Chapter 44
Aftermath
When the Champions arrived back at Hogwarts, they expected to be set upon by Headmasters, reporters, and who knows who else. What they got, however, was something quite different. In lieu of the expected chaos, they were beset with worried family members, most of whom were slightly singed, probably by the blast-ended skrewts.
Hermione, with her arm trussed up in a sling, couldn't stifle her snort when she spotted them. "Figures," she grumbled. "As perfectly coiffed as ever."
Fleur would have taken that badly from anyone else, but Hermione was truly a friend, and it was quite amusing. She couldn't help her giggle. "Sorry, 'ermione," she smiled. "Next time we can, ow do you say, swap? You may deal wiz Tom ze next time instead."
Hermione blinked hard at that.
"Wait, what?" she asked.
"Long story," said Harry dismissively. "We'll fill you in later. Important bits right now? Tom and Pettigrew are in custody and not going anywhere."
"Da," said Viktor, having escaped his parents to sneak up beside Fleur. "Vas not exciting," he added. "Heard you vere varrior voman, though."
Fleur couldn't help but grin at Hermione's deep blush. "It wasn't that big of a deal," the girl groused. "Just caged up the skrewts is all."
"And got mauled by a hippogriff," Harry reminded her, giving her a look that told her he was on to her.
Hermione just rolled her eyes.
"Did I 'ear you correctly?" Sebastian finally asked. "You caught Riddle?"
"Oui," nodded Fleur. "Madam Bones 'as it in 'and."
A collective breath of relief escaped most of the adults.
"I guess we know who entered you now," noted Sirius. "Probably wanted you for his return party or something."
"Yeah, but how?" asked Harry. "I suppose he could have sent Pettigrew to put my name in, but it just doesn't add up."
"Zat is a very good point," frowned Fleur.
And it really was. She had heard both Harry and Sirius talk about Pettigrew. He was, by all accounts, only a marginal wizard, and it was questionable whether he could manage to alter the Goblet sufficiently to make it spit out four names.
Not impossible — he was an animagus, which was difficult — but still questionable.
"Bones will probably dose the rat with Veritaserum," Sirius finally said. "She'll learn that and more, and then we'll have all the answers we need."
The group kibitzed for a while longer, but it soon became apparent that the Headmasters and Tournament officials wouldn't be available any time soon. The aftermath was going to take a long while to deal with. They all said their goodnights as a result, and Fleur took the opportunity to drag her husband back to their suite in the carriage.
They didn't even make it all the way to the bed before she proceeded to ravish him, and with an unusual level of aggression she simply couldn't help but feel after the events of the night. He certainly wasn't complaining, though.
The following morning saw them trudging back to the castle, both still tired after spending most of the night doing anything but sleeping. Tom's capture was a huge deal, and they were riding high on the thought that it was almost over. Only Dumbledore remained as a threat, and he would be dealt with soon enough.
Of course, nothing could go that smoothly.
They barely made it halfway up the aisle next to the Gryffindor table when a voice behind them growled out the curse that she had heard started far too often over the course of the last few months:
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Much as it had at Snape's trial, the world slowed to a crawl.
Fleur knew instinctively who the target would be, but her instantaneous assessment told her that pushing him out of the way wasn't going to work. Instead she summoned a (thankfully empty) platter from an adjacent table, putting a massive amount of power into it in her hurry, even as she started to spin around.
True to her prediction, the sickly green bolt of the Killing Curse sped toward Harry's back. He also reacted, and was diving to the floor — but without intervention, he wasn't going to make it. The platter however, was on course, and only moments later intercepted the curse before it could hit him, shattering into a thousand tiny shards in the process.
Fleur was hardly done, however. She continued her spin, and — even before she could register shock over who the caster had been — cast a powerful stunner right back at him. It nailed him between the eyes, and with such force that it flipped him completely over the table behind him to land in a heap on the floor.
And time resumed its normal course.
True to form, Harry hit the ground rolling and came up with his wand in hand, but the situation was already resolved.
"Are you okay?" he asked into the ringing silence.
Fleur nearly choked. "Am I okay?" she asked archly. "You were ze target, mon amour. I am just fine."
Harry blinked. "Oh," he said. "You got him?"
"Oui," she nodded. Then she frowned. "Eet was Moody."
"What?"
The upside to the mess was that the Headmaster was still at the Ministry answering for last night's ruckus. Bones was quickly summoned, and they promptly discovered how Harry's name had gotten into the Goblet: Moody was not, in fact, Moody, but instead a polyjuiced Death Eater named Barty Crouch, Jr. He had acted now because he heard from Bones that his master had been captured, and decided on his own that Potter had to be punished, permanently.
Fleur remembered Crouch Senior from the early days of the Tournament, and wondered how he was involved – but that was soon answered, along with his terminal fate at the hand of his own son.
As for the real Moody, he was recovered alive from the depths of his own trunk in the Defense office. Harry just shook his head and grumbled about being taught by yet another Death Eater, and wondered if the real Moody would have been better or worse.
The most significant outcome of the event — which wouldn't be noticed for some time yet – was how it changed everyone's perception of Fleur. She was already regarded as a deadly opponent when riled, but that was due to her Veela heritage. The incident with the fake Moody right there in front of everyone proved once and for all that she was also extremely formidable as a Witch.
It would go on to be described as "a deadly ballet," her moves having appeared more like she was dancing than fighting. Fleur was endlessly amused by this; while she did know how to dance, all she had actually done was turn around quickly and cast a couple of spells. It was more down to quick thinking than anything else.
On top of that, their nonchalance in the aftermath presented a certain image, and everyone in the castle ran with it.
The Potters would find it highly amusing in the future, and were certainly not complaining.
===[~]===
Harry and Fleur managed to avoid Dumbledore for the next two days — though that was probably because he was away at the Ministry attempting to run damage control. The Daily Prophet had run a series of articles over those days that painted him in a very bad light. They were questioning a great many things, but nothing so much as his running of Hogwarts.
His defense of Snape and Malfoy in court was really coming back to bite him in the arse.
Snape could be left aside as an error in judgement, but nobody could understand why Dumbledore had bothered to attempt to defend the Malfoy Heir. While Draco was young, he was easily old enough to know better – and certainly old enough to understand what the term "Unforgivable Curse" actually meant, and why it was called that.
He had tried to kill another student in front of everybody in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and had done so without the slightest hint of remorse. He had also claimed afterwards, including on the stand, that he would keep trying until he succeeded. It was eminently clear that the boy was a lost cause, and was irredeemably evil.
And Dumbledore had defended him.
Then you added on to that the mess that the Triwizard Tournament had become — a mess that he was largely responsible for, at least on paper — and it was no wonder that he was in trouble. He was likely cashing in every favor he could, just to stay out of a DMLE holding cell.
While those two Dumbledore-free days were a blessed relief, though, they knew it was just a matter of time. And sure enough, they were visited by McGonagall at lunch on the third day. She was clearly unhappy to be the messenger on this occasion.
"Mr. Potter," she said quietly, "The Headmaster would like to see you in his office."
Harry just sighed. "Fine," he groused. "But you're coming with us, Professor. We won't be in a room alone with that bastard."
If McGonagall thought his statement inappropriate, she utterly failed to show it. She simply followed along with the Potters as they made their way to his office. Fleur was sure this wouldn't end well; dealing with Albus Dumbledore never did.
Fawkes appeared on Harry's shoulder halfway there. Neither Potter even blinked at that, to McGonagall's obvious surprise.
And Dumbledore was clearly perturbed when he received three visitors — four if you counted Fawkes — instead of the one he was expecting. "I'm sorry, but this is a private meeting," he began seriously. "Minerva, please escort Miss Delacour back to the Beauxbatons facilities."
Fleur was incensed. She was certain he was ignoring their marriage on purpose just to be insulting. And she was done with it.
"Madam McGonagall?" she called. "I would suggest zat you take zis man to your 'ospital immediately. Eet ees clear zat 'is memory ees not what eet should be. I would be very worried about 'im eef I were you. 'E may be suffering from some form of… of… what is ze word?"
"Dementia," supplied Harry helpfully. "And I agree. His memory is extremely spotty, and that's a very bad sign."
"I assure you, my memory is as sharp as ever," frowned Dumbledore.
"Really?" retorted Harry. "Then why is it that you so consistently fail to remember that Fleur and I are married, and that my wife is properly addressed as Mrs. or Madame Potter, not 'Miss Delacour'?"
"Now, Harry, surely–"
"Mr. Potter" corrected Harry. "You are my former Headmaster, nothing more, and I have never given you leave to be so familiar with me. And I'm still waiting for an answer. Why do you keep forgetting that Fleur and I are married? Because either your memory is going, or you're deliberately insulting us."
"There are far more important matters–"
"Non, zere are not," Fleur interrupted. "You simply 'ave no defense for your be'avior, so you try to change ze subject." Turning to Harry she added, "I do not see why we should even listen to 'im, monamour. 'E is nuzzing more zan an obnoxious old man wiz, how do you say? Delusions of grandeur, I think?"
Harry snorted. "Appropriate, and I agree." Turning back, he stared down a shocked Headmaster. "We're done, Dumbledore," he said flatly. "I am no longer your student, and you have no authority over me. Neither of us ever wants to speak with you again. So leave us the hell alone, or you won't like the consequences."
Harry then turned to McGonagall and tipped his hat. "Professor," he nodded.
And then they departed, leaving behind an absolutely flabbergasted Albus Dumbledore with a surprisingly amused Minerva McGonagall.
===[~]===
Dumbledore continued to hound them for the next couple of days to Harry's immense frustration. Notes were frequently delivered by the house elves demanding — not asking, demanding — that he come to the Headmaster's office. Harry ignored these; the man had no right.
Multiple teachers were also roped in, though each of them only tried it once. Harry made it very clear (albeit politely) that they were being used in a campaign of harassment against a former student. The majority of those teachers ended up tearing strips off of Dumbledore afterwards, not that Harry knew that.
Several students had been corralled into Dumbledore's schemes as well, though that quickly stopped when the student body realized that neither Potter was on speaking terms with the man. Nobody wanted to be on their bad side, and that was doubly true among the student population.
Such feelings were reinforced by the article that had appeared on the heels of their last meeting with him, proclaiming that a certain Dark Lord was being detained by the Department of Mysteries, having been caught by the Potters. To their surprise, Cedric and Krum were amused that the article ignored their presence, and had no issue with it. Harry disagreed, but there was nothing he could do bar telling people what really happened.
Dumbledore's attempts to contact them finally stopped two days after their meeting, because the man suddenly had far bigger issues. This was made public by the Daily Prophet that very same day:
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE CHARGED WITH GRAND THEFT!
Caught Pilfering From Potter Estate?
by R. Giles
The past few months have brought shocking insight into Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, defeater of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and current Headmaster of Hogwarts. He has been seen to defend Severus Snape, Death Eater and convicted child abuser, and Draco Malfoy, who attempted to murder the Boy Who Lived right in front of him; has had multiple dust-ups with the up-and-coming Potter family; and was recently thrown out of Gringott's Bank in London.
But what is really happening? How is it that one of the greatest Wizards of our time is having so many problems, both real and imagined? How is it all related? The Daily Prophet now has that answer.
A recent filing with the British Wizengamot initiated a charge of Grand Theft against Albus Dumbledore. The brief states that Dumbledore willfully misappropriated over eighty million Galleons from the Potter Estate, funneling them into an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix, which those in the know say was originally formed to fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Dumbledore is registered as Harry Potter's financial guardian, but the brief indicates that Potter recently arrived at Gringott's none the wiser, and was accosted by the goblins over a perceived slight. To placate them, he was given Veritaserum and admitted under the influence that he knew nothing of his inheritance beyond a small trust vault. He was not even aware that Dumbledore was involved in his estate until it was discovered by Sebastian Delacour.
It is likely that this is the reason that Dumbledore has been denied access to Goblin lands. As many will know, the goblins deal particularly harshly with thieves, and especially with those who use their good relations with the goblins to accomplish their misdeeds. In light of this, it is unlikely that Dumbledore will ever again see the inside of the bank.
Account Manager Riptooth, the manager for the Potter Estate, informed us Thursday that the notes in the brief are, in fact, accurate. He further informed us that Harry James Potter, Fleur Annalise Potter, and Sebastian and Arienne Delacour, have all been named Friends of the Goblin Nation. When we asked after the reasons, he had this to say:
"Mr. Potter was exceptionally understanding about our mistake in accusing him of the sins of Albus Dumbledore. He has always been respectful to goblins, and shows none of the usual prejudice of Wizardkind. His wife and her family are likewise enlightened, and we are proud to call them Friends."
The discovery of the theft is sure to explain the frequent altercations between the Potters and Albus Dumbledore. While they have made no public statement regarding the charges, those charges were filed by Potter's father-in-law, Sebastian Delacour. It is believed that Mr. Delacour is playing a large role in the prosecution on behalf of young Mr. Potter.
A date has not yet been set for the trial, but the brief reports that the embezzled funds have been reclaimed by the goblins under existing goblin law. Given that they are known for their honesty in financial dealings, that is as good as pronouncing Dumbledore "guilty as charged."
Harry snorted as he read the article. "Looks like we're 'up-and-coming' now," he said sarcastically.
Fleur smirked evilly, and in a throaty voice she replied, "As long as eet ees you zat is up, and me zat is coming, I think I can live wiz zat."
Half the students within earshot choked on whatever they were eating or drinking, Harry included.
Chapter 45
Winners and Losers
Albus Dumbledore was missing in action for the days following the announcement of the charges. Nobody was certain if he was just busy running damage control, or if it was out of shame that he failed to appear at meals. The near-confirmation of the theft that the Gringotts statement represented had left him bereft of respect in what he surely considered to be "his" castle.
The Potters counted their blessings; the less they saw of the old criminal, the better as far as they were concerned.
Life for the students was also surprisingly quiet in the wake of the Third Task. Investigations were ongoing — and various officials could be seen prowling around the school and interviewing various people — but the students were largely exempt. The school officials, however, were not having a good time.
The papers were reporting the occasional result, but so far there had been little of interest. Most felt that the Ministry was withholding whatever they found so they could pull a big reveal when it was all said and done. The result of the investigation into the presence of the manticore, however, did leak — and it had borne unexpected fruit.
While Bagman was aware of the illegality and thus was arrested, it was a woman named Dolores Umbridge who actually arranged the acquisition and delivery of the beast. When questioned, she admitted that she wanted the "half-blood and creature abominations" dead, and assumed that the "respectable pureblood champions" could deal with the beast once it killed them.
Umbridge was a bigot of the first order, and responsible for a great many bigoted laws in Magical Britain — and not a few murders besides. Needless to say, she was now in Azkaban, and no longer advising Fudge.
But that was, in the end, the only juicy tidbit that the students had access to. Everything else was being kept quiet. Would Dumbledore be charged? Would the other school heads face sanctions of any kind? What about the Ministry officials involved? There were no answers forthcoming.
And so it wasn't long before the students started asking a different question that nobody had bothered with as yet.
With no new information being shared, the discussions soon tapered off, and they moved on to the more obvious topic. This had been the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, hadn't it? They knew by now what had gone on in the graveyard, and they saw the run up to the disaster, but they didn't know the most critical factor of the tournament:
Who won?
===[~]===
It wasn't until almost a week after the Task ended that the Ministry finally got around to providing the answer. Rather than make a massive public spectacle, however, they wisely decided to hold the event after an extra feast at Hogwarts. This would allow them to limit the media coverage, or so the hope went.
It was quite surprising to see Dumbledore once more riding his gaudy throne at the staff table. On the surface he seemed as serene as ever, but the more astute among them noted the anger in his eyes whenever he looked at the Potters. It was also clear that even his own staff was giving him a wide berth.
Harry wondered how long it would be before the Board of Governors ousted him, especially given that he'd lost them their most famous student.
Maxime and Karkaroff made sure that there were several people between them and him at the head table. It was clear to everyone that they were refusing to be tarred with the same brush. It would not do to be seen supporting a thief.
On the other side of Dumbledore sat Minister Fudge, Madam Bones, and to Harry's surprise, Augusta Longbottom. The latter was temporarily appointed to the Chief of the Wizengamot slot after Dumbledore was summarily suspended due to his upcoming trial — and most expected that to become permanent. It was good to see Fudge finally surrounding himself with competent people.
For tonight's festivities, the Champions sat with their families. Harry and Fleur were at the Gryffindor table, as was expected these days. They spent an enjoyable evening chatting with the Delacours and Sirius, along with Hermione, Neville, and the Weasley twins.
And boy, were the twins glad they hadn't interfered with the task. They had never come up with anything to do, but if they had done anything, they could have become targets as scapegoats for all the trouble. A number of highly-ranked people had ended up in St. Mungo's, and they were all out for blood.
Fred and George wanted nothing to do with that.
As dinner wound down, Filch pushed a podium up in front of the house tables, and Fudge quickly made his way down. Silence spread through the Hall upon seeing it; everyone wanted to know who truly won the Tournament. Harry and Fleur just grinned at each other.
"Good evening!" gushed the Minister. "Now that we've all enjoyed this lovely feast, it's time to get to the important things! You've all been patient, and we can now announce the results of the Triwizard Tournament!"
Polite applause went up at this declaration, though Fudge seemed slightly discouraged that it wasn't greater. It was hardly surprising — while everyone wanted to know who won, they were also all too aware that the Tournament was, overall, a joke. As spectators, they'd seen very little beyond the First Task — and the Third Task sent them running for the hills.
"It seems we have a very unusual situation," Fudge continued after the applause died down. "As everyone saw, our Champions decided to work together in the last task, summoning their brooms and avoiding the maze entirely. Rather smart of them, I say."
The room laughed at this declaration. Everyone had seen the manticore, and not a single person in the room would have wanted to face it alone — or felt capable of it. Had the Champions gone into the maze, it was highly likely that more than one of them would not have come back out.
"Given that the judges were unable to see what transpired due to the unfortunate events that followed, we were forced to take and view memories from each of the Champions. What we saw astonished even me. I never would have predicted it!"
Fudge drew the silence out for a moment, watching as the students hung on his every word. It was clear that he hadn't gotten to be Minister by bribery alone; he actually did have at least some small amount of charisma, when he chose to employ it.
"Our Champions worked through the entire task as a team," he finally said, "and they ended it in a perfect tie, all taking the Triwizard Cup at exactly the same time!"
The applause that rose at this was startling in volume, though there was also a fair amount of laughter. Many of the students realized that the Champions had, in the end, truly made a mockery of the competition. And it was clear from the satisfied look on Fudge's face that he was perfectly alright with that.
It was probably because he could pass the blame on to everybody but himself; he was barely taking a hit, and much of what had happened as a result of the Tournament was boosting his popularity in other ways. It was Dumbledore who was taking most of the blame.
"Champions, come on up here!" he requested.
Harry sighed and stood, offering his hand to Fleur as he went. She quickly took it, and they were met in front of the podium by Cedric and Viktor. Cedric stood to one side of the Potters, and Viktor to the other. Only a few noticed that, by silent mutual agreement, Cedric and Viktor stood a step behind them. It was a subtle but nevertheless powerful statement of their opinion on the matter of the Tournament.
"Never before in history have living contestants tied the Triwizard Tournament," Fudge informed his audience. "After much discussion, we have decided that all four of these wonderful young people deserve the full award. Thus we present each with a thousand Galleons, and their very own Triwizard Cup!"
The audience roared their approval, and Harry and Fleur took their trophies — which contained bags of Galleons — with nearly identical eye rolls. Neither of them cared about any of it. They would decide much later, however, that the trophies would be displayed in a prominent location in their home, simply as a reminder of how their relationship began.
"And thus concludes the Triwizard Tournament! We hope you all enjoyed it, and that you made new friends with your fellow students in our visiting schools!"
Harry and Fleur couldn't help but chuckle at that as they escaped back to their table. They had no idea who all had noticed, but the Champions were the only people who made friends at the opposing schools — and then only barely (Harry and Fleur's marriage notwithstanding). The Tournament was a complete failure in all respects in their view.
The only question was whether it would ever be held again, but they both doubted it. With the exception of some of the fallout, it would likely be old news before this time next year. The cancelling of the Hogwarts Quidditch season was, in the end, more impactful than the Tournament itself.
To most people, at least. Harry and Fleur felt differently, of course.
===[~]===
Nobody was surprised when the following day's Daily Prophet announced that Hermione Granger was to be awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class. She was one of only a few students who stayed to corral the dangerous beasts that had been within the maze. And she was the only one to have made a truly significant impact on that effort.
Some enterprising individual — probably Colin Creevy — had managed to snap a Wizarding photograph of her "dramatic transfiguration", as Madam Bones had put it. It was admittedly quite impressive; she had managed to transfigure a massive iron cage out of the front wall of one of the stands. As everybody knew, it took tremendous concentration to transfigure something so impressively large.
That, and absolute bucketloads of power.
Draco Malfoy would have been absolutely terrified that a Muggleborn was so much more powerful than him, had he been there to see it.
None of the other usual suspects in the school had made so much as a peep in her direction since the incident either.
The fact that she had done this to save a number of Wizengamot members, and while fleeing a rampaging hippogriff at that, had secured her the award with room to spare. The only complaint anyone had was that some felt it should have been a First Class award — though even Hermione herself disagreed with that. When asked in later years, she said it was the first time she ever truly appreciated the way Harry felt about that sort of attention.
For her part, Hermione continued to claim she was "just caging them up a bit", like it was no big deal. Harry had to stifle a laugh every time she said something similar. She had spent so much time snorting and rolling her eyes at him for downplaying his own efforts in the past, that he found it hilariously funny. Turnabout is fair play, and all of that.
The ceremony was to be held in the early days of the summer, and Harry and Fleur promised to be there with her, to her relief.
Meanwhile, the paper also continued ripping on the Tournament organizers, which mostly meant Bagman, Crouch, and — surprise, surprise — Albus Dumbledore. Few had known that the entire thing had been his idea in the first place. His reputation was truly in tatters, and it was only getting worse for him.
And then there was Percy Weasley, who was summarily sacked.
When Crouch went missing, his son Imperiused him into sending notes to Percy to execute on — and had Percy stuck to that, he would have been fine since he had no way of knowing what was happening with his boss. But when those notes stopped coming, Percy said nothing, and simply took over the department without so much as a by-your-leave. He was lucky they couldn't find a crime to charge him with.
To quote Amelia Bones, "It's not a crime to be a fool."
In another shocking announcement, Ludo Bagman — who had already been arrested over the manticore — turned out to be deeply in debt to the Goblins. In an unprecedented move, the Minister turned him over to Gringotts to face their form of justice. He wasn't about to pay Bagman's debts, which was the only other real option since the man was a Ministry employee.
Nobody would ever hear of Bagman again, and they would have been shocked to learn that he had been exiled to the Americas rather than outright killed.
As for the rest, the paper spent many, many words lambasting the Triwizard Tournament as a whole. The Tournament had been sold to the nations involved as a way to improve international relations through some friendly competition. Nowhere in that discussion had anyone mentioned that the Tournament would be potentially deadly to their most promising students.
On the Bulgarian side, their Champion — who was also an internationally renowned sports star — had nearly been maimed in the first task, and, according to rumor anyway, nearly killed in the third. Everybody was aware that the loss of Viktor Krum as their rising star would have been a huge blow to national pride.
Cedric Diggory had actually been maimed in the first task, and was lucky they had been able to repair the damage. While he was far from famous like Viktor, he was still well respected, and his father was well known in the Ministry. They had come very close to losing a highly promising young man.
And then there were Fleur and Harry.
While recognizing that they were truly good together, and that their marriage would likely bring them much happiness, the media nevertheless ripped everyone to shreds for seeing two so young forced into marriage. The Tournament organizers, they said, should have known better than to deliberately place a Veela in life-threatening danger.
The issue with Veela magic and life debts was quite well known, and that the Tournament allowed a Veela competitor was seen as a travesty — not because a Veela was unworthy to compete, but because it was so easy to ruin said Veela's life. It was seen as a major miracle that Harry and Fleur had come out of it with a bright future.
The fallout from that series of articles very nearly saw Madam Maxime summarily sacked from the Beauxbatons Academy. The people of France — including several local Veela enclaves — were very upset that Fleur had been so thoroughly endangered. Had they ever learned of the mild coercion that Maxime had undertaken to talk Fleur into signing up, she wouldn't have lasted two seconds.
Only a heartfelt public plea by the Potters that summer would stop the movement to have her ousted. They would ensure that everyone knew, firstly, that the Headmistress had accepted responsibility and sincerely apologized at the first opportunity (which she had, just after the wedding), and secondly, that the selection of the tasks was out of her hands. She hadn't known what they would entail when Fleur signed up.
People would still grumble that she shouldn't have let a vulnerable Veela compete, but thanks to the Potters' intervention, the matter would finally be dropped, and Maxime would keep her job.
But that was for the summer.
Karkaroff, for his part, came through almost unscathed, to Harry's disgust; he thought the man deserved far worse.
The one most pilloried, however, to nobody's particular surprise, was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and mostly for the danger into which he'd placed Britain's precious Boy Who Lived.
At first he was lambasted for his lacking security around the Goblet, and then for his lacking common sense when assisting with determining what the Tasks would be. But then the unthinkable occurred: one enterprising reporter obtained a copy of the original Tournament rules (or rather, Amelia Bones sent them after accidentally discovering them during the investigation, though not even the reporter would ever learn that). It quickly became clear just how great Dumbledore's transgression had truly been.
Two factors were in play. First, the magic of the Goblet, bound to those original rules even today, was based on the laws of Magical Oaths and Contracts, and that branch of magic had very specific requirements. Put simply, nobody could force another person into an Oath or a Contract. If they could, the result would be chaos and the probable collapse of magical society as people began writing all manner of forced contracts for any number of nefarious purposes.
That meant that, in spite of Dumbledore and Crouch's proclamations, Harry was never actually bound to compete in the first place. Upon reading that particular article, Harry had nearly cursed his former Headmaster right then and there. Fortunately, he had far more sense – and far more self control – than did Draco Malfoy.
The second factor was that there was a proviso for cancelling the Tournament in case of a problem. Even had Harry somehow been bound to the contract, the judges could merely have declared the Tournament over, and then restarted it to draw new contestants, and nobody's magic would have been at risk. In light of this, that Harry was forced to compete was nothing short of a crime.
And it was a crime that fell solely on Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He was the one who had edited the rules, and he had handed out that edited version to the other Headmasters. And his version of the rules conveniently excluded that information –– and only that information.
Needless to say, questions were being asked.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was in rather a lot of trouble.
Chapter 46
Riddle Me This
When Harry slid into his seat at the Gryffindor table on the Wednesday before the end of term, he didn't really expect much to happen. The papers, of course, were still all aflutter about everything, but he was largely ignoring that now. Fleur was a voracious reader anyway, and would let him know if something came up.
Dumbledore was notably absent from the head table again, which bothered him not a jot.
"Do you know what you're doing for the summer, Harry?" asked Neville once they had all tucked in.
"I have no idea yet, Nev," shrugged Harry. "I'll be in France with Fleur and her family, but that's all I really know right now."
"We will 'ave a good summer," smiled Fleur. "I cannot wait to take you on a tour of ze area."
Harry felt a rush of pleasure at that concept, and not just because of Fleur. He had never actually had a real summer vacation before, instead spending them all forcibly holed up at Privet Drive. To actually be able to go out and do things for the summer? That would be incredible!
"I can't wait," he said softly.
Fleur reached over and brushed his cheek, the soft look in her eyes telling him that she understood his reaction. "It will be wonderful, mon amour," she assured him. "And zere are plenty of ozzer things we can do as well."
"I should get your contact information," noted Hermione. "My parents and I often travel to France in the summers, and it would be nice if we could stop in and see you."
"Oui," smiled Fleur. "Zat would be magnifique! We can go shopping, too!"
The girls might have devolved right there into a discussion about shopping that only girls can appreciate, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the mail. Hedwig came to light on Harry's shoulder, and Fleur reached up to detach a scroll from her leg. Half the school stared openly at this; Hedwig was notoriously protective of her master's mail.
"What?" she asked when she saw that Hermione was among those staring.
"I'm surprised she let you do that," breathed Hermione.
"She knows who Fleur is," smiled Harry, reaching up to scratch his familiar. "Of course she'll allow it."
Fleur shook her head with a grin and skimmed the missive before handing it to him. He was surprised to see that it was a summons from Madam Bones — and an official one, at that. He was quite grateful that Dumbledore wasn't there to cause problems.
"We'd better go right after breakfast," he sighed. "I don't know what she wants, but whatever it is, it's probably important."
"Oui," nodded Fleur.
They finished their breakfast quickly after that; neither wanted to dally. Madam Bones struck them as the sort of woman who didn't mess about. If she was sending an official summons, then she had very good reason to do so, and keeping her waiting would not be wise.
They made their way back to the carriage after saying goodbye to their friends, and from there they took the floo to the Ministry. Harry made a mental note to learn to Apparate as soon as he could; it would be a lot more convenient.
All talk in the Ministry Atrium stopped when they appeared, but other than the usual whispers that tended to follow him in public, people left them alone. The latter suited Harry perfectly, but the quiet scrutiny sent a shiver up his spine. He sincerely hoped that he was less famous in France than in Britain.
Fleur had assured him that it was indeed the case, but he wouldn't truly believe it until he experienced it.
Harry came very close to hexing the wand checker when he leered at Fleur — but clearing his throat at the man seemed to do the trick. It was as though he had simply locked in on Fleur, and not noticed that her husband was standing right next to her. And given that her husband held the Order of Merlin and had recently bagged the Dark Lord Voldemort, nobody was going to challenge him.
It was one of the few aspects of his fame that he was actually thankful for.
Once they were through the gauntlet that was the atrium, they made their way quickly to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was a hive of quiet activity. Harry had once heard Vernon refer to this sort of place as a "gopher pit." Numerous Aurors and other employees worked quietly away, occasionally popping up out of their holes to converse over the top of the cubicles.
It was all of ten seconds before they were spotted by Auror Tonks.
"Wotcher!" she greeted, sporting hair that was vivid, Gryffindor red today.
"Hi," smiled Harry. He couldn't help it; the girl's obvious cheer was contagious. "Madam Bones sent for us."
"Yup," bobbed Tonks, gesturing for them to follow her. "Over here, she is."
Fleur chuckled at the spunky Auror, and Harry was glad that she wasn't the jealous sort. Not that Harry would ever betray her; he'd meant the oath he swore at their wedding. No doubt, so did she.
Tonks led them into Madam Bones' office, and the woman quickly sent her on her way. She didn't offer them a seat, however. Harry thought she looked rather distracted.
"The message wasn't actually for a meeting with me," she said quickly. "The Department of Mysteries wants to talk to you. Follow me please."
Harry frowned, but followed just the same. He knew of the Prophecy, of course, and that was the only thing he could think of that would have them contacting him. Except–
"Maybe zey want to check your scar," mused Fleur. "To ensure zat it was 'andled correctly."
"Maybe," frowned Harry.
She gave him a reassuring squeeze, and he refocused his attention back on Madam Bones, who was setting a brisk pace through the Ministry corridors.
They soon found themselves many floors deeper into the building, standing in the middle of a circular room, with eight doors surrounding them. As soon as the door closed behind the trio, the room spun. It was an odd magical effect; Harry could tell that the floor was what was spinning, but with the lack of sensation, it actually seemed as though the walls were moving instead.
"Croaker," ordered Madam Bones to no-one and nothing in particular.
There was a solid thunk from a door to their right, and she quickly led the way through, though she made sure to hold it open for them. Harry had the sense that getting lost in this place would be a bad idea. It was probably called the Department of Mysteries for a reason.
At the end of this new hall was a single office, the occupant of which was an older graying gentleman. Harry wasn't sure why he was showing his face; rumor had it that nobody knew who the Unspeakables actually were. Either way, he supposed it didn't matter.
"Ah, Amelia," the man said. Turning to Harry and Fleur he added, "and these must be the Potters. You can call me Saul Croaker. I'm the current Head Unspeakable."
And Harry suddenly understood. They could call him Saul Croaker, but it was highly unlikely that was his real name — or even his real appearance. Interesting.
"You two have caused quite the ruckus over the past few months," he continued, oblivious to Harry's bout of understanding. "We've enjoyed watching the results, I must say. It's about time that bastard Malfoy paid for his crimes, for one."
The darkness in the man's voice made Harry think that this man – or someone he had known and loved – had been a victim of the Death Eaters in the last war, and maybe Malfoy specifically. No surprise there; there weren't many who hadn't been touched in Harry's experience. In fact, the only ones who had come through relatively unscathed were those of a Dark persuasion.
And that was all thanks to Albus Dumbledore; he was the one who handicapped everyone, preventing them from fighting back with lethal force, even when lethal force was used against them.
"He got what he deserved," shrugged Harry.
"Indeed he did," agreed the man known as Croaker. "But alas, as amusing and frankly satisfying as your efforts have been, only one of them is the reason you're here today. Specifically, the capture and current disposition of one Tom Marvolo Riddle." Frowning slightly in thought he added, "That isn't short for Thomas, did you know? His mother actually named him Tom as his full name."
"I don't even know who his mother was," shrugged Harry, deciding that he had no objection to playing whatever Croaker's game was, at least for the moment. "Dumbledore hasn't exactly gone out of his way to let people know who their Dark Lord was, or even that he was apparently a half-blood. Strange considering how much support that might have stripped from him during the war."
"Strange indeed," agreed Croaker. "But then, Dumbledore is also a blood supremacist, just in a different way than Riddle or his bunch. He would rather save the life of a pureblood murderer than protect the life of a half blood or muggleborn student from the same. Draco Malfoy comes to mind."
"Zen why does 'e 'ave ze reputation as ze champion of muggleborns?" wondered Fleur.
"Luck mostly, on his part," smiled Croaker. "He helped a few, and it got around. Besides, he doesn't actually want them dead; he just doesn't want them having significant influence on Magical Society. They're too progressive, and he'd rather our society stay mired in the 1800's, which is when he was born."
"Makes sense," nodded Harry. "From what I've seen, nothing will change his mind, either. He's stuck in his ways."
"Exactly," agreed Croaker, seeming pleased that Harry understood. Then he turned much more serious. "But we've gotten off track. Are you aware that you are the subject of a Prophecy, Mr. Potter?"
"I am," he nodded. "But I don't know what it says, and I'm not so sure I want to know."
"Smart lad," nodded Croaker. Seemingly changing the subject he asked, "Are you willing to take the life of Tom Riddle?"
That seriousness of that question, and the abrupt nature of it, made him blink hard. "I'd rather not if it's all the same to you," he frowned, "but I would if it came down to it."
Fleur stirred from her ongoing study of Croaker and gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. "Riddle ees a monster," she agreed. "'E needs to be put down. Zat does not mean we prefer to be ze ones to do eet. Neizzer of us would 'esitate, though."
For his part, Croaker seemed inordinately pleased with their responses. "Excellent," he replied. "Much though I wish I could spare you the trouble, we have reason to believe that you do need to be the one to take this step, Mr. Potter. There is deep magic involved, and we don't want to find out if we're wrong. It could be disastrous.
"You already know of the Horcruxes. We have now confirmed that they have all been destroyed, including the one that resided in your scar – though why Dumbledore didn't–"
Croaker broke off suddenly and shook himself. "No, let's not go there right now," he said. "The important point is that they're gone. Riddle is now theoretically mortal again, but there are other things he has done to himself. We Unspeakables believe that there is a very strong probability that someone else killing him will not actually work, and may release him again, possibly in an even worse form."
Harry didn't need to guess at Croaker's aborted comments regarding Dumbledore. He, too, figured that Dumbledore knew of the Horcrux Tom left behind in his scar, and did nothing about it. Unless they somehow got Veritaserum into the old goat, he would probably never learn the truth of that.
And maybe not even then; as one of the few remaining alchemists, Dumbledore might be able to actually beat Veritaserum somehow.
Focusing back on the present, however, he considered his options – and the simple truth was, there weren't any. If he needed to be the one to put Tom down, then so be it. The bastard had killed his parents, so he wasn't going to balk, no matter how many nightmares it caused.
Thankful that they had given him the time to think it through, he turned to look at Madam Bones. "Are there any legal issues?" he asked. "I don't want to get hauled up for murder for offing a Dark Lord."
Croaker smiled again; it was clear that he was impressed with the question.
"That's been taken care of, Mr. Potter, though I didn't understand why until now. The Unspeakables, though me, negotiated a full pardon for both you and your wife for any actions taken in relation to Tom Marvolo Riddle. The order is classified "Omega", which means that even Fudge doesn't remember signing it, though it is magically certified so he can't back out of it later."
With that she handed over a piece of paper, and Harry quickly read it through. It was exactly what she said it was. Fleur also read it, and nodded thoughtfully.
"Does it 'ave to be known to ze public zat 'e was the one to do ze deed?" she asked. "'Arry does not like ze attention."
Harry nodded sharply. "Good call, love," he agreed.
"That won't be a problem," Croaker assured them. "We'll take all the credit if you want."
"Please do," nodded Harry.
"So you're willing to do this?"
Harry looked Croaker straight in the eye. "If that's what it takes to get rid of him for good?" He said. "Yes."
"Excellent. Follow me."
While Harry was surprised at the suddenness of it, he still stood — handing his wife up while he was at it — and followed Croaker out of the room, with Madam Bones bringing up the rear. He had the distinct sense that she was there just as a witness. Or maybe to be his advocate if it came down to it.
Either way, he felt better for her presence.
Croaker led them through the maze that was the Department, and Harry could barely keep track of the route. He doubted he would be able to find his way out of this place by memory. It was probably done on purpose; if you couldn't find things, then you couldn't steal or destroy them.
Soon enough they were in a different room, this one rather large. Steps – or perhaps stone seats – ringed it, going down to the center where a tall archway stood on a dais. A curtain of sorts hung in the center, blowing in a nonexistent breeze.
Just looking at it gave Harry a feeling of foreboding.
On one side of the dais was a spindly table, upon which was a small glass orb, lit from within with a soft white glow. On the other side was a crib that had seen better days. Behind the crib stood another Unspeakable, this one with his hood up and his face obscured.
Croaker directed Harry to the crib. "That's Riddle," he explained. "All you need to do is toss him through the veil here, and that's it."
"And zat will keel 'im?" asked Fleur skeptically.
"It is called the Veil of Death for a reason," noted the other Unspeakable omniously. The voice was so nondescript that Harry couldn't tell if the speaker was male or female.
"If you say so," he shrugged. "I'm sure as hell not touching that thing though."
And with that he drew his wand, even as the Unspeakables both chuckled at him. A quick levitation charm had the unconscious creature lifted out of the crib, and he quickly tossed it in the direction of the Veil. He was quite surprised when it vanished.
And even more so when the little orb stopped glowing at almost the exact same time.
"And so it ends," intoned the unknown Unspeakable. And then they nodded to Croaker and turned and left the room.
For his part, Croaker palmed the darkened orb. "Come," he said with a gesture. "Let's go back to my office."
Harry wasn't sure what he expected, but the whole situation was so sudden and so surreal that he didn't feel any different as they made the trek back. He thought he should feel guilty or something for taking a life, but he just felt… nothing. Maybe a small amount of relief that Tom was gone, but he'd largely assumed that already, so it was minimal.
He really wasn't sure what that said about him.
As though sensing his confusion, Fleur gave his hand a squeeze, and he turned to find her smiling proudly back at him. He quickly realized that her opinion was all he cared about in the end; if his wife was okay with it, who was he to complain?
They would discuss it later, he was sure.
Once they were seated back in Croaker's office, the man put the orb down on the desk in front of him. Harry studied it carefully; it was clearly important, but he had no idea how or why. Apart from the bronze stand, the orb was seamless. He had no idea what it was.
"You don't know what this is?" asked Croaker, as though reading his mind.
"No sir," he frowned.
"No guesses?" prompted the man.
"I thought maybe some kind of monitor on Riddle to make sure he actually died, but something tells me it's more than that."
Croaker smiled in that pleased way of his again. "Indeed," he agreed, "it could be said to be such a monitor after a fashion, but it is so very much more. This, Mr. Potter, is what we refer to simply as a Prophecy Sphere."
Harry perked up at this. "So the fact that the light went out means that whatever the Prophecy was, it's done?" he asked hopefully.
"Exactly," Croaker chuckled. "Would you like to hear it now? It was given to Dumbledore by Sybill Trelawney of all people. Her only known true prophecy."
"There's another one actually," he said absently as he considered his options. If the Prophecy was fulfilled, then he supposed there was no harm in hearing it. He was curious, and had only been worried about screwing things up somehow simply because he knew what it said.
"Another?" asked an astonished Croaker. "Do you know what it said?"
Harry felt it something of an accomplishment that he'd surprised the man. He closed his eyes and recalled the event in question so he could get the wording correct, and repeated it word for word.
"I thought it meant Sirius Black at the time, but it actually referred to Peter Pettigrew."
"No wonder you were so 'esitent to 'ear zis prophecy," mused Fleur. "Zat would 'ave been disastrous if you 'ad acted on eet wizout knowing ze truth."
"Indeed," agreed Croaker thoughtfully. "Prophecy is Perilous they say, and they are usually right. You were likely very wise not to listen to this one until now, when it's already completed."
"I would like to hear it," admitted Harry after a moment. "Seems to me that if Dumbledore was the one who heard it originally, it will probably explain a lot about his interest in my life."
Croaker chuckled and nodded as he tapped his wand on the sphere. The image of Sybill Trelawney rose from the orb and began to speak in the same harsh, guttural tones that he'd heard once before. When the recording ended, Harry was flummoxed.
"That twaddle was what had Dumbledore all up in my life?" he asked in astonishment. "Is that glow magical? Because that thing could've been fulfilled in 1981. All the conditions are met."
Croaker blinked at that. "That's a very good point, but yes, the glow is magical. It won't go out until the Prophecy is completed."
Harry shook his head, feeling a surprisingly deep sense of loathing toward his former Headmaster. He suddenly realized that his subconscious had still hoped that there was something that might excuse the old criminal's behavior, though now that was clearly no longer the case. In fact, it made it worse.
"You realize that Dumbledore committed Treason, don't you?" he asked quietly.
Croaker's eyebrows went up, but it was Madam Bones who asked the question. "What do you mean?" she frowned.
"I think I see where you are going, mon amour," frowned Fleur, "and you are right. Not just against ze British eizzer." Turning toward Bones and Croaker again she added, "What would ze correct course of action be if you 'eard zis Prophecy, and zen ze presumed subject was orphaned?"
Croaker' eyes widened. "Oh my," he breathed. "You take that child and raise him right, teaching him all you can to make him a force to be reckoned with. Which in and of itself could be considered 'not living' in the same sense as what Dumbledore did to you, but far less harmful."
"I don't disagree with that," frowned Bones, "but how does that equate to Treason? That's a serious charge."
"Simple," said Harry, closing his eyes against the anger welling up inside. "The prophecy says that the one with the power approaches. Not 'the first one'. Not 'one of many'. Just 'the ONE'. The clear implication is that there won't be another. Dumbledore kept me completely untrained and made me weaker at every turn." His voice falling to a whisper, he concluded, "he was setting me up to die. To fail. And that would have meant that Voldemort won. Possibly forever."
There was a stark silence in the room in the wake of this declaration. Each of them were clearly considering the implications. Fleur's arms came around him as he struggled against the incredibly powerful sense of betrayal that arose within. This was so much worse than just stealing his money!
"Saul?" asked Bones faintly. "Is his interpretation correct?"
Croaker was staring blankly at the wall, clearly disturbed by Harry's statements, but suddenly shook himself and sighed a heavy sigh when the question finally registered. "In a word, Amelia?" he said. "Yes. Prophecies are known to be very specific that way. And I didn't see it until he just pointed it out."
"Merlin!" she breathed.
Harry just shook his head, though. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said quietly. "Tom is gone, and the Prophecy is fulfilled. And we can't change the past."
"I am going to string that son of a bitch up by his sodding beard," growled Amelia lowly.
"It's not worth it," sighed Harry softly, leaning back into Fleur again. "He's already going down hard for stealing from my estate. Even if he misses out on a stay at the Azkaban resort, nobody will ever respect him again, let alone trust him. That's honestly a much worse punishment for an egotistical bastard like him."