Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hp-4

by J. K. Rowling

  “Oh yeah…”

  “I don’t know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps,” said Sirius, still pacing. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s okay,” said Harry. “He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament.”

  “Does he, now?” said Sirius, frowning more deeply. “I wonder why he’d do that?”

  “Says he’s taken a liking to me,” said Harry.

  “Hmm,” said Sirius, looking thoughtful.

  “We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared,” Hermione told Sirius. “Remember?” she said to Harry and Ron.

  “Yeah, but he didn’t stay in the forest, did he?” said Ron. “The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite.”

  “How d’you know?” Hermione shot back. “How d’you know where he Disapparated to?”

  “Come off it,” said Ron incredulously. “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?”

  “It’s more likely he did it than Winky,” said Hermione stubbornly.

  “Told you,” said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, “told you she’s obsessed with house—”

  But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.

  “When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry’s wand, what did Crouch do?”

  “Went to look in the bushes,” said Harry, “but there wasn’t anyone else there.”

  “Of course,” Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, “of course, he’d want to pin it on anyone but his own elf… and then he sacked her?”

  “Yes,” said Hermione in a heated voice, “he sacked her, just because she hadn’t stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled—”

  “Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!” said Ron.

  Sirius shook his head and said, “She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” He ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard.

  “All these absences of Barty Crouch’s… he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn’t bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too… It’s not like Crouch. If he’s ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I’ll eat Buckbeak.”

  “D’you know Crouch, then?” said Harry.

  Sirius’s face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer.

  “Oh I know Crouch all right,” he said quietly. “He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban—without a trial.”

  “What?” said Ron and Hermione together.

  “You’re kidding!” said Harry.

  “No, I’m not,” said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. “Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn’t you know?”

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads.

  “He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” said Sirius. “He’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical—and power hungry. Oh—never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side… well, you wouldn’t understand… you’re too young…”

  “That’s what my dad said at the World Cup,” said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Try us, why don’t you?”

  A grin flashed across Sirius’s thin face.

  “All right, I’ll try you…” He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, “Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing… the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere… panic… confusion… that’s how it used to be.

  “Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning—I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers—powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the Dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you—plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened…” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch’s own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who’d managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power.”

  “Crouch’s son was caught?” gasped Hermione.

  “Yep,” said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. “Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while… gotten to know his own son.” He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.

  “Was his son a Death Eater?” said Harry.

  “No idea,” said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. “I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I’d bet my life were Death Eaters—but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf.”

  “Did Crouch try and get his son off?” Hermione whispered.

  Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark.

  “Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again—doesn’t that tell you what he’s like? Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy… then he sent him straight to Azkaban.”

  “He gave his own son to the Dementors?” asked Harry quietly.

  “That’s right,” said Sirius, and he didn’t look remotely amused now. “I saw the Dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though… they all went quiet in the end… except when they shrieked in their sleep…”

  For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius’s eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.

  “So he’s still in Azkaban?” Harry said.

  “No,” said Sirius dully. “No, he’s not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in.”

  “He died?”

  “He wasn’t the only one,” said Sirius bitterly. “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the Dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an importan
t Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son’s body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it.”

  Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it.

  “So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic… next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I’ve heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

  There was a long silence. Harry was thinking of the way Crouch’s eyes had bulged as he’d looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry.

  “Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards,” Harry told Sirius.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s become a bit of a mania with him,” said Sirius, nodding. “If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater.”

  “And he sneaked up here to search Snape’s office!” said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione.

  “Yes, and that doesn’t make sense at all,” said Sirius.

  “Yeah, it does!” said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head.

  “Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn’t he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him.”

  “So you think Snape could be up to something, then?” asked Harry, but Hermione broke in.

  “Look, I don’t care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape—”

  “Oh give it a rest, Hermione,” said Ron impatiently. “I know Dumbledore’s brilliant and everything, but that doesn’t mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn’t fool him—”

  “Why did Snape save Harry’s life in the first year, then? Why didn’t he just let him die?”

  “I dunno—maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out—”

  “What d’you think, Sirius?” Harry said loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen.

  “I think they’ve both got a point,” said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. “Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I’ve wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy haired kid, he was,” Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. “Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters.” Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.

  “Rosier and Wilkes—they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges—they’re a married couple—they’re in Azkaban. Avery—from what I’ve heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he’d been acting under the Imperius Curse—he’s still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater—not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape’s certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble.”

  “Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet,” said Ron.

  “Yeah, you should’ve seen Snape’s face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!” said Harry quickly. “Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape’s been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn’t see what it was.”

  “He showed Snape something on his arm?” said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. “Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about… but if Karkaroff’s genuinely worried, and he’s going to Snape for answers…”

  Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration.

  “There’s still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn’t, but I just can’t see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he’d ever worked for Voldemort.”

  “Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape’s office then?” said Ron stubbornly.

  “Well,” said Sirius slowly, “I wouldn’t put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher’s office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I’m not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he’s seen, it’s not surprising. I’ll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though… he’s a different matter… is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape’s office? And if he’s not… what’s he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn’t turn up in the Top Box? What’s he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?”

  Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron.

  “You say your brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he’s seen Crouch lately?”

  “I can try,” said Ron doubtfully. “Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch.”

  “And you might try and find out whether they’ve got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you’re at it,” said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.

  “Bagman told me they hadn’t,” said Harry.

  “Yes, he’s quoted in the article in there,” said Sirius, nodding at the paper. “Blustering on about how bad Bertha’s memory is. Well, maybe she’s changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn’t forgetful at all—quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic… maybe that’s why Bagman didn’t bother to look for her for so long…” Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.

  “What’s the time?”

  Harry checked his watch, then remembered it hadn’t been working since it had spent over an hour in the lake.

  “It’s half past three,” said Hermione.

  “You’d better get back to school,” Sirius said, getting to his feet. “Now listen…” He looked particularly hard at Harry. “I don’t want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you’re not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you.”

  “No one’s tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of Grindylows,” Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him.

  “I don’t care… I’ll breathe freely again when this tournament’s over, and that’s not until June. And don’t forget, if you’re talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?”

  He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. “I’ll walk to the edge of the village with you,” said Sirius, “see if I can scrounge another paper.”

  He transformed into the great
black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts.

  “Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?” Ron said as they walked up the drive to the castle. “But maybe he doesn’t care… It’d probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He’d just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son.”

  “Percy would never throw any of his family to the Dementors,” said Hermione severely.

  “I don’t know,” said Ron. “If he thought we were standing in the way of his career… Percy’s really ambitious, you know…”

  They walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward them from the Great Hall.

  “Poor old Snuffles,” said Ron, breathing deeply. “He must really like you, Harry… Imagine having to live off rats.”

  28. THE MADNESS OF MR. CROUCH

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery after breakfast on Sunday to send a letter to Percy, asking, as Sirius had suggested, whether he had seen Mr. Crouch lately. They used Hedwig, because it had been so long since she’d had a job. When they had watched her fly out of sight through the Owlery window, they proceeded down to the kitchen to give Dobby his new socks.

  The house-elves gave them a very cheery welcome, bowing and curtsying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecstatic about his present.

  “Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!” he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.

  “You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you really did,” said Harry.

  “No chance of more of those eclairs, is there?” said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.

  “You’ve just had breakfast!” said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of eclairs was already zooming toward them, supported by four elves.