======== Part 42. Life and death always walk hand in hand ==========
Lucius Malfoy arrived from Switzerland the very next day. He was pale and distraught. It was clear from his face that the current situation had affected him deeply. There were no grey hairs visible in his platinum hair, but the lord's always luxurious hair seemed duller, and his hand still clutched his cane tightly as he walked through the corridors of the menorah. After taking off his travelling cloak and taking a shower, Lucius immediately went in search of his son and found him in the garden. Cassius was sitting in his favourite arbour by the lake, watching the golden carp frolic. Periodically, he threw pieces of bread, and the fish jumped to the surface, trying to grab the treat. The splashing of the water and his son's cheerful laughter drowned out the sound of footsteps on the path, and Lucius reached the gazebo completely unnoticed. When he approached, his son turned away from the water and looked at his father with a smile.
"Hello, Dad," Cassius hugged the elder Malfoy tightly. "How's Mum? Has she come to?"
Lucius looked with pleasure at his grown-up son, holding him by the shoulders, then his face darkened slightly.
"She's regained consciousness, but she's still too weak," Malfoy exhaled. "It's scary to even think about what would have happened if we had been late. Mum might not be with us anymore. But everything will be fine," Lucius smiled crookedly. "It will just take time to heal. The healers are giving a favourable prognosis," he sighed heavily again.
"It's unfortunate that because of her weakness, our family curse weighs more heavily on her," the lord's shoulders slumped. "Her body is ageing faster, her hormones and metabolism are slowing down. Apparently, the strength of the curse depends on how many red-haired traitors to our blood live in this world. Perhaps my father would have survived dragon pox if it weren't for that," Lucius said, banging on the table. "It's okay, sooner or later Narcissa will recover and return to us. Just don't tell Draco, please," Malfoy said, wincing. "Snape reported that the boy nearly escaped from Hogwarts."
Cassius shook his head thoughtfully, brushed the crumbs off the table, and threw the remains of the treat into the water, causing a merry fight among the well-fed fish. Father and son sat silently, watching the glints on the water and the golden carp darting near the shore, then Lord Malfoy looked intently at Cassius with a slight apprehension:
"What happened that made you ask to come home urgently for a couple of days, knowing how much your mother needs me?"
Cassius nodded gloomily, then shared the events that had transpired since his parents' departure for Switzerland. Lucius's well-groomed face stretched in surprise, and he looked at Cassius incredulously, raising his eyebrows.
"Two more Weasleys are here, and no one knows about it?" He heard malicious rage in his voice.
"Yes, Dad," Cassius shrugged. "It just happened. I assumed they would try something dirty and that William Weasley wouldn't come alone, but I didn't expect the redheads to be so stupid.
"Perhaps the blood traitors mistook your friend for someone insignificant," Lucius sneered. "Many Muggle-borns from all over Europe have come to see such a rare spectacle as the Triwizard Tournament, which hasn't been held in a very long time. And the crowd, eager for spectacle, is drawn by the tournament's grim reputation, because people often die in it, so they decided that the two of them could easily handle it," Lucius snorted.
"One Weasley is practically dead, only freezing separates him from death, so it's better to start with him," Cassius looked guiltily at his father. "He's the one who worked as Mr. Crouch's secretary. By the way, no one has seen the tournament judge lately, neither at Hogwarts nor at the Ministry. The red-haired Weasley told everyone that Crouch was busy, but now they'll probably start looking for him.
"Let him rot," Lucius dismissed him. "Bartemius Crouch has ruined too many lives, he didn't even spare his own son. He put him in Azkaban, where he died, can you imagine? How can anyone respect a man like that?" He grimaced contemptuously. "He deprived his family of an heir, the old fool."
***
In the evening, after checking on Hassan, Cassius followed his father to the ritual hall. The light from the magical lamps reflected off the marble walls. Two grim figures moved down the corridor, the hollow sound of their heels on the stone resonating with the fierce joy of the men walking. Today, the Malfoys' goal would come a little closer. Lucius secretly hoped that two victims at once would help weaken the curse and that Narcissa would recover more quickly. Cassius was glad to be helping his father bring justice, and that his friend's would-be murderers would finally get what they deserved.
Placing the bodies close together on the altar, Lucius read an invocation to magic and, with an indifferent expression, cut off the two red heads. The blood instantly began to soak into the stone, followed by the bodies, which began to dry out until they were completely scattered over the altar by an otherworldly wind. The faint glow from the stone ended in a bright flash, forcing everyone to close their eyes for a moment.
At that moment, every mage carrying the Malfoy curse in their blood felt the pressure on the source weaken slightly. Of course, over the years, everyone had grown accustomed to not noticing this, but now that the curse had suddenly lost some of its destructive power, everyone breathed more freely. Even in Switzerland, high in the mountains, in a spacious chamber where a pale, grey-haired woman lay with her eyes closed, medical artefacts suddenly began to stir. The on-call healer rushed into the ward at the sound of ringing and squeaking, grabbing his wand and staring in amazement at the data projection. "She's on the mend," the mage thought happily, carefully studying the indicators. "Something just happened that helped her overcome the crisis."
The satisfied healer carefully closed the door behind him, leaving the patient alone. A ray of sunlight broke through the curtains, and a faint smile suddenly appeared on the waxen face of the woman lying under the blanket.
***
A cool breeze occasionally blew through the open window, rustling the copy of Witchopolitan magazine lying forlornly on the table. The spacious kitchen looked simple but tidy. No one was there except the landlady. Arthur would not be home until evening, and the other children were out. "It's good that Bill moved to London, closer to home," Molly smiled to herself, "now he won't go hungry like he used to. He was so thin in Egypt."
After the tragic death of her second son, she had been unable to come to terms with it for a long time, blaming Dumbledore, Arthur, and herself. Sighing, the former Pruett threw herself into her work with renewed vigour, trying to distract herself from her sad thoughts, when suddenly, the red-haired woman, who was concentrating on washing the dishes, clutched her heart. Plates flying all over the kitchen froze in the air for a second and then crashed down with a crash. Looking in horror at the family clock, she saw the hands with the names Bill and Percy moving towards the "Mortal Danger" sector, and then the images of her sons turned grey. Staring at the clock in disbelief, Molly turned pale and, clutching the chairs, fell to the floor, losing consciousness.
Arthur Weasley said goodbye to his colleagues and went home for lunch. Whistling cheerfully, he exchanged a few words with his colleagues, waited for his turn in the atrium, and stepped into the fireplace, loudly saying the address: "Burrow." A minute later, the man emerged from the portal, brushed the ashes off his robe, and immediately stumbled upon the chaos reigning everywhere.
"Molly... Darling, where are you?" he shouted, rushing frantically from room to room. Jumping up the stairs and bursting into the bedroom, Arthur saw his wife lying face down on the bed.
"What happened to you?" stammered Weasley excitedly. "What happened? Don't be silent!"
Unable to bear it any longer, the man jerked her onto her back and was met by the sorrowful gaze of her green eyes.
"Bill and Percy are dead," Molly squeezed out through her tears.
Arthur looked at her in disbelief, his eyes wide, and shouted:
"What do you mean, dead? What are you talking about?"
"The clock, Arthur, the clock," the woman cried. "Their images have turned grey. They're dead, do you understand?"
Weasley sat down on the bed next to his wife, his hands shaking.
"How can this be? I need to get to Dumbledore immediately, maybe he can tell us what to do, help us.
"Yeah, right," Molly sneered. "The great and powerful helped Charlie. The boy died because of him, Arthur. And they never found the culprits!"
Her face reddened even more, and Molly pointed her finger at her husband and shouted:
"Instead of always messing around with your Ford, you should have been watching the kids! Now run to your Dumbledore, but he won't be able to help you, just like last time. Oh, Merlin, what is this...
Arthur, in a rage, stormed out of the room. Going downstairs, he glanced at the clock and sobbed helplessly. All three hands on the clock were now a mournful grey.
Dumbledore was signing papers at his desk when Arthur Weasley's agitated face appeared in the fireplace, and the man asked for urgent access. Surprised, Dumbledore waved his wand, and a few seconds later, the dishevelled father of the family tumbled onto the carpet.
"Hello, Headmaster, we have a disaster at home," he blurted out. "The clock showed that Bill and Percy are dead! Help us, sir!"
Dumbledore carefully put down his quill and frowned:
"When did this happen, Arthur?"
Weasley recounted the evening's events to Albus, and the great wizard fell into deep thought. Then he flashed his half-moon glasses and said,
"I'll talk to his boss. Bartemius must know where his subordinate is, let's try to find him. Calm Molly down, I'll contact you as soon as I find out anything, don't worry, go on."
The agitated Weasley disappeared into the fire, and Dumbledore, who was getting nervous, immediately called Crouch over the fireplace.
Pettigrew squeaked as he ran through the sewers in his rat form. After the failure with the Malfoys, in which he, in his own opinion, was completely blameless, Peter received so much Cruciatus that at times he did not understand where he was, confusing reality with visions. Scenes of the Dark Lord torturing him flashed through his mind. "And that filthy Crouch just grinned. They should give you as much Cruciatus, you bastard! I bet that fanatic will ask for more if his master tortures him," Peter gritted his teeth.
Today, Voldemort had ordered him to sneak into the Crouch mansion and touch up the Imperius Curse on the master. Most likely, the old man's strong will was beginning to successfully counteract the "unforgivable" spell. He had locked himself in his room and was apparently trying to overcome the spell his son had cast on him. Barty couldn't leave Hogwarts on his own, and he had to hurry. In the past, at least the secretary had been able to fend off those dissatisfied with the workaholic Crouch's absence from work, but today, they said, he hadn't come in either. "How inconvenient," Peter thought to himself.
The best singer in Lutno was performing all day at the White Wyvern, and Pettigrew, who had a weakness for femme fatales, wanted to take his mind off things for a while. The rat stopped for a moment at the intersection of the collector and froze in thought. "Crowch won't go anywhere, even if I'm a couple of hours late," Peter decided and changed direction.
Bartemius Crouch was going crazy. The Imperius Curse cast by his son was so at odds with the moral values of a man of unyielding character that his mind was simply cracking at the seams. His head was flooded with memories of how they used to live. How his wife smiled, looking happily at him as he carried little Barty on his back. "I couldn't send you to Azkaban, son!" the man howled, clutching his head with both hands. "I'm sorry..."
Bartemius had no one left, and only sheer willpower kept him going, finding oblivion in his work. Crouch hoped to one day put a normal girl from a pure-blood family under the Imperius Curse and bring her together with his son, so that he could at least have an heir. But he could never bring himself to commit such a crime, and now it was too late.
A green fire flashed in the fireplace, and Dumbledore's alarmed face appeared in the flames: "Bartemius, good day. Your secretary, Percival Weasley, is missing. I invite you to my office to clarify a few things."
The Imperius Curse struck with renewed force, ordering him to refuse. Crouch clenched his teeth and managed to reply, barely pushing the words out: "All right, Albus, I'll be right there."
After unsuccessfully attempting to transport himself to the headmaster's office through the fireplace, Bartemius realised that his son had wisely placed restrictions. Somehow managing to leave the house, Crouch spun around with his last ounce of strength, disappearing into the apparition and hoping that it wouldn't split him in two. Plopping down somewhere on the edge of the forbidden forest, the man gathered his remaining strength and moved forward.
The school champions and their escorts, with sour expressions on their faces, examined the maze built on the Quidditch field. Ronald tried to tear off a piece of the green wall, but was immediately shushed, and he walked away, offended. A cheerful Bagman stroked the fast-growing grass walls and talked about the monsters hidden in the maze and the deadly traps that would be set up on the way to the centre, where the cup would await the winner. Alastor lingered lazily nearby, watching the students. It was still fresh, and the cold wind brought thoughts of hot chocolate, and looking at the upcoming competition venue, the Champions hurried inside the castle.
Moody, after reprimanding Ronald Weasley for behaviour unworthy of an English wizard, limped after them. The redhead wanted to get closer to Potter, but didn't dare, as the Champions were walking in a tight group.
"Harry, can I talk to you?" The Bulgarian Seeker tapped him on the shoulder, walking alongside him.
"Yes, Viktor?" Harry looked at him and almost stumbled in surprise. A grown man, a famous Seeker, was addressing him, a teenager, as an equal.
"Tell me, is Miss Granger seeing someone?" Kram asked, lowering his voice.
"Well, I'm definitely not dating her," Potter shuddered in feigned horror. "She doesn't seem to have a boyfriend. At least, no one carries her bag of books for her.
Crumb's eyes lit up with satisfaction:
"I'd like to invite her to visit us in Bulgaria this summer. Lots of books, flowers and beautiful scenery would definitely interest a girl like her.
"It's up to you," Potter waved him off. "Ever since her relatives recognised her, she's become all stuck up and stopped talking to us. Just the usual pleasantries. She's probably proud of her pureblood status," Harry added sarcastically.
"Purity?" Kram asked in surprise, grimacing in disappointment. "I found out before the Yule Ball that she's a 'dirty...' Muggle-born," he corrected himself hastily.
"No," Potter laughed cheerfully, "read the February issue of the Daily Prophet in the library, Rita Skeeter wrote all about it in detail. Now our nerd is the heiress to the ancient Durgon-Granger family and a rich bride," Harry shook his head disapprovingly. "Even the older students who don't have anyone lined up are eyeing her.
Crumb's face darkened even more, but then he accidentally glanced behind Harry and cried out in surprise:
"That's one of the tournament judges, isn't it, Mr. Crouch? He looks strange, don't you think?" Victor pointed behind Potter.
Harry turned around in surprise and indeed saw Bartemius Crouch, but the man looked as if he had spent the last month living on the streets. Unshaven, in torn clothes and with wild eyes, he nevertheless stubbornly walked towards Hogwarts, constantly stumbling and falling.
Crumb wisely chose to stay put, while Potter rushed towards Crouch and tried to ask him how the referee had ended up there. Bartemius was clearly not himself, his eyes darting in all directions, almost popping out of their sockets, a string of saliva hanging from his stubbly chin. He tried to walk forward, muttering something constantly.
Harry, overcoming his revulsion, leaned closer to hear what he was saying: "Dumbledore, I need Dumbledore... Take me to him, Weasley, quickly... Ah, how beautiful everything was at the ball... Voldemort will soon be resurrected..."
He fixed a mad gaze on Harry and whispered feverishly, grabbing his arm: "Are you with him, boy? Today we will meet my dear wife, I can feel it... Barty, it's all Barty. I must get to Dumbledore, urgently, help me, please, quickly."
Harry shuddered, recoiled from the madman, and rushed towards Hogwarts. Running past Kram, he shouted, "Keep an eye on him," and sped on.
"Harry, wait," Ron said, barely managing to jump out of the way as he was walking towards the castle. "What happened? Where are you rushing off to like that?"
Harry quickly told his friend what had happened and rushed on. No one noticed Moody, who had been limping nearby, suddenly turn aside.
By the time Potter ran to the castle, then argued with Snape, who wouldn't let him past the gargoyle, and finally broke into the office to tell the headmaster what had happened, it took quite a while. When Potter and Dumbledore finally left the castle, Kram lay unconscious in the clearing where they had left Bartemius, and the judges were nowhere to be seen...
The disappearance of Barty Crouch quickly overshadowed the disappearance of the two Weasley brothers. Dumbledore simply waved Arthur away, trying to solve the murder mystery, and promised to help once he had sorted out the new circumstances.
Peter quietly slipped under the fence and climbed up the rough wall towards the open window. His rat paws with sharp claws quickly carried his well-fed grey body forward. Pettigrew had had a good time at the White Viper, even if he had to drink the counter-potion. So now the rat moved quickly and deftly, eager to return to Lord. Of course, his master had not set a strict deadline, but he didn't want to be late and run into Cruciatus again. However, when Pettigrew entered the house, the silence around him told him that something had happened. Transforming into a human, Peter quickly ran through all the rooms, but did not find Crouch. "He's escaped!" a frightened thought flashed through his mind. "I must warn Barty."
Pettigrew rushed out the door, transforming into a rat as he ran, and ran away from the house, transformed back, and Apparated. Climbing to the second floor of the old Riddle mansion, he fell to his knees in front of the master's chair and squeaked:
"Barty cast a crooked Imperius Curse and his father is free! We must tell Crouch immediately to get out of Hogwarts.
"Thank you, Tail, for caring so much about me," came a sarcastic voice from the side. "But please tell me where you've been all this time. According to my calculations, the spell should have lasted until your visit!"
Peter turned to Crouch, who was standing next to the fireplace, smirking contemptuously.
"Calm down, H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H
Crouch grinned proudly, which looked terrifying on Moody's disfigured face.
Voldemort looked appraisingly at Barty and hissed:
"It's a pity you couldn't get the ring from the hut on the moor, my faithful servant. You don't have the strength. So I will be reborn with an incomplete soul. But you will suffer worse," the Dark Lord laughed maliciously. "You are lucky, Wormtail, very lucky. You almost disobeyed my orders, but all is well, Iron Crouch is dead.
"My lord," Peter backed away. "My lord, I... I'm to blame... forgive me..."
"Nagina," the evil homunculus stroked the huge snake's head with his small, wrinkled hand, "you were unlucky today. I will not allow you to sink your fangs into this rat and enjoy his tender flesh. Don't worry, Barty will bring you a Muggle next time.
The snake hissed viciously, and Pettigrew bumped his back against the wall, trying to make himself even smaller.
"Here's your reward, Peter, and remember, I won't tolerate any more mistakes. The little red eyes stared at the servant eagerly, and the homunculus's forked tongue flashed in his mouth.
"No, my lord, I beg you..." Pettigrew cried.
The tip of a magic wand appeared from the sleeve of his robe, and Voldemort whispered with relish, "Crucio!"
To Barty's joyful laughter and Nagina's hissing, Peter began to roll around on the floor, howling in unbearable pain.
Aunt Muriel, learning of the disappearance of Molly's sons, apparated near the Burrows. Knocking on the door and receiving no answer, she went inside.
"Molly, where are you, my girl?" Muriel shouted, and footsteps could be heard coming from the second floor. When Weasley came down, old Prewett stared at the mistress of the house in amazement. She had dark circles under her eyes and grey hair peeking out from under her mourning veil. The woman looked as if she had aged many years at once.
"Hello, Auntie," Molly smiled sadly. "I'll put the kettle on. Have a seat."
Busy with her usual chores, the woman was slightly distracted, and her face softened a little. Setting out the cups, she sat down opposite her relative.
"What brought you here?" Molly asked. "Do you already know what happened?"
Pruett nodded thoughtfully.
"I came to offer you my help. Give Fred and George back to me.
Molly froze in surprise, her cup suspended above her mouth.
"What do you mean, Auntie?"
Muriel sighed and looked sadly at Molly as if she were a child who didn't understand.
"Darling, someone is deliberately trying to kill the Weasleys, can't you see that? I don't know who has it in for you, but to us purebloods, it's as clear as day. Ask your good-for-nothing husband who the Weasleys have been fighting with for centuries, and you'll find the culprits right away.
"Who haven't we had conflicts with!" the woman snapped irritably. "Except the Dumbledores, I suppose, you've managed to piss off everyone else. I don't know how the Weasleys did it, but many purebloods are against us, even though we're related to every one of them," Molly said heatedly. "Blood traitors," she mimicked someone, slamming her cup down on the table.
"That's what I'm saying," Muriel took a biscuit from the plate. "If the children leave the Weasley family by magic and blood, there will be no reason to kill them. They will become pure-blooded Prewetts, with nothing left of the Weasleys, the magic will burn away the excess.
"I understand that you want to continue the family line," Molly sighed. "I had hoped so much that Ginny would inherit my power. But after that business with the diary, I'm glad she didn't turn out to be a Squib. Maybe our fire will be passed on to her daughters," Molly sobbed and grabbed her cup again. "I'm so tired, Muriel..."
Her aunt stroked her shoulder and looked into her eyes with sympathy.
"Don't cry, my girl, don't cry. Talk to Arthur, maybe he'll agree? Let Ronald inherit him, they're very similar in their youth, the same daring and drive. And talk to the boys too," Muriel looked imploringly at Molly. "I'm not rich, especially after this war, when the family altar was destroyed, but I can help them open the little shop they dream of so much.
"Jeannie will also join a foreign family if she marries according to ancient traditions," Molly thought. "That way, she too can escape this revenge. She's just a girl, no one will kill her if she goes to her husband's family.
"It's a good thing you registered your marriage at the Ministry and not at the family altar," Muriel sighed. "Otherwise, we would have lost the last bearer of the Pruett fire.
"We don't have an altar," Molly sobbed again. "Arthur's ancestors destroyed it themselves. I had hoped so much that Ginny would inherit the Prwett power, Muriel. If my little girl had come along sooner, I wouldn't have had so many children.
Her aunt moved closer again and began to comfort the distraught Weasley. Arthur had not brought any news from Dumbledore, merely promising that the old man would sort things out. Molly listened to him with a stony face, but said nothing. Arthur's devotion to the old hypocrite sometimes made her grit her teeth, but there was nothing she could do about it. After all, Arthur was the head of the family, and his word was final in any dispute.
Half an hour later, Muriel said goodbye, and Molly firmly decided to take care of her children's future. She began to fully realise that the soft-hearted Arthur, whom she had always considered a good husband, was incapable of dealing with trouble. If she hid away in her housewife's shell and left everything to chance, they would all continue to be killed. The former Pruett categorically did not want to experience another death.
========== Part 43. The Final Stage of the Tournament of the Three Wizards ==========
Cassius sat in the living room of Black Manor and drank. The firewhisky flowed in a thin stream down his throat, settling in his stomach, but he felt no intoxication. The dim evening light from the street lamps fell on Valburge's portrait. His aunt was not there; most likely, as is customary for living portraits, she had gone to visit one of her relatives. "At least Hassan is gone," thought the young man. "Now I don't have to worry about him."
Not long ago, a group of serious magicians had arrived in England from Marrakesh, and his friend had left with them. Before his departure, Al-Mansur had met with Miss Delacour several times, and Cassius even thought that their relationship had moved to a new level. Spring was in the air, what can you say? Cassius didn't ask what was going on between them, but when his friend asked him to look after the desperate Frenchwoman, he agreed without objection. If a friend asks, why refuse?
According to Lucius, Narcissa was feeling much better, but she had no plans to return yet. She and her father went to France and made up for lost time, sunbathing and swimming on the Côte d'Azur. The Malfoy family estate was looked after by several house elves, ready to welcome their masters at any time. During the summer holidays, Lucius and Narcissa waited for their two sons, promising terrible punishment to the eldest if he suddenly decided not to come, as was his habit.
Everything was wonderful, but Cassius felt a sense of unease growing inside him. During those spring months, he had managed to destroy Arthur Weasley's two older brothers. Both redheads were Squibs and lived in two worlds, engaging in petty smuggling and other criminal activities. With the help of a detective agency, they managed to find out everything about these guys, and one night, they were both easily captured by the clan's vassals. Looking through Weasley's memory, Cassius discovered such disgusting things that he watched without pity as his father performed the ritual on them. He had no qualms about killing the redheads — it was foolish to feel sorry for enemies and scum — but a sense of dissatisfaction, a feeling that he was missing something, that he was late, prevented him from resting easy. Finishing his glass in one gulp, Black went to his bedroom, undressed, and fell onto the bed, continuing to reflect on the past week.
According to the magicians preparing the set for the finale of the "Cup of Three Wizards," everything was ready. The maze had been built and filled with traps. A real sphinx, a lion with a human face, had been brought from distant Egypt. The monster loved to pose riddles before devouring its prey. However, the magical creature would let its victims go if they answered correctly. The difficulty of the riddles varied depending on how hungry the monster was. And if the monster was really hungry, then...
Therefore, Mr. Bagmen tearfully begged that the lioness be fed fresh meat before the first participant entered the maze, otherwise it would be too unsportsmanlike. And unpatriotic, as Dumbledore had already hinted.
Based on the results of the first two stages, the Hogwarts students Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter were in first place, which pleased Cassius as a patriot. Victor Krum was in second place, and Miss Delacour was at the bottom of the list. In just a week, they were preparing to enter the maze to prove to themselves and everyone else who would be the best this time. Cassius was betting on Cedric. A calm, confident guy, the Hufflepuff Seeker was, according to many students, a great friend, funny, sociable and very smart. His father, Amos Diggory, always came to his son's performances and cheered him on wildly. Cassius liked this graduate of the Badger House, especially since the tournament cup would not choose a weak wizard as the school champion. Black even considered offering the young man a job after Hogwarts, if, of course, he didn't get a position at the Ministry through his father's connections. "All right, time to sleep," thought Cassius. "Everything tomorrow..."
***
Hermione, accompanied by Severus Snape, was walking down Hogsmeade Street. Today she was going to visit the Sweet Kingdom with the girls and try the new éclairs that Padma Patil from Ravenclaw had raved about. However, her plans were ruined when the Slytherin dean approached her and said in his usual sarcastic manner:
"Miss Granger! Your great-grandfather contacted me and asked me to bring you to Hogsmeade today for a meeting.
"Why are you telling me this and not Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked in surprise.
"This once again confirms the extremely low level of development of the Gryffindors," Snape sneered. "If even the smartest witch in the lion faculty can't put two and two together. Your great-grandfather, a renowned potion maker, was one of those who reviewed my proficiency test. Of course, it's easier for him to turn to an acquaintance with such a trivial request. Hurry up, Miss Granger, I'll be waiting for you at the castle exit," and with a wave of his robe, Snape rushed forward, scaring the students along the way.
Entering the Three Broomsticks, they immediately spotted the wizard sitting alone at a table.
"I brought her, master," Snape said, turning to leave. But the wizard smiled and nodded towards the third chair at the table.
"Sit down, Severus," the old man croaked. "I have a proposal for you as well."
Snape sighed wearily but sat down at the table. Hermione took the seat next to her grandfather and looked at him questioningly.
"Severus, do you remember your project to improve aconite potion?" the old man asked Snape.
"Of course," Severus grimaced. "Its taste is impossible to change, and the side effects have been reduced only slightly in my modification. At the last International Conference, I was even laughed at for trying to improve the 'perfect potion,'" the potion maker said with a malicious grin.
Dagwort-Granger pulled a scroll from his robe pocket and placed it in front of the Slytherin:
"Here, the results of the experiments, calculations and final formulas. The potion can be improved if you had enough time for research, I think you would have found the right solution sooner or later.
Snape touched the scroll with a slightly trembling hand.
"What do I owe you for this treasure, master?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Severus," chuckled the old man. "I need you to give her some private lessons before she graduates, just to prepare her a little. In the summer, we'll work on awakening her ancestral gifts, but for now, she just needs to practise the mechanics. Can you help me, Severus?" The old man stroked the scroll with his hand and rolled it across the table.
Snape rolled his eyes in agony.
"Study hard, Miss Granger," he said to Hermione. "Slytherin has always been renowned for its negotiating skills. "I agree, master," Severus sighed and reached for the scroll.
The professor had already left, and Hermione was still sitting there, staring after him in amazement. "Snape is going to teach her potions?" Such thoughts had never crossed the Gryffindor's mind before.
"Hermione, my girl," the old man grinned. "Remember your story about how you brewed Polyjuice potion in the bathroom? Did you really think that a simple second-year Muggle-born girl with no ancestral gifts could actually create such a complex potion on the spot? If you weren't from the enemy faculty, Severus would have offered you personal tutoring right away. People with a hereditary talent for potion-making are very few and far between. Of course, a truly powerful wizard can brew almost any potion by simply replacing hereditary talents with an enormous amount of magic, but that's completely irrational. It's easier to buy a potion from a master or purchase a potion-maker, the old man said gloomily. "It's a shame that Severus, your headmaster, bought him so cheaply. Well, never mind, that's beside the point," he continued optimistically. "Tell me how your studies are going, and I'll order some tea and the new eclairs. They say they're selling them in every café in Hogsmeade now."
The girl began to tell her great-grandfather about her successes in her studies, the latest news and events at Hogwarts. She shared that the final stage of the Triwizard Tournament was about to begin and that she wanted Potter to win, even though they weren't as close as they used to be.
"Forgive me for asking, but it seems to me that young people have started to treat you differently since your status changed," said the old man, looking at her.
Hermione blushed and lowered her head.
"Yes, Sir Nicholas, before I was of no interest to anyone, but now I can't get anywhere. As soon as I became your heiress, it turned out that I had a lot of good qualities," the girl sighed gloomily.
"But you like someone in particular," her great-grandfather continued to probe. "I have received many letters at the estate with proposals of marriage, so I wanted to ask if there is anyone among them who you find attractive?"
Hermione's face flushed and she whispered,
"I like Draco Malfoy, sir. He helped me and treated me well even when I was just an ordinary girl. What's more, he was the one who helped me get rid of the potions someone was poisoning me with.
The old man's face darkened, and then he sighed heavily:
"You must not tie your life to the Malfoys, my dear.
"But why?" Hermione asked in surprise.
"It is not spoken of in society," the old wizard said, pursing his lips. "However, many know that the Malfoys are under a long-standing curse that prevents them from having more than one child. If you marry Lord Malfoy's heir, you will only have one son. And I would very much like the Dursley-Granger family line to continue. And that is very likely if you become the wife of young Draco.
Hermione sat there as if struck by lightning. She had never even thought about such things, but Draco was the only one she really liked. Besides, she felt that their feelings were mutual, even though Draco tried not to show it to anyone at Hogwarts. However, on those rare occasions when they managed to chat somewhere in an abandoned classroom or in the library, when no one could see them, she felt that this handsome blond boy understood her better than anyone else. He shared her thirst for knowledge, her goal to become more educated, and her desire to change something in the magical world. Besides, it was just nice to be around him. In those moments, the usually arrogant Slytherin exuded warmth and reliability.
"Maybe we can break the curse?" Hermione asked, her eyes moist. "We still have time, don't we?"
Dagwort-Granger smiled sadly.
"Yes, my girl, you still have time before you finish school. Although I would still ask you to consider other options. First loves often fade, and you will definitely meet someone who will win your heart. The Malfoys are cursed, even though they are noble and rich. They always give their younger daughters away, but never their heirs. Besides, the curse affects women more strongly, although it is not tied to blood. If a man simply cannot conceive another child, a woman's body is much more complex and the curse causes premature ageing. You wouldn't want to look like a decrepit hag at seventy, would you?" The wizard looked at her grimly. "Understand, my dear, Malfoy may be a good guy, a rich heir, but for you, he's the worst option, no better than those blood traitors," the old wizard said with disgust. "Above all, I want you to continue your development as a potion maker and magician, have as many children as you decide, cover our family with glory, and achieve something more in life than just withering away like a plucked flower, having achieved nothing. For ordinary people, life is limited, but you are a magician, try to think like a sorceress. Early death from old age is only in our heads, when we stop developing and lose the desire to move forward. Think about it, Hermione," smiled the old man. "In the meantime, have a delicious éclair. I think the pastry chefs have managed to create something truly magical this time.
The professors had already begun to leave the headmaster's office, descending the steps. Today they had discussed the imminent end of the school year.
"Severus, please stay," Dumbledore asked after the teachers' meeting. Snape, who had already risen from his chair, collapsed back into it.
"Show me the mark, my boy," ordered the headmaster, and the potions master obediently bared his forearm.
"It's as dark as ever, sir," Snape grimaced. "I feel that the Lord is growing stronger every day.
"Keep a close eye on Harry, Severus," the old wizard flashed his glasses. "He's been complaining of frequent headaches. I think it's somehow connected to Tom gaining strength. The boy must not fall into his hands.
"Very well, Albus," Snape nodded reluctantly as he stood up. "I will keep a close eye on the boy and let you know immediately if the lord summons us as before.
"Is that really how the Horcrux in Harry's head is reacting to Tom?" he thought to himself, left alone. "I'll probably have to start teaching the boy Occlumency next year."
***
Ronald Weasley walked down the Hogwarts corridor towards the Great Hall. It was almost lunchtime, and the inexhaustible flame inside demanded that more wood be added to the fire. "Oh," Weasley swallowed, "I wish we had mutton stew today, with sauces and cake, cake for dessert." Weasley's stomach growled treacherously, and he unconsciously quickened his pace. The redhead's thoughts revolved, as always, around his friends, food, and Quidditch. It was a pity, of course, that his brothers had died, but he had never been close to his older brothers because of their age, and Percy's pedantry made him feel uncomfortable. In Ron's opinion, he was too fond of grovelling before those who were higher up. Weasley had always been annoyed by Percy's desire to gain some kind of power. Why bother when you could play Quidditch and drink butterbeer with your friends? He was strange... Ron was already eyeing other female students, hoping to start going to Hogsmeade with a girl, like all the older boys. Then he could brag to his friends about having a pretty girlfriend.
Unfortunately, the love potion didn't work on Granger, even though his father promised it would work on everyone. But the nasty girl didn't care about the potion, even though Ginny used to slip it into her drink at every opportunity. "Just like me, Harry," Ron chuckled to himself.
Potter was a great friend, albeit naive about everything concerning wizard relationships. Ronald wanted Harry to be part of their close-knit family by marrying Ginny. Then they could spend even more time together playing Quidditch. "What's wrong with that?" Fred's words came back to him, words he had regularly used to help Angelina Johnson. Unfortunately for the redhead, Hermione only felt nauseous from the potions, but then she learned a bunch of spells from somewhere and now automatically checked all food and drink, as if she were truly a pureblood.
To see if his father's remedy worked at all, Weasley jokingly gave some to Lavender Brown. And, most likely, he messed up the dosage again. The girl now wouldn't leave him alone and regularly tried to kiss him. She started calling him "bon-bon" and saying that they were a couple. Of course, such attention from a girl was pleasant and, to be honest, boosted his self-esteem, but it was so tiresome to listen to all her enthusiastic nonsense. Ron grimaced in disgust: "What do older brothers see in these girls? They're so boring, and there's nothing to talk about. Lavender doesn't like Quidditch, you can't play spitballs with her, and she finds chess boring. Just walking around the corridors with a stupid smile on your face, holding hands and sighing? It's a waste of time. I'd rather eat."
***
Crouch was never found, so Cornelius Fudge appointed himself the fifth judge of the competition. Now he sat with a grim expression at the teachers' table in the Great Hall, silently moving a piece of meat with his fork around his plate. Everyone else was also quite tense, except for Ludo Bagman, who was beaming with a white-toothed smile. When dinner was over and the first stars appeared in the sky, Dumbledore stood up and invited everyone to the Quidditch pitch.
The stands were already full of spectators waiting for the competition to begin. Fleur Delacour remembered Hassan's last words before they parted: "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, just don't get killed. I'll never forgive myself if I can't help you. I asked Cassius to watch over you and protect you if necessary, but they won't let him into the maze. Be careful, moon of my heart, I'm afraid of losing you. This summer, I'll talk to my father, and in the autumn we'll come to France to discuss your engagement with your parents."
Fleur sighed happily and quickened her pace. Just a little more and it would all be over, then the awards ceremony and home. She had performed well, and it didn't matter if she lost. Besides, this Dumbledore had put two of his students in the championship, thus disregarding the centuries-old tradition of the Triwizard Tournament, which meant that France would not recognise the results if the English won. Kramu doesn't stand a chance either. Durmstrang has never won the tournament before, and it won't win now. After all, they'll be competing on the ground, not on broomsticks," the Frenchwoman sneered.
Cassius approached the group of professors, next to whom Hagrid stood tall and Bagman beamed with impatience. He handed out hats with stars to everyone.
"This is the symbol of an assistant referee," Bagman told the participants. "The honourable wizards have agreed to patrol the maze from outside on broomsticks. If you wish to withdraw from the competition, simply release a shower of red sparks into the air. At this signal, a wizard nearby will immediately come to your aid and rescue you if necessary, of course. Especially if you are wounded, have your limbs torn off, or are on the verge of death," Bagmen grinned again, undeterred. "The magician on duty will help you get back to the starting point. Is everything clear?""
All the champions responded with crooked grins and weak nods after this farewell speech, and Delacour glanced anxiously at Black. Cassius mounted his broomstick and, together with all the other professors, flew to the pre-determined sector, giving Fleur an encouraging smile as he left.
Placing his wand to his throat, Bagman cast "Sonorus" and shouted at the top of his voice:
"Ladies and gentlemen! I declare the final competition of the Triwizard Tournament open! First to start are the Hogwarts champions, Mr Cedric Diggory and Mr Harry Potter, each with eighty-five points! The Hufflepuffs, followed by all the other Hogwarts students, shouted and stamped their feet so loudly that even if any monsters in the maze had been dozing, they would surely have been awakened by the terrible noise.
"In second place, Mr. Viktor Krum, Durmstrang, eighty points!" The excited crowd responded with an approving roar; many knew and loved the famous Seeker. "And in third place, Miss Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons, France!" This time, the cheers were even louder.
Cassius smiled, the stands resembling a rolling sea, with banners swaying like white sheep in support of the participants.
"Let's begin," Bagman turned to the champions. "Harry and Cedric, forward on my signal! On your marks... Get set. Go.
He fired a magic firecracker into the sky, which exploded in a beautiful salute, and Harry and Cedric raced towards the green wall.
Potter ran through the maze, repeatedly encountering simple magical traps and successfully disarming them. Periodically, he cast a compass spell, and his wand confidently chose the right direction. Behind him, two more firecrackers exploded in the sky, and Harry realised that the remaining champions had also entered the game. Cedric rolled out from the side, covered in burns, and looked back fearfully, saying:
"Hagrid's snitch-tails are there, they almost burned me. He raised real monsters, the idiot!
Wiping his dirty face, Diggory ran further down the side corridor, while Potter shrugged and headed in the other direction.
Cassius lazily patrolled on his broom, his feet almost touching the green wall. He noticed Moody, who was in plain sight, fly into the maze a couple of times and even dive down. "I guess the professor cares so much about our students that he doesn't mind telling them where to run if they get lost," Cassius chuckled. Like a true Englishman, he had nothing against the unspoken support of his Champions.
Suddenly, Delacour's agonising scream rang out in his area of responsibility. There were no red sparks, but Cassius nevertheless darted in that direction and soon found Delacour lying on her back with a snouttail approaching her. "Reducto," Black whispered, and a blue beam whistled through the air, tearing the chimera to pieces. "Merlin, the main thing is that the girl doesn't find out what splattered her," the guy grinned, flying closer. "Escuro," "Tergeo," Black quickly cleaned the girl up and levitated the unconscious Fleur to the starting line.
The stands gasped at the sight of the champion's flying body, and an alarm cry rang out from above as Delacour's parents and Beauxbaton's students rushed down.
"She's alive, don't worry," Cassius reassured them and headed back to the maze.
After a while, another cry rang out, closer to the centre, but the sector was in Flitwick's zone, so the little professor immediately rushed there.
The Durmstrang students murmured in disbelief when they saw their champion. They couldn't believe that Viktor had withdrawn from the competition himself. However, when the half-goblin flew closer, everyone saw that Kram was also unconscious. Filius carefully lowered the body near the medic's tent and flew back. Madam Pomfrey began to revive the boy. Fleur was already sitting next to her parents and sister, who were hugging her, slowly coming to her senses. She had just heard the sound of a spell coming from somewhere above, felt a sharp pain, and, crying out loudly, lost consciousness.
"Did you see which of the professors was above the maze?" she asked her sister quietly.
"I saw a scary, lame wizard flying low over the walls. But I couldn't tell what he was doing from that distance," Gabrielle whispered to her.
"It must have been that Englishman who knocked me out. He even mocked me, causing me pain, c'est de la merde..." Fleur hissed just as quietly. "Forgive me for swearing, Gabi."
"And then that handsome guy saved you," nodded Gabrielle, pointing to Cassius flying nearby. "Only his strange hat with red stars doesn't suit him at all, ce n'est pas du tout à la mode," she giggled. "The English are strange, they don't understand high fashion at all.
"But they're very good at being mean," Fleur chimed in again. "Now Durmstrang is out of the competition, probably in the same way. It doesn't matter who wins now, it'll be Hogwarts anyway," she nodded towards the judges.
"Have you noticed, Fleur, that Madame Maxime is getting a little too friendly with the half-giant? What's her connection to that slob?" Gabrielle giggled into her fist.
"Well, first she got him to tell her about dragons," Delacour said, a little embarrassed. "How else would I have known about the first task? And then, probably, Dumbledore found something to compromise Madame Maxime, and now she has to obey him, le chantage.
"And Headmaster Carcarot didn't say anything when they brought Monsieur Cram here," Gabi nodded towards the medical tent. "The medics are taking a long time with him, and the Durmstrang students aren't even going near him.
"Karkaroff hasn't been himself for several days," Fleur sighed. "Probably something wrong with his health. He's probably used to a colder climate. I remember at the tournament in Durmstrang..." And, having recovered a little from the excitement of the competition, Fleur began to enthusiastically tell her sister the insignificant details of her journey to another school.
Suddenly, interrupting her story, which Gabi kept giggling at, a bloodied Harry Potter appeared on the platform in front of the stands, holding the cup in his hands, and next to his feet lay the dead body of the second Hogwarts Champion. The stands froze in shock, and Potter, glancing around at everyone with a crazed look, brushing the blood from his forehead that was running down his glasses, turned to the judges and shouted in a wild falsetto:
"He's back, Voldemort is back!"
After that, Harry staggered awkwardly, sobbed half-choked, rolled his eyes and fell unconscious next to the cup, losing his glasses.