. “Harry told me I could tell you.” Even as she spoke, her eyes were darting around the room, making absolutely certain they couldn’t be overheard.
After all, if she was right about Rita Skeeter, locked doors would make no …
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
There was a beetle on the window sill. A beetle with markings very similar to the glasses Rita wore … much like the beetle Viktor had pulled from her hair on the bank of the lake … like the beetle Ginny had noticed on a statue when she and Ron accidentally overheard Hagrid admitting he was a half-giant … like the beetle Hermione was sure had been fluttering around the Divination classroom when Harry had his last dream …
She caught Ginny’s eye, nodding towards the window.
Ginny glanced that way and nodded, dropping both of the bags she carried to the chair on Hermione’s other side. “I got your bag, Hermione.” She said casually, moving over to the window. “It’s a bit chilly in here, isn’t it?”
The window slammed shut, causing everyone to jump.
“Sorry.” Ginny said sheepishly. “Wind caught it.”
Hermione smiled weakly. “It’s fine. Gin, if you don’t mind me filling you in later, could you run my bag back to the dorm please?”
“Sure.” Ginny shouldered the two bags again, one hand in a tight fist. “I’ll see you later. Feel better, Harry.”
“Hermione,” Ron prompted as Ginny hurried away. “What happened?”
Hermione sighed. “Well … you’re not going to believe who put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire …”
This time, however, it was just a little bit too late.
If only … Hindsight’s 20-20, I suppose …
For a few minutes, the office was silent, everyone staring at the now unconscious Barty Crouch Jr, still wearing a maniacal grin.
Hermione felt physically ill, her stomach churning at the thought of everything this man had done. Any shred of childhood innocence that she had somehow retained was now well and truly gone. She swallowed hard, determined not to start crying, and felt Harry’s arm tighten around her shoulder.
Looking disgusted, Dumbledore conjured thick, heavy cords that bound the fugitive tightly. “Minerva, can I ask you to stand guard while I take Harry upstairs?”
“Of course.” McGonagall looked sickened, but she moved away from the two Gryffindors and drew her wand, aiming it at Crouch with a perfectly steady hand.
“Hermione?”
Hermione started at the use of her first name and looked up into the Headmaster’s face.
“Do you need the Hospital Wing?”
Hermione looked at Harry, who was still staring at Crouch. “I could do with a Calming Draught, sir, but it can wait if Harry wants me to stay with him …”
“I do.” Harry said quietly, turning to look at her. “Please?”
Hermione squeezed the hand not on her shoulder. “Of course.”
Dumbledore didn’t appear surprised. “Very well. Severus, if you could, I would like you to fetch Madame Pomfrey and help her get Alastor to the infirmary. Then I would like you to go down to the grounds and alert Cornelius Fudge – no doubt he will want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the Hospital Wing in a half an hour’s time if he needs me.”
Snape nodded briskly and swept from the room, his robes billowing behind him. Dumbledore nodded to Hermione and she stood up, pulling Harry to his feet.
He swayed dangerously, and she tucked herself under his arm again, frowning as he leaned heavily on her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t take his weight – Harry was ridiculously light – but it was unlike him to admit so readily to needing help, even if it was silently.
“What happened to your leg?” She asked in a whisper.
“Maze.” Harry answered shortly. “Acromantula.”
Hermione bit her lip, only just managing to avoid swearing in front of the headmaster. “Whose brilliant idea was it to put one of those things in the maze?!” She whispered furiously. “They could have …” She cut herself off hastily, before she could comment on the likelihood of a fatality, but Harry didn’t seem to notice as they made their way into the dark corridor.
“I want you to come to my office first.” Dumbledore told them quietly. “Sirius, Amanda and Arabella are waiting for us there.”
Hermione had completely forgotten that Dumbledore had sent McGonagall to find them, and felt a rush of relief flood through her. She glanced sideways at her best friend and felt her heart clench – just what had happened when he left the maze?
What little he had said seemed unbelievable – or, rather, it seemed too horrible for her to want to believe it. His emotions seemed to be swimming in an ocean of numbness, for which she was grateful, because her head was pounding, and she was sure that when he finally surfaced, they were bound to escape for once.
James and Lily walked either side of them, an invisible sentry, and it was James that broke the silence first, though only Hermione could hear him.
“Hermione,” he said quietly, “it might sound stupid, but … we don’t want Dumbledore knowing about us. There’s something froggy about all this.”
“Froggy?” Lily repeated, a faint glimmer of amusement seeping into her tone.
“Isn’t that the Muggle phrase?” James asked, sounding a little proud. “See, honey, I do listen.”
“Fishy, sweetheart.” Lily corrected. “There’s something fishy about all this.”
Hermione coughed, covering the snort of laughter that threatened to escape, but she leaned in closer to Harry, repeating their request in a murmur.
Harry looked confused, but nodded, before clearing his throat. “Professor Dumbledore?” His voice echoed through the silent corridor. “Where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?”
Hermione and Lily exchanged a fond smile. Trust Harry to think of everyone else first.
“They are with Professor Sprout.” For the first time, Dumbledore’s voice shook slightly, and James breathed a sigh that sounded relieved. “She was Cedric’s head of house and she … she knew him best.”
They reached the gargoyle, which sprang aside without a password, and they stepped on to the spiral staircase, which slowly carried them up to the heavy oak door.
The three occupants looked up when they entered, each of them white-faced and bearing the same fear-filled expression.
For a second, there was silence, and then Mandy let out a choked sob and darted forwards. “Oh, Harry!”
“His leg …” Hermione said hoarsely, before she could throw her arms around him. “He’s hurt.”
“Thank you.” Mandy helped him to one of the heavy chairs, sitting him down to hug him tightly. “Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright!”
“What happened, Harry?” Arabella asked softly, kneeling in front of him. “I knew it – I knew something like this would happen.”
Hermione stayed where she was, unable to move. The nausea welled up inside her again and she closed her eyes, swaying dangerously as she tried to swallow it back. Tears pricked behind her eyelids, and when she opened them again, Sirius was standing in front of her. “Are you alright?”
“Cedric’s dead.” Hermione said softly, looking up into his face. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Sirius flicked his wand and turned her hastily towards the bowl he had just conjured, as her stomach promptly emptied itself.
Once she was reduced to dry heaving, now through sobs, Sirius vanished the bowl and led her over to the sofa. She collapsed into his offered embrace, tears seeping into his robes as he stroked her hair soothingly. She vaguely heard Dumbledore telling the three Marauders about Crouch, and what he had confessed.
As the story came to a close and Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk, Hermione finally managed to pull herself together. “Sorry.” She mumbled, sitting up.
Sirius handed her a tissue. “You’re taking it better than I would have at your age.”
“Much better.” Mandy agreed.
“Harry, I need to know what happened when you touched that Portkey.” Dumbledore said quietly.
“We can leave that until morning, can’t we?” Sirius asked sharply, as Mandy rested a protective hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Dumbledore did not answer. In the corner, Fawkes sang one long, quivering note, and seemed to send warmth flooding through Hermione, right through to her very soul.
Seeing Harry’s pleading look, Hermione stood up, relieved to find that her earlier vertigo seemed to have vanished with her dinner. She knew that Harry would tell them, simply because he needed to get it all out now.
On shaky legs, she made her way to the chair beside Harry, hearing Sirius follow her, and sank into it, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly.
Harry took a deep breath. “It took us to a graveyard. Looked like a private one; the graves were all really big and it looked like it was attached to this big, creepy old manor house. Cedric and I pulled out our wands … there was a cauldron, a huge one … Then a man appeared holding a bundle. A voice said “Kill the spare”, there …” he faltered, his voice catching “… there was a flash of green light and … and Cedric was … he was dead.”
Mandy moved as if to pull Harry into her arms again, but Sirius stopped her, shaking his head. She frowned, but resisted.
Hermione agreed with Sirius though; Harry needed to get all of this out in one go, or he’d never finish. The words echoed in her mind. The spare. That’s all he was to them. Tears welled in her eyes once more, and she wiped them away with a free hand.
“The man tied me to a headstone labelled Tom Riddle.” Harry said softly, glancing at Hermione. She understood, but, judging by the perplexed expressions of Sirius, Mandy and Arabella, they didn’t. She could also see that there was something about this man that Harry was reluctant to tell.
“Who was it, Harry?” Hermione prompted softly, falling into the role of straight woman.
Harry sighed. “Wormtail. It was Wormtail.”
The three adults tensed behind them, and Hermione chanced a glance at Mandy, who had gone even paler, which she had previously considered impossible. She turned to Arabella, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders and exchanged a dark look with Sirius.
“He lit a fire at the base of the cauldron and whatever was inside started bubbling. Then he opened the bundle and took out … something. Like a baby, but … but horrible.” Harry shuddered, and Hermione tightened her grip. “He put it in the cauldron and started doing this … this ritual.”
Hermione closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply. She knew there was nothing in her stomach to come up, but she also knew that wouldn’t stop her body from reacting.
Sirius’s hand rested on her shoulder and she leaned into him, unashamedly seeking comfort.
“Bone of the father …” Harry said hoarsely. “Dust lifted from the grave I was standing on, went into the cauldron. Flesh of the servant … Wormtail … he … he cut off his right hand …”
Mandy let out a small cry and began to sob, crumbling into Arabella’s arms. Sirius moved to stand between the two teenagers, his other hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder.
“Blood of the enemy …” Harry swallowed hard. “He … He cut my arm and …”
“Dammit!” Sirius hissed.
Dumbledore stood up faster than Hermione would have considered possible and told Harry to stretch out his arm. Harry did so, revealing the tear in his sleeve and the cut beneath it.
“He said my blood would make him stronger than if he’d used someone else’s.” Harry said, staring at the cut himself. “He said the protection Mum left in me … it would be in him too. And he was right … he could touch me now. It didn’t hurt him … just me.”
Hermione could hear Lily muttering under her breath as she hovered between Harry and Mandy, but she didn’t bother trying to catch the words – she had a feeling she didn’t want to know. She stared at Harry in horror, unable to comprehend everything her best friend had gone through in the last few hours and why it had to be him anyway. Wasn’t it someone else’s turn to save the day by now?
As though reading her mind, Sirius moved his hand to grasp hers tightly.
Dumbledore had seated himself behind his desk again. “Very well. Voldemort has overcome that particular obstacle. Please continue, Harry.”
Harry took another shuddering breath, clinging to Hermione’s hand like a lifeline. “For a moment, nothing happened. But then … he climbed out of the cauldron … Voldemort … he came back … He used Wormtail’s Dark Mark to call the Death Eaters … gave Wormtail a silver hand …”
Hermione furrowed her brow. Even as a reward, that seemed too nice of Voldemort. There had to be a catch somewhere.
“He forgave the Death Eaters … at least I think he did.” Harry frowned. “He seemed pretty angry with them … said they should have known that he wasn’t gone … that he had travelled further than any other down the path of immortality. He addressed them by name.” He glanced at Hermione, who didn’t need prompting to rummage in her cloak for a piece of parchment and a quill.
“Could I borrow some ink, sir?” She asked softly.
Dumbledore pushed an ink-pot towards her. “A wise idea, Miss Granger.”
Blushing slightly, Hermione loaded the quill and nodded to Harry.
“Lucius Malfoy … Crabbe and Goyle Sr … Macnair … Nott … Avery …” Harry listed. “He passed over quite a few of them … There were about thirty there.”
“I’m sure there’s more than that.” Hermione murmured. “That was probably his most faithful, right?”
“As always.” Sirius confirmed from behind her. “His inner circle. I suppose there were gaps?”
Harry nodded. “There was one really big one. He said that three people in that gap were dead, one was too cowardly to return …”
“Karkaroff.” Hermione put in.
Harry nodded. “One he believed had left him forever, and one who was his most loyal.”
“Crouch.” Hermione scowled.
“He told them that he was the reason I was there. He …” Harry’s voice, which had got stronger, shook and died. “He cast the Cruciatus Curse on me.”
Now Arabella let out a cry, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, but no one moved, staring in horror at Harry.
“Wormtail untied me … gave me my wand back … Voldemort forced me to duel …” Harry closed his eyes. “Every single spell promptly flew out of my head.”
“I’ve been there.” Sirius murmured. The ‘but you shouldn’t have been’ was left unspoken.
“He cast the Killing Curse and I cast the Disarming Charm …” Harry sighed. “In hindsight, it seems stupid.”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Hermione asked gently.
“Our wands connected …” Harry said, opening his eyes finally.
“The wands connected?” Sirius repeated. “Why?”
“Priori Incantatem.” Dumbledore murmured, catching Harry’s eye.
“The reverse spell effect?” Arabella questioned, sounding confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s wand share cores.” Dumbledore explained. “Each contains a feather from the same phoenix.”
Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. Harry had never mentioned that – although she could hardly blame him.
His eyes flickered in her direction and she attempted a smile, squeezing his hand comfortingly.
“This phoenix, in fact.” Dumbledore added, effectively distracting Harry.
“My wand’s core came from Fawkes?” He asked.
“Indeed it did. Mr Ollivander wrote to me the moment you left his shop four years ago, to tell me that you had been chosen by the second wand.”
“So what happens when a wand meets its brother?” Sirius asked.
Hermione opened her mouth automatically, then closed it again.
Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “Do you know, Miss Granger?”
Hermione blushed slightly. “Brother wands will not work properly against one another. If the wands are forced to duel, one of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed in reverse until the connection is broken.”
“Correct; ten points to Gryffindor.” Dumbledore glanced at Harry. “Which means that some form of Cedric appeared.”
Mandy gasped. “He … He came back to life?”
“Unfortunately, no spell can reawaken the dead.” Dumbledore said heavily. “All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo … a shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand … am I correct, Harry?”
Harry nodded, his hand tightening around Hermione’s, seeking reassurance. “He told me to hang on … And then an old man appeared, with a walking stick … I think he was a Muggle; he said something about Voldemort being a real wizard and that I could beat him. And then a woman appeared – I think it was Bertha Jorkins … she told me to hold on … and then …” He swallowed hard. “Then Mum appeared … she told me to hang on because Dad wanted to see me … and then …”
“Then your father appeared.” Hermione finished softly, seeing that Harry was having trouble.
Harry nodded, and Mandy finally freed herself from Arabella’s arms and pulled Harry into a hug. He accepted it gratefully, releasing Hermione’s hand to bury his face in her shoulder.
Hermione looked up at Sirius, who was watching them with an unreadable expression. She’d never tried to push thoughts into other people’s heads, but now seemed as good a time as any to try it.
James and Lily want to keep this a secret from Dumbledore for now. I’ll tell Mandy and Arabella later.
For a second, Hermione didn’t think it had worked – at least, Sirius didn’t seem startled by a sudden voice in his head – but then he caught her eye and nodded slightly.
“What happened then, Pumpkin?” Mandy asked softly, running a rhythmic hand through his hair.
“Dad told me that they could stay for a few moments to give me some time, but that I needed to get back to the Triwizard Cup …” Harry answered, turning his head so they could hear him. “Cedric … he asked me to bring his body back … When Dad told me to, I broke the connection and ran to Cedric … I summoned the Cup and we landed back on the Quidditch pitch.”
A sudden lack of pressure on her shoulder caused Hermione to look up again. Sirius had slumped into another chair, his hands over his face.
With a rushing sound, Fawkes took off from his perch and landed on the floor beside Harry’s leg. Resting his crimson head against the wound, he sang a few notes, and two pearly white tears slid from his feathers onto Harry.
Hermione watched with no shortage of relief as the skin healed, knitting back together like the wound had never been there.
“Thank you, Fawkes.” She breathed, knowing better than to reach out and touch the beautiful bird. Phoenixes were notoriously difficult to handle, and very picky about who handled them. They were even pickier about who they donated their tears to, and Fawkes had cried on Harry twice now.
To her surprise, the phoenix fluttered up to her knee, looking her straight in the eye. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and she lifted a hand, hesitating, but Fawkes butted his head against it, allowing her to stroke his feathers.
After a few seconds, Fawkes seemed to find what he was looking for in her eyes. He sang a few melodic notes that sent shivers down her spine and flew back to his perch, tucking his head under his wing.
“Hermione?” Sirius asked quietly. “What was all that about?”
Hermione shook her head slowly. “I have no idea.”
A soft cough brought their attention back to the Headmaster, whose eyes were twinkling as though he knew something they didn’t. A quick scan of the surface, however, told Hermione a whole other story – he was as befuddled as she was and he didn’t like it.
“You have shown bravery beyond anything I would have expected of you tonight, Harry.” Dumbledore told him gravely. “You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Lord Voldemort at the height of his powers and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the Hospital Wing – I do not want you returning to your dorm tonight.”
It was a mark of how awful Harry felt that he didn’t argue at this – normally, it took Hermione a good two hours to get him to even go near the infirmary.
“We’ll stay with you, pumpkin.” Arabella told him softly. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Thanks.” Harry mumbled, standing up. His leg may have healed, but the exhaustion and after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse were starting to hit him, and he sagged against her as she wrapped an arm around him.
“Sirius?” Dumbledore asked. “Would you like to stay with him?”
“Ask a silly question.” James muttered.
Hermione disguised her snort with a cough, while Sirius simply nodded and transformed into Padfoot, pressing himself against her legs.
The six made their way to the hospital wing, where – rather predictably – they found Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Ginny, talking nine yards a minute, grouped around Madam Pomfrey, who looked very hassled.
Everyone looked up when they entered, and Mrs Weasley let out a muffled scream, moving towards them. “Harry! Oh, Harry!”
“Not now, Molly.” Mandy said firmly, stepping between them. “Harry has been through an awful ordeal tonight and he just had to relive it for us. What he needs is peace and sleep and quiet.”
“Indeed.” Dumbledore agreed. “You are welcome to stay with him, but I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer.”
The intervention seemed to have quelled Mrs Weasley’s initial reaction, for which Hermione was grateful. She loved the woman dearly, but she could be a little overbearing and that really wasn’t what Harry needed right now.
Mrs Weasley nodded seriously, before rounding on the other three. “Did you hear? He needs quiet!” She hissed, as though her children had expressed a wish to throw a party right there.
Harry cleared his throat, catching Hermione’s attention. She caught his eye and he lifted his left hand to his forehead, tracing a circle around his scar, before tapping his belt where his wand was.
Hermione glanced down at her right hand and made a fist, before opening and closing it rapidly, silently assuring him that she understood. When the Weasleys asked her (which she knew Ron would), she would tell them everything, except the connection between the wands.
“Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey said suddenly, eyeing Padfoot with trepidation, “may I ask what …?”
“This dog will be staying with Harry for a while.” Dumbledore informed her vaguely. “I assure you he is incredibly well-trained.”
“Oh, very well.” Madam Pomfrey huffed, ushering Harry to a bed.
Hermione moved over to the window, sinking onto a seat and resting her head against the wall.
“Padfoot,” Mandy said quietly, “go and wait with Hermione while we get Harry settled, okay?”
Padfoot trotted over to where Hermione sat, jumping on to the chair beside her, resting his head on her knee. She didn’t look down, but rested a hand on his head.
Arabella smiled innocently. “I swear he understands everything we say.” She glanced at Mrs Weasley, who was staring at Padfoot as though she’d seen a ghost. “I assure you, Molly, his uncanny resemblance to a Grim is merely coincidence. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Rats, he doesn’t like.” Ginny added sweetly, earning a chuckle from Ron and a glare from Hermione.
“Harry, I will wait here until you are settled.” Dumbledore told him. “Then I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Minister Fudge. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.”
“What about the rest of term?” Bill asked, a sharp tone in his voice. “There’s still two weeks.”
“I’m alright.” Harry insisted in a whisper. “I’m just tired.”
Hermione snorted mentally, but didn’t retort, even as the doors to the hospital wing opened.
Fred and George, both white-faced, strode into the Hospital Wing, only to be intercepted by their mother.
“Sorry we’re late …” Fred said.
“… we had to talk the girls out of coming.” George finished.
Hermione couldn’t help smiling. “How did you do that?”
“Promised them they could …”
“… fuss over Harry all they liked tomorrow.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks guys; throw me to the wolves, why don’t you?”
“Come on, Harry.” Madam Pomfrey said softly, guiding him behind a curtain.
The Weasleys approached Hermione, Molly explaining what they knew to the twins in an undertone.
“Hey Padfoot.” Ron greeted, scratching his ears.
Hermione saw the twins perk up at the nickname and gave them a warning glance. Thankfully, for once, they listened, not trying to question them.
“Is he really alright?” Ron asked.
“Ron!” Mrs Weasley hissed.
“It’s alright, Mrs Weasley.” Hermione said tiredly. “Harry told me I could tell you.” Even as she spoke, her eyes were darting around the room, making absolutely certain they couldn’t be overheard.
After all, if she was right about Rita Skeeter, locked doors would make no …
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
There was a beetle on the window sill. A beetle with markings very similar to the glasses Rita wore … much like the beetle Viktor had pulled from her hair on the bank of the lake … like the beetle Ginny had noticed on a statue when she and Ron accidentally overheard Hagrid admitting he was a half-giant … like the beetle Hermione was sure had been fluttering around the Divination classroom when Harry had his last dream …
She caught Ginny’s eye, nodding towards the window.
Ginny glanced that way and nodded, dropping both of the bags she carried to the chair on Hermione’s other side. “I got your bag, Hermione.” She said casually, moving over to the window. “It’s a bit chilly in here, isn’t it?”
The window slammed shut, causing everyone to jump.
“Sorry.” Ginny said sheepishly. “Wind caught it.”
Hermione smiled weakly. “It’s fine. Gin, if you don’t mind me filling you in later, could you run my bag back to the dorm please?”
“Sure.” Ginny shouldered the two bags again, one hand in a tight fist. “I’ll see you later. Feel better, Harry.”
“Hermione,” Ron prompted as Ginny hurried away. “What happened?”
Hermione sighed. “Well … you’re not going to believe who put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire …”
