Cut and Captured

‘I feel I have been bamboozled,’ said Albus Dumbledore as he gazed out at the dark, impenetrable fog before him.

‘What was that, Dumbledore?’ shouted Ludo Bagman. Although there were only a handful of seats filled in the judges' box, the roar of voices from the stadium and the whizzing, fizzing, flying sounds of the fireworks somewhere overhead made it nearly impossible to hear the old sorcerer next to him.

Dumbledore was quite sure the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports was shifting from one foot to the other, craning his neck as he tried in vain to catch a glimpse of the champions as surely many, if not all, of the other spectators had also tried to do. At least no one tried to jostle past in order to get a closer look at the pitch, the upside to the impenetrable fog being that it was really too dark to risk leaving one’s seat.

‘Alas,’ said Dumbledore, casting a muffling charm around the two of them, ‘I feel I have been bamboozled.’

‘Bamboozled, how?’ Bagman asked. He sounded distracted.

‘Well, you see, I have in my possession what I thought until now was a rather fine Deluminator which can be used to banish all light for a time,’ Dumbledore explained, nodding his head, not that Bagman could see it. ‘Sadly, I fear I have never seen true darkness until this very moment. As I’ve said, I’ve been bamboozled.’

‘How unfortunate, Dumbledore—Lumos!’ Bagman cast the spell emphatically, but nothing happened.

‘I don’t suppose you would reveal to me how you have managed to darken the sky to such an extent,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Call it, a fooled man’s curiosity.’

‘This? This isn’t my doing,’ said Bagman with a humpf. ‘Nothing but a rather unfortunate spot of weather by the looks of it.’

‘You think so? And here I had imagined it was your way of building the suspense before the victorious champion is revealed,’ said the headmaster.

‘I’m quite sure the suspense was already there the moment Potter and Diggory closed in on the Cup,’ said Bagman, and it was clear he felt more than let down at what had happened next. Oh, how his heart had pounded in his chest at that moment! He had so wanted to see both Hogwarts champions duel it out in front of the Cup. Surely it would have been one for the books, a sight never before seen in the history of the Triwizard Tournament! Not one but two Hogwarts champions going for the win unmatched in their performance! ‘Clear skies over Scotland my ar—'

‘Too right you are,’ said Dumbledore, cutting him off. ‘And the countercharm ending the transparency spell placed on the maze just when the end of the Task was upon us?’

‘Again, not my doing. Not a countercharm either,’ said Bagman, almost impatiently as he waved his hand in front of his face, willing the black fog away. ‘These sorts of spells can glitch under pressure. Oh, there’ll be an inquiry with my name on it. I should have made sure the spell would hold.’

‘Indeed,’ Dumbledore said, his voice understanding. ‘How shall we proceed from here, Ludo?’

‘Well, the winning champion will be announced, although not with the dramatic flair I had hoped—if only this bloody fog would clear,’ said Bagman, and he stopped his waving, coming to rest the tip of his invisible, yet nevertheless illuminated wand to the corner of his mouth. Dumbledore could well picture the other man’s furrowed brow and partial frown as he thought for a moment. ‘Come to think of it, the victor could always take a few laps around the pitch on broomstick—that’ll get the crowd cheering again.’

‘It most certainly would,’ Dumbledore agreed.

‘As for the others, the runners-up will lead their fellow schoolmates up to the Great Hall for the feast as previously planned, but not before I first pop in to change the banners so that they reflect the winner’s school. I’ll have to race back here then, naturally. Of course, the victor will remain here with his or her headmaster, or headmistress,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘and shake hands, speak to the press, make contacts and so forth.’

‘One can only hope. Now, seeing as there appears to be some time left until this fog clears, could I interest you in a Sherbert Lemon? They’re muggle-made, you know…’

‘Just the man! Dumbledore, it seems that congratulations are in order, and I offer you mine most sincerely. Well done, old chap.’

‘You will forgive me, I hope, for not having the faintest idea what you mean, Cornelius,’ Dumbledore replied, the look on his face pleasant and agreeable as his brilliant blue eyes came to meet the Minister for Magic’s glance.

Cornelius Fudge, who had come to expect such unusual behaviour from the ancient wizard in his career, was not perturbed in the slightest as he said, ‘My congratulations for winning the Triwizard Tournament, of course! It appears one of your Hogwarts champions has managed it, and the glory falls to the school. Then again, Hogwarts did have twice the chance of winning compared to the other schools in the competition, but that’s by the by.’

‘Ah,’ said Dumbledore, stroking his beard slowly, ‘it seems we have a disagreement in perspective.’

‘How so?’

‘You seem to think the Tournament is over,’ Dumbledore replied, as though it were obvious.

‘With all due respect, Dumbledore, it is quite clear that one of your champions has won.’

‘Is it? I myself, I fear, am unconvinced,’ said the headmaster.

‘What do you mean by that, Dumbledore?’

‘Well, it would seem to appear that one or other of the Hogwarts champions have not so much won the Tournament, as disappeared from it.’

Fudge let out a strangled laugh which was quite reminiscent of taking a sip down the wrong pipe. ‘Come now—disappeared in front of all these people? And from Hogwarts no less… You’re having me on, Dumbledore, surely.’

‘Miss Delacour has confirmed it,’ Dumbledore said calmly. ‘She saw Harry and Cedric vanish right before her eyes, just as they were about to take hold of the Cup.’

‘So according to the girl, it’s all ended in a draw? Dumbledore, in the history of the Triwizard Tournament there has never been a draw—’

‘There have also never been two champions from the same school,’ Dumbledore smiled.

‘Well, that’s just… another matter entirely,’ Fudge retorted, trailing off.

‘You think so?’

‘Indeed, I do,’ Fudge sighed exasperatedly. ‘Listen, Dumbledore. You and I both saw that fog. You and I both know that someone cast the Cumulo Obscuro charm from inside the maze and that the countercharm must be cast by the original caster. I’m sure Potter fancied having a lark, seeing as all the press is here, and meant it as nothing but a bit of harmless fun. Mark my words, both boys will turn up grinning from ear to ear by the time pudding is served.’

‘I do not believe Harry would do such a thing,’ Dumbledore’s voice was firm, his tone more serious than it had been before, but he was still smiling pleasantly at the Minister.

‘By all accounts, Dumbledore, the boy memorably blew up his aunt and ran away to Diagon Alley on the Night Bus, if I’m not mistaken, not to mention his various stunts and blunders at the school,’ Fudge tersely replied.

‘Cornelius—’

‘But he is a young boy and will grow out of it, just as his father did,’ Fudge said, cutting Dumbledore off.

For a moment, both wizards were silent.

‘And so, I take that to mean you will not be instigating an inquiry into Harry and Cedric’s disappearence—’

‘Disappearance!’ cried Fudge, and again he let out a laugh, this one somewhere between forced and incredulous. There really was no convincing Albus Dumbledore he was wrong even when all the facts pointed in the other direction. ‘Should any evidence arise to indicate that Potter has disappeared,’ he said sarcastically, ‘then by all means I will not hinder an investigation.’

The look of calm never left the headmaster’s face, even when his eyes broke their contact with the Minister for Magic, his attention drawn suddenly elsewhere as he said, ‘Do I have your word on that, Cornelius?’

‘Yes, yes, alright,’ said Fudge dismissively, and just as quickly Dumbledore was looking him in the eye again.

‘Then it is agreed,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And now if you’ll excuse me.’

‘Gladly, Dumbledore. I had rather hoped to have gone up to the feast by now,’ and tipping his bowler hat as was his custom, Cornelius Fudge turned on his heels.

Albus Dumbledore had expected more from the Minister for Magic, it had to be said. Not only the man himself but the Ministry of Magic entirely owed nearly as many things to the Boy Who Lived as they expected to receive from him in return. The Hogwarts headmaster was not uninstinctive; he had seen how Fudge had progressively come to involve himself in Harry’s life both at Hogwarts and outside of it, hoping for the boy’s endorsement of his continued position as the head of the wizarding world at large. The support of Harry Potter, young as the boy may have been, was a highly sought after prize, one which many believed would come hand in glove with the boy’s substantial inheritance which was contained in several of the most extensive vaults in Gringotts.

If his unpleasant discussion with Cornelius Fudge was anything to go by, it unfortunately appeared that Harry’s whereabouts would not begin to be treated as a security issue until it was in the Ministry’s best interest to see it as such. And then there was the matter of Cedric Diggory, whose role in all this was yet unknown to him, but whose father would nevertheless take swift action in search of the boys.

Yet all of these musings were interrupted the moment Alastor Moody appeared before him.

‘Any luck, Alastor?’ said the headmaster, turning his full attention to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

Moody leaned in close to the older wizard, his voice low, ‘We found no trace of Potter or Diggory nor their wands in the maze. They’re gone, disappeared.’

‘How curious indeed.’

‘The Quidditch pitch is all sorted back to normal, but Minerva and I will continue to search the grounds.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Dumbledore said, a faint smile on his face. ‘I thank you for your diligent efforts, but perhaps we should wait to resume the search in the morning.’

‘If you’re sure, Dumbledore. The first hours are the most crucial in any disappearance,’ said the ex-auror.

‘Quite right you are,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Nevertheless, a bit of daylight and a good night’s rest can make a world a difference. Now, I insist that you and Minerva continue on to the feast before the roasted pheasant gets cold, and I shall join you shortly.’

Moody took a moment to scrutinise Dumbledore’s expression before saying, ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘I’m always sure when there’s roasted pheasant at stake,’ Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

The headmaster took one last look at the Quidditch pitch which was completely devoid of any hedges. All but a few witches and wizards remained, most of whom were oggling Viktor Krum as the Durmstrang champion donned his cloak in a move not unlike one of his official posters.

Chuckling at the sight, the headmaster waved in greeting to one Dedalus Diggle who himself appeared to be recounting his favourite highlights from the various tasks to an avidly nodding Kingsley Shacklebolt—his gestures and expressions clearly reminded the headmaster of Harry’s flying match against the Norwegian Ridgeback—and then began to walk in the direction of the castle, where he was joined a few paces later by a certain pale, lanky, black-haired professor.

Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape sauntered on for a stretch, choosing to journey a bit further off from the main path to the castle. Interestingly enough, although the two were clearly deep in conversation, anyone listening in on them at that moment would have been hard pressed to make out the words they were saying, as it seemed they were speaking at a volume only discernable to moths.

And then the most unusual thing happened.

Not a moment after Severus Snape appeared to nod his head at the old man, he was no where to be seen, almost as if he too had vanished on the spot, not unlike the two Hogwarts champions had done a mere hour previous.

And there Albus Dumbledore remained alone for a moment or so, entranced, it could be ventured, by the Womping Willow. The limbs of the ancient tree rested immobile, seemingly frozen in place, despite the strong breeze which blew the headmaster’s long, grey hair this way and that in the night air.