Chapter 168 — Those Who Stayed

Minerva waited until the door closed behind Oswald. Madame Maxime still watched the spent paper, apparently more interested in the method than the damage it had caused.

‘He has worked hard at it,’ Minerva said when her colleague called the magic remarkable. ‘That doesn’t make what happened acceptable.’

Maxime turned towards her. ‘I was asking about the method,’ she replied. Her glance went to the door before she asked whether Minerva was worried about him competing.

‘I am worried about who decided he should.’ Minerva left without restoring the warmth with which they had greeted each other a week earlier.

Before going to the Headmaster’s office, she wrote to Emma. The selection, Oswald’s denial and the Ministry’s position went into the letter, followed by the school’s undertaking to investigate. She included the spells in the trophy room, the points deducted and the absence of injury. Omitting that would protect nobody.

She arranged for an owl to carry the sealed letter at once. By the time she reached the office, Albus stood beside the Pensieve, Severus waited near the desk and Moody had chosen a chair facing the door.

‘First the Dark Mark, now a pupil entered in a dangerous competition without his knowledge,’ she said. Albus looked up to ask what she would have them do. ‘Stop proceeding as though the competition matters more than discovering what happened.’

He reminded her that Barty’s position was clear. She had heard it, she replied, and had not mistaken it for an answer. Severus folded his arms before speaking.

‘Immediate cancellation may make whoever is responsible choose another method,’ he said. ‘If we want to discover what they intend, we should watch for the hand that moves next.’

‘With Oswald waiting where you expect it to reach him?’ Minerva turned towards Albus when Severus’s expression failed to change. ‘You are discussing bait.’

The Headmaster remained silent for a moment. Moody shifted his damaged leg and reminded them that the boy had not submitted his own name; they needed to find whoever had. Minerva told him to investigate, then. Oswald had asked for that himself.

‘We shall not leave him unprotected,’ Albus said, resting a hand on the basin. ‘Alastor, keep a particular watch on him. Quietly. He already has enough people watching for reasons he dislikes.’

Moody nodded. Minerva felt her fingers tighten on the letter copy she still carried, and reminded Albus that the boy was entitled to know of threats against him.

‘An identifiable threat will be brought to him,’ Albus answered. ‘At present we have a name on parchment.’

‘And an intention,’ she said. He acknowledged that, but supplied nothing more while she waited.

She had known Albus long enough to recognise when he was choosing not to speak. That did not tell her what filled the silence. She placed the letter copy on his desk and told him Emma’s was already on its way.

‘I am going to speak to Oswald again,’ she said. ‘If we expect honesty, we should consider how much we are prepared to give him.’

She left the three men beside the basin. The corridor outside offered no more answers, but there was at least a pupil she could speak to directly.

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When I came out of the trophy room, Luna had been waiting with Harry. Hermione and Ron stood against the wall a little further down, and for a moment none of them asked me anything. Then Luna approached, looking first at my face and then my hands.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asked. I shook my head, though the shaking in my fingers was becoming impossible to conceal. ‘Come away from the door.’

I took two breaths of the cooler air before Harry asked what had happened. They were keeping me as champion, I explained, apparently because the cup’s opinion counted for more than mine. The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.

Luna took my hand. I gripped hers too tightly before noticing and easing my fingers. ‘Will you stay with me for a while?’ I asked. She agreed, and we went upstairs together.

I brought her through the portrait with the others. Voices which had filled the common room stopped at my entrance. Two older students left for the stairs; a boy by the fire glanced at my pouch, then away. Someone mentioned Cedric while I kept walking towards the chairs.

Neville waited beside one with a book beneath his arm. He let me come close enough that the room would not hear him before saying he believed me. After what he had endured in Moody’s class, he had still found room for that.

‘Thank you,’ I said. He gave me a small nod and went upstairs while I stood watching for another moment.

Luna settled beside my chair. Fred and George emerged from the corner with their betting notebook, announcing the arrival of the man who had ruined their calculations. George’s tentative grin made it easier to understand what they were offering.

‘First you drink the wrong potion,’ I said. ‘Then you take advice from each other. It all follows naturally.’

Fred held a hand over his heart and described the account as devastating. I advised him to write it down and sell it, which made both of them laugh. For a moment sitting in the common room felt less difficult.

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George tapped the notebook. ‘Under a sufficiently heartless reading of our arrangements, we could keep rather a lot,’ he said. Fred explained that nobody had backed me because I had not appeared on the list.

I looked at the book and asked what they meant to do. Fred’s grin faded before he answered.

‘They bet on a selection with rules,’ he said. ‘Whatever happened, that isn’t what they got. We’re returning the stakes.’

Ron asked whether he meant all of them. George assured him he did and requested that he stop looking so astonished, since it harmed their reputation. I managed a small, unsteady laugh while Fred squeezed my shoulder.

They asked to be told if I discovered how it had happened. I suspected they wanted the method, but Fred said they would prefer to avoid owing whoever had done it a favour. Then they went to find the names in their book, and Ron returned from the table with a covered plate.

‘We saved you something,’ he said, handing me a fork. I suddenly found the food more interesting than almost anything we had discussed. ‘Eat it before deciding I’m an excellent person.’

For a while the others let me do that. Harry moved his chair so our conversation would not carry into the room, Hermione put down her bag, and Luna rested her hand near mine on the arm of my chair. I had expected a room full of questions. This was much easier to bear.

Ron spoke when I set the plate aside. ‘I thought you might have done it,’ he admitted. ‘For a minute downstairs. Every explanation I thought of involved something you hadn’t told us.’

‘I’ve given you reasons before.’ I waited while he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He said that did not mean this time, and apologised for not waiting to hear me. ‘Thank you for saying it.’

Harry asked for the account at last. I described the unfamiliar handwriting, the questions and the refusal to select another champion. Then I reached Fleur, and Luna became still beside me as I explained what I had done.

‘I broke a bracket behind her, disarmed her when she raised her wand and threw an Incendio piece.’ Hermione stared while I continued. ‘McGonagall put out the fire. Snape stopped me reaching for anything else.’

Harry asked whether Fleur was hurt. I repeated her answer, and Ron looked towards my pouch before asking why. It was the question I had avoided since the metal split.

‘I wanted her to stop calling me a cheat,’ I said. ‘And to see that being younger didn’t mean I was helpless.’

‘She hadn’t said you were helpless,’ Luna pointed out. I looked down at my hands and agreed that I had supplied that part myself.

I told them about the apology and ten points. Hermione said I had frightened Fleur, and I admitted that I knew. Luna turned her hand beneath mine without pretending the explanation made what I had done easier to accept.

‘I’m glad you told us that part too,’ she said. I had almost left it until later, and her words made me glad I had not.

I did not think all the adults believed I had entered myself, I explained. They still refused to remove my name; Crouch insisted on the binding while Dumbledore promised to have it examined. Harry asked what would happen if I refused, which was another question nobody had answered clearly.

‘I asked them to record that I didn’t agree,’ I said. ‘Emma’s being told tonight, and I’ll send my own account.’

Hermione approved that. Across the room, people who had remained were beginning to find other things to do, and I understood a little more of Harry’s second year while watching them. I told him so, and he followed my glance.

‘Having people who believe you helps,’ he said. ‘We’re here.’

The words got past the anger. I looked round the little group and found myself able to consider something beyond what the crowd might be saying.

‘Someone wanted this,’ I said. ‘That’s the part we haven’t explained.’

‘They had to get your name to the Goblet,’ Ron replied. Hermione looked at him, and he clarified that whoever did it, or someone helping, needed access at some point.

I sat forward. ‘That’s worth keeping,’ I said. Harry mentioned the visitors, and Hermione added students, staff and Ministry people. ‘It doesn’t tell us they’re still here. But we can ask who had access and when.’

Luna glanced towards the portrait. Somebody helping might not know the whole purpose of the help, she suggested, leaving me to picture how easily parchment could have changed hands among the crowds. I proposed taking the questions to McGonagall. She could ask things we could not.

‘And what do you do?’ Harry asked. I looked at the pouch, thinking of the three pieces I had wasted by letting anger choose their targets.

I still wanted to be stronger. ‘Prepare,’ I said. ‘Find out what I’m meant to face and learn what I need. If they keep me in this competition, I intend to do more than be grateful for getting out alive.’

Ron asked whether I meant winning. I told him I would like to make a serious attempt, and Harry smiled for the first time since I had come back. That sounded more like me, he said, so I warned him that asking for help with the reading would sound even more familiar.

Hermione was already reaching for her bag. I laughed, not much, but enough to make Luna squeeze my hand.

Harry proposed writing to Sirius about the selection. Hedwig had not returned, so he would use a school owl. I asked him to include my denial and the fact that we did not know whether this connected to the World Cup.

We wrote at the table by the window. My letter to Emma took longer, particularly the part about Fleur, which I included before I could find an excuse to leave it for another account. When McGonagall arrived, I went into the corridor with Luna and the nearly finished letter.

The Professor looked tired. She confirmed that her account was already on its way and promised to arrange for mine to follow when I had completed it. I described Ron and Luna’s questions about access and possible helpers, and she listened until I finished.

‘Those will form part of the inquiry,’ she said. ‘You are not to begin interrogating other students yourselves.’

I assured her we were not planning to. She told me to keep it that way, then offered to accompany Luna towards Ravenclaw when she was ready. Luna agreed, and McGonagall moved a few steps down the corridor.

‘I’m sorry this was the evening you got,’ I told Luna. She put her arms round me before explaining that she had wanted to spend it with me. ‘Even this one?’

‘Especially a little of this one.’ I held her, feeling the tightness across my shoulders begin to ease. ‘You don’t have to pretend it hasn’t hurt.’

I closed my eyes briefly. When we drew apart, she kissed me, and I could simply be glad she was there without trying to solve anything in that moment. McGonagall waited while I returned to the table, finished the last lines and sealed the letter.

I brought it back and thanked her. She took it, told me to rest and left with Luna towards the stairs. I watched them go until they turned out of sight.

Harry returned from the Owlery later and told me his letter had gone. I sat on my bed with my shoes off until he finished speaking, then lay down. Sleep remained somewhere else.

If Voldemort had anything to do with the selection, why me? My parents had stood against him, but their deaths did not explain why someone would choose this way to reach me now. I had read their notes and heard stories from people who knew them, discovering how much of a life could remain outside what someone left in a box.

There might be something I did not know, or no connection at all. Harry had dreamed of Voldemort, and the man at the campsite had turned towards Harry beneath the Dark Mark. My name had come out of the cup.

In the dark I pictured the parchment again. Someone had sat down, written those words and expected the result to matter. I wanted to know who.