The Imposter Revealed
The journey must have taken hours, as Harry couldn’t make out a thing in the darkness by the time the broom lowered itself to the grass and the two boys slid off it, but once they had touched the grass, the pitch black blur of moving so fast through the air disappearing, he registered the bright torches lighting up the stadium as well as the lamps running up the path from Hagrid’s hut up to Hogwarts, where the windows were alit with the warm glow of night, and understood that they had returned.
Immediately after touching the ground both boys shook and fell to their knees, Harry’s leg torn open still while Draco felt like every fiber of his being was on fire from the ferret still. Not to mention they had been stuck on a wooden stick for hours. They had very little time to rest and pant for air, however, before shouting could be heard, and the two raised their heads and looked about to see a line up of Professor’s exiting the stadium, a group of kids close behind.
As they got closer, the lights at the ends of their wands illuminating themselves, Harry realized it was Dumbledore--to his great relief--leading Professor’s McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid, as well as the imposter Crouch. With him and causing a more greater riot with shouts of anguish were Madame Maxime, and Minister Fudge, and the kids proved to be Fleur, Tess, Ron, and Hermione.
But while some were louder than others, it was clear to Harry and Draco that every single one of these people were angry, though they didn’t have it in them in the slightest to care.
“Harry! Harry!”
“Draco!”
“They’re back!”
“Draco! Harry!”
“Merlin’s beard, what happened in that maze, boys?”
“Harry! Draco!”
As the crowd got closer Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s and squeezed slightly, not even needing to spare him a glance to tell him it was going to be alright, instead staring ahead at the group resolutely, but specifically Dumbledore. Draco stared back, jaw tight, prepared for the onslaught of questions and judgment. He had been the one to bring back the dead body and then promptly disappear, after all. They deserved answers.
So when Dumbledore reached the two boys first, Harry reached out and grabbed the Headmaster’s wrist and gasped, “He’s back.” before Fudge could even think about closing in on the two boys. “Voldemort. He’s back.”
“What’s going on? What happened?” The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared, alit by both Dumbledore’s and his own wand, pale white, appalled, and horror struck all at once. “Why is Krum dead?” And soon the whole crowd was surrounding them, muttering or shouting for answers and questioning the fact that the final Durmstrang Champion had turned up dead.
“Harry?” Hermione was fighting her way through this crowd, and it nearly broke the fellow Gryffindor’s heart to see her like this, puffy faced, red eyed, but composed for him, because she knew she had to be for her friends. “What happened?”
Harry simply shook his head in horror while Draco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Fudge.
“Harry, come with me. Dumbledore, we should discuss this elsewhere.” Fudge had reached out to grab Harry’s arm who had jerked away in surprise, letting go of Draco’s hand in the process, and now resorted to whispering in Dumbledore’s ear, watching the two boys like they were already convicted murderer’s. Dumbledore didn’t seem to be listening, however, eyes instead misted and hazed as they surveyed the beaten up states of these two, and the firebolt laying in the grass, smoky, slightly, from the speed and length at which it had flown them.
“You flew him back?” The Headmaster whispered to the Slytherin, whose bloodshot, tired gray eyes widened, but he nodded anyway. “Yes… er… How long were we--”
“Two hours!” Hermione exclaimed, sniffing and gripping Ron’s most likely already snot drenched robes as he appeared beside her suddenly. “We were so worried about you--” “We thought you weren’t coming back, mate.” Ron said, and both boys felt a part of their hearts break at the true emptiness in those usually bright and fun-loving eyes.
“Hermione…” Was all Harry found himself saying, as he flashed back in his mind to the graveyard--to Viktor, and the words he’d told him to say. “Oh Hermione…”
Dumbledore bent down, seemingly snapping from his daze at last, and helped both boys up by the shoulders with a surprising feat of strength for a man whose age Harry didn’t dare guess. However, as soon as they lay on their feet, they both swayed, nearly falling over again. It took Ron appearing at Harry’s side and Hermione at Draco’s to keep them upright.
There was a growing sound of a crowd, and Fudge turned to worriedly look back at where the Professor’s had turned and run to sort out the mess of people flooding down from the stands, though Crouch notably stayed, fixing Moody’s magical eye on the two boys firmly.
“He’ll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge said loudly. “We’ll question him later but first, Dumbledore, we must talk--”
“I agree, Cornelius.” Dumbledore nodded, then to the kids, “Miss Granger, Mister Weasley. I trust you will be able to take Harry and Draco back to the Hospital Wing?” And while the two were both clearly still stunned to silence while keeping their friends upright, they nodded anyway, and were just turning away when Crouch stepped forward, causing all four to freeze in horror.
“It’s all right, kids, I’ll take you… come on… hospital wing…” And before the poor teens could even protest Crouch was pushing them forwards, away from Dumbledore and Fudge. Hermione could just make out, through the crowd that was closing around the two and the kids screaming and shouting at Harry and Draco, the Headmaster attempting to reach the kids while the Minister held him back.
“But Dumbledore said… to stay…” Harry said thickly, thinking of any possible way he could get out of this Death Eater’s clutches--the monster who had directly led to the resurrection of Voldemort that night, who had been puppeteering them all year--but it was hard with the pounding of his scar. It was hard with the sinking of his eyelids. He wasn’t sure if he could even fight again, if put to it.
“You need to lie down… come on, now…” Crouch replied, his voice an odd sort of comforting. Odd, only because it hadn’t matched with the persona the kids had created over the past month. Odd, because it felt just the same as the man who they had had their first, admittedly exciting class with, that now felt dark and wrong in every way.
There was silence. Tense, endless silence where the kids could only stumble across the grass and up the stone steps to the castle, before Crouch spoke again. “What happened, you two?” The Death Eater asked, leg clunking with each step, and, to their horror, the four all came to the realization that he probably had no clue they knew who he was. So, when Draco cleared his throat and spoke, knowing Harry couldn’t, his words spoke a sensible truth for a fourteen year old who had come face to face with death.
“The cup was a Portkey. It took us to some strange graveyard. Muggle, I think.” The Malfoy boy explained. They had entered the castle, and were now crossing the Entrance Hall. “Then… You-Know-Who was there.” “Voldemort.” Harry choked out, and his three friends collectively winced at the horrible name.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Up the marble stairs…
“The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?” Another swallow, and Draco continued. “He killed Viktor. Not You-Know-Who, the other one--” “Wormtail.” Harry choked, clearly reduced to name supplier in this state. “Yes. He killed him. Killed him ‘cause he was the…” A long hesitation and a gulp before, “Spare. He called him the spare.”
Crouch didn’t seem to care one bit. “And then?”
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Along the corridor…
“Harry sent me back.”
“So how did you get back to Harry?” Draco swallowed, glanced over at his friends, then said, “My Dad. He… he was there. All the Death Eater’s were there. You-Know-Who summoned them. I apparated with him, then I freed Harry. And then he dueled him--”
“The Dark Lord came back? He’s returned?” Both boys nodded. “And you dueled with him?” Harry shook his head. “I need to lie down…”
Crouch opened a door ahead of them with a flick of his wand, and the four stumbled their way inside, followed quickly by the Death Eater, who shut and locked the door in an instant. “In here… Sit down… You’ll be all right now… Drink this…” He picked up two cups and shoved them in Harry and Draco’s hands, and the two hesitated, but with a glance at the substance Hermione nodded they were okay and helped them tip it down their throats.
“Drink it, yes… You’ll feel better… Come on now, both of you, I need to know exactly what happened…” Draco glanced over at Harry, as he was the one who had seen and heard more, and so the boy wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stared resolutely at Crouch, who stared back, face white as a sheet. “Voldemort’s back, Harry? You’re sure he’s back? How did he do it?”
“He took stuff from his father’s grave, and from Wormtail, and me.” Harry explained, his head suddenly feeling much clearer than before, and the pain in his scar dulling. The whole world around him cleared, and suddenly he became all the more uncomfortable with the situation as he stared into a face that didn't belong to the man speaking from it.
“What did the Dark Lord take from you?”
“Blood.” He raised his arm, and his friends all winced at the cut running down his skin, with a thin line of dried blood stuck to its seam.
“And the Death Eaters? They returned?” Crouch let out his breath in a long, low hiss before asking this, and the teens could only imagine what the Death Eater himself was thinking at the moment. “Yes.” Harry said. “Loads of them…”
“How did he treat them?” He asked quietly, a distant look in eyes that weren’t his. “Did he forgive them?” Harry’s eyes narrowed on Crouch, but Draco answered this time, afraid the words that would come out of his friend's mouth wouldn’t be friendly to their delicate situation. “No. He was mad they didn’t try to find him, and fled at the Dark Mark during the Quidditch Final.”
“Did he mention the one who put it up?”
Every kid sucked in a sharp intake of breath, and Draco and Harry both gave a firm “Yes” in response. Crouch turned his back on them, then, leaning against his desk and breathing in and out heavily. “What did he… say?”
“That he was a most loyal servant. A Death Eater here, at Hogwarts. That he was forgiven for not coming to the Graveyard that night.” Draco tread on those words carefully, and shifted a little in his seat to try and see the look on Crouch’s face. He couldn’t, but he felt a shiver run straight through his body from hair to toes when the man said, “I know who the Death Eater is,” in a normal, quiet voice, without a hint of the gruffness Moody should carry. Draco and Harry gave each other a worried glance, and Hermione spoke up this time, worried they both would say something they’d regret. “You know?! But who… Is he the one who put Harry and Draco’s names in the Cup?”
“Oh yes.”
“Who did it?”
“I did.” Every one of those four paled to the color of the whitest sheets as Crouch slowly turned, eyes narrowed, face fallen into shadow in the exact same way it had been all that time ago at the night of the first drawing.
“No, you didn’t.” Was Harry’s immediate response, because, if he was being truthful, throughout this whole process of figuring out who the Death Eater was, he had hoped the biggest of hopes, in the smallest part of his brain, that it wasn’t Moody. That it couldn’t possibly be the man who’d extended the olive branch repeatedly this year--who had proven to be a great teacher and the reason he wanted to become an Auror one day, in a year where he wasn’t confident that anything was going to go right. But he had gone right, so no, he couldn't be the Death Eater. That had to be a fantasy, a dream…
But the fantasy was believing that the man he was speaking to wasn’t Crouch Jr. A fantasy was thinking this man wasn’t just as much of a manipulator as his first and second Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers.
“I assure you I did.” The magical eye swung around, fixing upon the door, and the kids were positive he was making sure no one was outside or around it. But at the same time, the Death Eater drew his wand and pointed it at the group, Draco doing the same in a second, Ron following. Hermione and Harry were stunned into frozen silence.
He let out a cold, hardy, rough laugh at the sight of the two teens bravely facing him down, and shook his head. “Ah, Weasley, always eager to protect your friends. And you, little ferret.” Both eyes now focused upon Draco, who nearly shrunk under his gaze. “The Champion of Slytherin. You know I had hope for you, hope that you’d learn to follow in my footsteps--the right footsteps. But you're just as much of a coward as your slimy father.” A year ago Draco would have been a pile of dust under that gaze and those words, but he was braver now, stronger, in part because of the man in front of him, but mostly due to the friends at his side.
“I’m no coward.” He said bravely, making Crouch's crooked grin melt to a sneer in a second. He scoffed, shaking his head.
“And he forgave them. The Death Eater’s who went free. The slimiest liars, like your father, who escaped Azkaban, were too cowardly to brave it for him. Your father was one of those cowards, and I see him in your eyes. I see him every day that I'm forced to teach you. In your smile and in your laugh. And you dare to say you aren’t like him? I told you a long time ago, Harry,” He was now turned to Harry, who Hermione clung onto instinctively. “If there’s one thing I hate more than any other, it’s a Death Eater who walked free.”
“You’re the Death Eater at Hogwarts.” Hermione found herself saying, speaking fast and horrified. “It’s been you all along. You murdered your father, didn’t you?”
There was a glint in his eyes, and as the magical one swerved to the door again the natural one scanned the line up of kids, and Crouh’s crooked grin returned, one alight with pure insanity. “You knew all of this before tonight, didn’t you? You just couldn’t believe it?” He gestured at them with his wand, raising his chin up in something like pride. “Well go on then. Tell me… who am I?”
“Barty Crouch Jr.” Every one of the four said in unison, and Crouch lowered his head, so the whole thing was curtained with shadow, winking. “I am.”
“Where is Alastor Moody?” Hermione demanded but he ignored her, circling the room now, pacing before them, deep in thought.
“I underestimated you kids, you know. I knew you were unto me, but to figure out who I was… Do you even know how much I helped you get to that maze? Who put a dragon in that Room for you to find? I did. Who conveniently added information about a room no one knew about to that book in the library so the Mudblod here would find it? I did.”
The kids' jaws dropped, and they all listened keenly as he continued to reveal the details of the plan even they hadn’t figured out how to piece together fully yet.
“It hasn’t been easy, you know, guiding you all through these tasks without arousing suspicion. I have had to use every ounce of cunning I possess, so that my hand would not be detectable in your success. Dumbledore would have been very suspicious if you had managed everything too easily. As long as you got into that maze, preferable with a decent head start, then, I knew, I would have a chance of getting rid of the other champions, and leaving your way clear. But I also had to contend against your own stupidity, and stubbornness. I had advised Dumbledore to show you boys the dragons, but I hadn’t anticipated him to attempt to bring you together as friends, nor for it to actually work. I will say, contending with your friendship made everything all the more difficult, but I managed. I was so sure Draco figuring out the mermaid connection would solve the egg clue, but of course, none of you were smart enough for that, so I had to find other means.”
“You didn’t,” Harry protested hoarsely, shaking his head. “Cedric gave me the clue--”
“Who told Cedric to open it underwater? I did. I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate, boys. I was sure Cedric would want to repay you for telling him about the dragons, so he did. Then it was smooth sailing, as I got that foolish Durmstrang boy out of the running and pushed you, Draco, in the direction of the Bubble-Head Charm. Remember, Granger, that I was the one who gave you that book?”
Hermione’s friends turned to look at her in horror, as she too gaped at him, suddenly remembering that yes, that had been him, and feeling her whole stomach sink as a result. “No…”
“Oh yes. But I knew I had to get Lucius Malfoy’s son killed sooner or later--that had been the goal from the start, afterall. So once I saw how capable Harry Potter was of winning the Tournament, I hijacked that bludger to get the drop on Draco Malfoy, framing the Champions playing as Beaters in the process. Of course it didn’t work, as Dumbledore’s trusty bird had to drop in at just the right moment. But then I saw the potential in training you. If instead of wasting such pure blood on a foolish grudge against your cowardly father, what if I made you into the first of a new generation of powerful Death Eaters? So, who gave you private lessons to train you for the upcoming Tasks? I did. I should have become suspicious once you dropped my lessons after the Fourth Task, where I easily disposed of Cedric Diggory, but I must admit I was proud of all I had accomplished. I blamed it on stress, or any other idiotic teenage factor. But you knew that whole time didn’t you? Quite impressive, to have figured it out when all your superiors didn’t.
“And do you wonder, Harry, why you encountered no resistance in that maze tonight? It was because I was patrolling around it, of course, able to see through the outer hedges, able to curse many obstacles out of your way. I stunned Fleur Delacour as she passed. I put the Imperius curse on Tess Whitlock, so that she would finish Viktor Krum and get the drop on that stubborn Malfoy, and leave Harry's path to the Cup clear.”
Harry’s eyes glanced over at the Foe-Glass Crouch had shown to him in this room he now realized was his office all those months ago, where the foggy shapes inside had sharpened suddenly, becoming more distinct. They were moving, and it almost seemed like people, too, moving closer and closer to the kids, and to the Death Eater trapping them.
“The Dark Lord didn’t manage to kill you, Harry, and he so wanted to,” the Death Eater was saying, oblivious to the enemies approaching in the Foe-Glass. “Imagine how he will reward me, when he finds I have done it for him. I gave you to him--the thing he needed above all to regenerate--and then I killed you for him. I will be honored beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest, his closest supporter… closer than a son…”
“Stop.” Ron growled, rising from his seat and then subsequently falling backwards in it as Crouch merely flicked his wand and he hit the ground hard, unconscious. Hermione screamed and reached for hers as well but with another flick of his wand was slammed against the wall as well. Now it was just Draco and Harry, the former standing with his wand outstretched while the latter sat frozen in horror in his seat.
“You can’t kill him! You-Know-Who wants it done himself, right?” Draco began speaking rapidly, sweat beating at his forehead and his hand shaking as it held his wand. He wasn’t even sure of what he was doing, only that the man before him needed to be stopped, and that there could be no possible way he could kill his friend. His Harry, who he fought far too hard to earn and keep up until this point. Whom he’d jumped into hell for, and would do again so many times over because it was Harry Potter, the boy he was astonished to be able to at last call his friend, and he needed him by his side for the rest of his life, or he didn’t know what he’d do. “You won’t be rewarded, he’ll punish you! Can’t you see--”
But Barty Crouch Jr merely laughed, shaking his head and now looking completely insane, his natural eye bulging and his grin wider than ever before, towering over the two like the true monster he had to be.
“No, you’re the one who does not see, Malfoy. The Dark Lord and I have much in common. Both of us, for instance, had very disappointing fathers… very disappointing indeed. Both of us suffered the indignity, boys, of being named after those fathers. And both of us had the pleasure… the very great pleasure… of killing our fathers, to ensure the continued rise of the Dark Order!”
Harry was shaking his head, blurting, “You’re mad!” with true horror while Draco kept glancing at the Foe-Glass, recognizing it from when Barty had briefly explained to him what it was, and begging for the enemies to get closer.
“Mad, am I?” Barty yelled, his voice rising uncontrollable. “We’ll see! We’ll see who’s mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him--and now--I conquer you!”
“Stupefy!” With a quick flick of his wand Draco had shouted the spell and Barty had thrown up a protego, bellowing, “Avada Kedavra!” and making the blonde duck below his desk to avoid the jet of green light. At that time, Harry managed to pull out his wand, screaming, “Expelliarmus!” but Barty put a shield up for that too, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall, his wand pointed at him but his eyes fixed on Draco.
“One move, and he’s dead.” Draco scrambled out from under the desk, hands outstretched, and shook his head, speaking with increasing desperation as he pushed all thoughts of having to live in a world without Harry Potter out of his mind. “Think about this. If you kill him, your Dark Lord won’t be able to have his revenge, right?” Slowly, he eyes the Foe-Glass, and in that time missed Moody’s magical eye swerve in Barty’s face and land on it. “You have to let us go.”
In the moonlight from the window beside them, Barty’s face was finally visible, and his natural eye sparkled then winked.
“How right you are.” And with that he pushed Harry back down into his seat just as the office door burst to pieces and the Foe-Glass revealed the faces of Professor Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall, who were all standing in the doorframe's place. But before Dumbledore could scream, “Stupefy”, the Death Eater his wand had aimed for had lunged himself out of the window that had lit his face a moment ago.
“No!” Dumbledore instead shouted and ran for the now shattered window frame, peering down at the grounds below while Snape checked to see if Ron and Hermione were okay and McGonagall went to Harry’s side.
Draco, whose hand was already shaking so much it was certain he was going to drop his wand any moment, dropped it now and crumpled to his knees, pounding the ground with a fist before grabbing onto Snape’s cloak sleeve.
“Professors, I tried to stop him, I did--He was going to kill us!”
“It’s quite alright, Malfoy.” McGonagall said while Dumbledore turned from the window to look upon him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, but was nothing like he was used to. Now twinkle in his eyes, nor mischievous smile. No, every single line of the old man’s face had been hardened to a cold expression of fury. “None of tonight had been your fault. You boys have just tried your best to--”
“Is he dead?” Harry found himself asking before he could stop himself, and Dumbledore turned to him with a cold shake of his head. “No. He’s been saved by the same man who stopped us from getting to you all. Your father.” Everyone's gaze followed Dumbledore’s and landed on Draco, who felt a part of him die in that moment, a sentimental part that had held out the hope for so long his father might listen to reason.
He remembered the talk Ron heard in the cellar. Voldemort’s order in the graveyard. I expect much more faithful service in the future. It was as if a switch had turned in his head as he pieced it all together and realized that yes, of course his father had helped Barty in the end. He would have died if he hadn’t, because of his own son's foolishness this year.
But no one in this room could possibly understand that, not even Snape, so Draco instead lowered his head and closed his eyes tight, feeling hot tears stubbornly fight against his closed eyelids as he did so.
Dumbledore nodded at a chest pushed against the corner of the office, a peculiar box with seven different locks on it. “No doubt the real Alastor Moody lies in there. Unfortunately, due to the quick departure of the imposter, we do not possess the keys to open that trunk. Severus, I trust you’ll be able to dispel all its curses by the end of the night so we may have the real Moody returned to us?” But Snape was currently eyeing him as if he had three heads, Professor McGonagall doing the same.
“I’m sorry, I do not follow, Professor…” “Yes. Harry, Draco, would you mind explaining to us who your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has really been this year?”
Draco didn’t move, so Harry straightened in his seat and blurted, “Barty Crouch Jr, Mr. Crouch’s son. He killed him… It’s been him all year… He put our names in the Goblet. He wanted us dead. Led me straight to Voldemort so I could help him… return.” Dumbledore nodded along to Harry’s every word, then looked to his most trusted Professors.
“I’m sure you’ll trust Harry’s word, as I do, and if you still don’t believe it then in that trunk you’ll find the truth. Now, Minerva, would you take Mister Weasley and Miss Granger up to the Hospital Wing? Then go find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to my office. I must speak to him, it is most urgent we alert him of Lord Voldemort’s return as soon as possible.
Snape nodded, picking up the great trunk while McGonagall waved her wand in the air, causing Ron and Hermione to lift up from the floor and glide out the room after the two Professors.
“How are you, Draco?” Dumbledore asked gently once they had all left the room, reaching out a hand to the boy on the floor and speaking in the same gentle tone he’d used at the top of the Astronomy Tower, what felt like an eternity ago, over a situation which felt so minor and insignificant when compared to what the Malfoy boy was left dealing with now.
“Fine.” He choked, pulling himself up to his feet and sniffing, eyes red from pushing back tears. There was a short moment where all the two did was stare at each other then, vastly different expressions on their faces, before Draco looked over his Headmaster’s shoulder at his friend, slumped over in that chair, and brushed past him, sitting beside him and taking his hand in an instant.
“It’s alright.” He whispered, forcing a comforting smile when Harry’s eyes rose to meet his. “We’ll get through this, I promise. Crouch is gone. We’re okay.” He rubbed his thumb over his knuckles and Harry buried his head in the crook of his neck without a second thought, but neither boy felt any uncomfortable feeling as a result. No sickness in the stomach or burning in the face, just the comfort that they had each other in a dark, dark time.
And while Dumbledore wished he could leave them there like that, with each other, how they needed to be, he also saw the bleeding in Harry’s leg, the bruises and cuts littering both boy’s skin, and the way they were shaking uncontrollably. He knew they needed to discuss things quickly, before being sent to the Hospital Wing just as quickly.
So the old man grabbed Draco’s sleeve and pulled him to his feet, Harry following, leaning against his friend's shoulder as he helped him to walk. Dumbledore walked ahead, walking briskly into a dark corridor while saying, “I want you both to come up to my office first.” Then, in a lower voice, “Sirius is waiting for us there.” He turned to glance back at Draco, asking, “I’m sure you are already comfortable with…” and the blonde nodded, understanding his meaning.
As they walked, both boys felt that with the comfort of being beside each other thinking about the events of the graveyard felt easier. Thinking about the screams of Wormtail and Avery, of Voldemort's red eyes, and of Viktor’s limp body… it all faded away, and they preferred that to lingering on the awful memories.
Finally, when they reached the stone gargoyle, and entered the office, Draco let Harry go so Sirius could run for him and catch him by the arms, raising his chin to look him in the eyes and ask, “Harry, are you all right? I knew it--I knew something like this--what happened?”
He demanded the answer from Dumbledore and Draco, but Dumbledore was headed for his desk, body slumped with a tiredness no one in the room had seen of him before, and Draco was clearly still out of it, rubbing his eyes in a continued effort to stop people from seeing him cry. So Sirius, with profusely shaking hands, led his godson to a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk and asked, “What happened?”
He explained what he had to his Professor’s, as well as a little more detail on Voldemort, then pressed two fingers to his forehead and rubbed it, shaking his head and begging Merlin himself for sleep. There was a soft rush of wings, and both he and Draco perked up as Fawkes the phoenix flew across the office and landed on Harry’s knee, and whistled at Draco in a way that reminded him of the song. The boys began to stroke his feather’s, instantly comforted by his magical warmth.
“Harry,” Draco glanced at his friend worriedly as he avoided Dumbledore’s gaze. Dumbledore, who was watching him firmly over his spectacles, but also with the weariness of someone who knew how much his words would hurt but needed the answers more than Harry needed peace. “You need to tell me every detail of what happened after you touched the Portkey.”
“Why can’t you wait until tomorrow?” Draco protested at the same time Sirius asked, “We can leave this till morning, can’t we, Dumbledore?” And the Headmaster shook his head to both, only leaning towards his prized student, who reluctantly raised his head and locked eyes with his mentor.
“If I thought I could help you,” Dumbledore said gently, “By putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what had happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.”
Fawkes sang a soft, strong note, which seemed to sink right into Harry’s body and warm him with courage as it hung in the air, courage enough to open his mouth and say, “Okay.” Then he told them. He told them of the potion that had revived Voldemort; he told them of the Death Eaters Apparating between graves around them; he told them of the feeling in an instant that there was a presence in the air that would help him as he watched a shimmer of movement glide across the grass which he couldn’t describe. Draco, he realized in that moment, and both the Headmaster and Sirius had been amazed at the Slytherin’s bravery in sneaking past Voldemort and his followers so he could save his friend.
And as he spoke he realized Dumbledore was right; it was easier to let it all go, then to pretend it hadn’t happened. To tell everyone the truth, and feel the relief of that weight lift off his shoulders, then to have to fear that every time he closed his eyes, he’d see him, or worse, Viktor.
However, when he revealed the part about Wormtail piercing his arm with that dagger, Sirius let out an exclamation of anger at the damaging of his godson while Draco flinched and gasped, and Dumbledore stood up so quickly that it caused Harry to flinch as well. He asked for Harry to stretch out his arm, so he showed them all the place where his robes were torn and the line of dried blood that represented the cut beneath them.
“He said my blood would make him stronger than if he’d used someone else’s,” Harry explained, unaware of the meaning behind the words coming out of his own mouth. “He said the protection my--my mother left in me--he’d have it too. And he was right--he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face.” But Dumbledore clearly seemed to understand, as Harry thought, if only for a moment, that he saw a gleam in his eyes. Not at all like the twinkle there usually was present, but a flash of something like triumph. But it was gone in a second, as Dumbledore returned to his seat and looked as old and weary as Harry had ever seen him.
“Very well. Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please.”
And so he did.
When he reached the part about the golden beam of light that had connected his and Voldemort’s wands, which then became a dome, however, he suddenly found himself unable to continue speaking, as he choked at the memory of all those people Voldemort had killed appearing. Of Viktor. Of his parents…
Thankfully, Draco had already slipped his hand into Harry’s readily, and Sirius spoke up and broke the impending silence. “The wands connected?” He glanced over at Dumbledore. “Why?” Harry followed his gaze to the old man as well, who looked startled, to say the least.
“Priori Incantatem,” He muttered, to which Draco blurted out, “What?” and Sirius looked confused, but a strong sense of understanding was passed between mentor to student in the middle of the room.
“The Reverse Spell effect?” Sirius asked sharply. “Exactly.” Dumbledore nodded. “Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact.” He added, and he gestured to the gorgeous bird perching himself on Harry’s knee, whom Draco now stared at in awe, mouth agape. But not even Harry knew that, as he asked, “My wand’s feather came from Fawkes?” His jaw dropped as well.
“Yes. Mr. Ollivander wrote to me to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago.” Harry shook his head, glancing over at Draco who for a moment had possessed a twinge of a familiar jealous gleam in his eyes and whispered, “I had no idea.” making it fade in an instant.
“So what happens when a wand meets its brother?” Sirius asked.
“They will not work properly against each other,” Dumbledore explained. “If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle… a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it had performed--in reverse. The most recent first… and then those which preceded it…” As he spoke he seemed to realize more of what must have happened as he met Harry’s gaze, and the boy simply nodded.
“That’s why…” Draco glanced over at his friend. “Harry… those were…”
“My parents.” Harry confirmed. “And Viktor.” Sirius straightened, standing up on his feet from where he had leaned against Dumbledore’s desk. “James and Lily came back to life?” He asked sharply, but Dumbledore shook his head quickly. “No spell can reawaken the dead. All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living James, Lily, and Viktor would have emerged from the wand… am I correct, Harry?”
“They spoke to me.” Harry said, and with the tightening of Draco’s hand around his he realized he was shaking again. “The… their ghosts, or whatever they were, spoke.” “An echo,” said Dumbledore, “which retained Viktor's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared… less recent victims of Voldemort’s wand…”
“An old man, and Bertha Jorkins.” Dumbledore nodded along. “In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows… what did they do?”
And so Harry described how the figures had spoken to him in an encouraging manner, helping him force back Voldemort and keep a hold of the connection as it got increasingly more difficult. He explained how his father had guided him but kept Viktor’s request private, as he knew Hermione would want to know about that in secret. Draco then jumped in to say how a woman he now thought to be Harry’s mother had enchanted his broom somehow to take them back to Hogwarts.
It was now, with the end of Harry’s story and the slumping of his shoulders, that the teen noticed Fawkes wasn’t on his knee anymore, but on the floor, resting his beautiful head against his injured leg. He watched in awe as thick, pearly tears fell from his eyes onto the wound left by the spider, and breathed a sigh of relief as the pain vanished and the wound healed itself, his leg completely repaired.
“Thank you.” He said softly to the creature, stroking his head.
“I will say it again,” said Dumbledore, bringing the boys’ attention back to him as the phoenix lifted itself up on its wings and flew around them mesmerizingly before settling down on its perch beside the door.
“You both have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight. I swear, when I welcomed you into this room at the beginning of the year, I was unaware of how far this Tournament would spiral out of control, but I stand by my belief that bringing you two together has been a great choice, and I will always stand by that. You two have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard’s burden and found yourself equal to it--and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. But you have accomplished all of this by being friends; by crossing a boundary no man has dared cross in centuries and bridging the gap between two houses whose bridge crumbled ages ago. Harry, you have brought bravery to Draco’s heart and made him as fierce a warrior as you. Draco, you have given Harry the wisdom he’ll need to fight the battles ahead and developed him into quite the bright Wizard. And for that, above all else, now you two deserve to rest. Sirius, would you like to stay with him?”
Sirius, who had become all too quiet during the talk of Harry’s parents, now straightened and nodded, morphing back into his animagus form of a great black dog and walking alongside the two students holding hands and the Headmaster leading them down the flight of stairs to the hospital wing.
Inside, they found Madam Pomfrey tending to Fleur’s wounds, Tess asleep in the bed across from her with her arm in a cast and foot bandaged, and Ron and Hermione lying asleep in two other beds. Mrs. Wealsey and Bill were sitting in two chairs, passed out from how late it was.
The boys squinted at a clock above and winced as they saw it was past one in the morning.
Madam Pomfrey turned as they entered and approached them with her eyebrows raised. “Headmaster,” She said, staring at the great black dog that was Siris, “May I ask what--?”
“The dog will be remaining with Harry for a while,” said Dumbledore simply. “I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry, Draco--I will wait while you get into bed.” The boys nodded and didn’t resist as Madam Pomfrey led them to the beds next to Ron and Hermione’s. “I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.” And with that, he left them at the mercy of the nurse.
She gave them both pajamas and pulled screens around them so they could change in private, but they asked for the screens to be removed once they were in bed, as they’d prefer to know the other was with them in the night, and Madam Pomfrey obliged, asking no questions, as usual, and instead preparing their potions. When she returned the boys almost took the purple potions and gulped them down thankfully, and welcomed the instant feeling of drowsiness all at once.
They remembered laying down fully and staring up at the ceiling, but with a blink their eyelids didn’t open and they fell fast asleep, welcoming the cool release and warm embrace of unconsciousness as if it were an old friend.