Roses and Thorns
One-Harry Comes Home
A hero cannot be a hero unless in a heroic world.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
“How much longer are they going to be in that stupid maze?” moaned Ron.
“Be patient,” sighed Mrs Weasley.
Ron grunted and slouched back in his seat. Hermione drummed her fingers on the wooden handrail of the stands. The crowd was starting to get impatient. Everybody was whispering and craning their necks to try and see a champion coming out of the maze. People kept getting up and moving to different rows to ask their friends if they knew what was going on. The teachers were still patrolling the maze, but there didn’t seem to be much point anymore.
He must have got to the cup by now,pleaded Hermione. Please let him have got it.
Then suddenly two boys and a silvery cup appeared out of nowhere and fell onto the grass just outside the maze. Hermione felt a huge smile spread across her face.
“Yes!” she screamed, jumping up wildly. “He’s won!”
Ron punched the air, “Knew he could do it!”
The crowd had gone wild. Most of the crowd was chanting ‘Di-go-ry! Di-go-ry!’ or ‘Potter is the best! He always beats the rest!’. A big bunch of Gryffindor boys were stamping their feet and applauding loudly. Several banners (Dean’s creations) flashed supportive messages at the maze. Cho was shrieking with delight a couple of rows down.
“He came first, Matteria. I knew he could do it!” she hugged her friend enthusiastically.
Dumbledore had instantly rushed over. Both boys were lying on their faces, though Harry was shuddering slightly with his leg sticking out at an odd angle.
“He doesn’t look very happy, does he?”
“Ginny!” said Mrs Weasley crossly. “Harry’s had a long day, he must be exhausted.”
Dumbledore had turned Harry over, but Hermione couldn’t hear what he was saying. She looked back at Cedric. He still hadn’t moved, even now he was lying face-down on the lawn, hair tousled, clothes spattered with mud. Something occurred to Hermione which made her shiver and pull her blue jacket closer around her. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Surely he wasn’t...
“Ron!” Hermione hissed, pulling her still cheering friend out of his seat.
“What is it?”
“We need to get to him,” said Hermione as she yanked him down the steps of the stands.
Fudge had run over, too. He was bending over Harry, who had let go of the gleaming cup but was clinging even more tightly to Cedric’s, still motionless, body. It was difficult to get down the steps. Everybody was getting out of their seats and surging forward, wanting to be the first to congratulate Harry and Cedric.
“Come on!” Hermione beckoned to Ron.
She slipped between two seventh-year Hufflepuffs and ducked underneath a Ravenclaw’s arm. Because Ron was so much taller, he could force people to move aside for him. He had to yell over the noise of the crowd.
“What’s the rush, you don’t have to be the first one to say well done, you know?” he asked as he followed her through a clump of burly sixth-years.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, standing on tip-toe to try and see what was going on. Fudge was looking anxiously at Cedric’s corp-no, body, Hermione told herself firmly. He’s just fainted, that’s all. They’d come within hearing range. Harry was whispering something urgently to Dumbledore, but she couldn’t quite make out the exact words.
”My God-Diggory!”* choked Fudge, just loud enough to be audible.“Dumbledore-he’s dead!”*
The words seemed to echo around Hermione’s head. The crowd was suddenly full of gasps and screams. How could he be? This was Hogwarts. How could Dumbledore have let this happen? Cedric Diggory…dead.
Hermione stood on the spot, swaying slightly for a few seconds, then ran down even faster, her hair sweeping behind her. She had to get there. She didn’t have a clue what to say to Harry, but all her mind was fixed on was arriving. Hermione craned her neck sideways to try and see what was going on. Dumbledore was talking to Fudge.
”I’ll take him-”*
“No, I would prefer-”*
Hermione heard the thud of her shoes against the grass. Her arms flailed at her sides, willing her forwards.
”Dumbledore, Amos Diggory’s running…he’s coming over…don’t you think you should tell him-before he sees-?”*
“Harry, stay here.”*
“Hermione! Look ahead!” yelled Ron.
“What?” she turned half round to look at him.
WHAM! She felt herself collide with someone. She tripped backwards and fell with her head upwards. The ground tilted violently towards her as she smashed into it. Hermione lay there for a few seconds, trying to work out what had happened. She stared at the sky above her. It was full of stars careering around as though they were sequins sewn on black velvet which was being shaken out. Hermione flicked her fringe out of her eyes and gingerly raised her head.
“Miss Granger,” came a soft, silky voice, “would you be kind enough not to try to head butt me, I have a lot of very important things I need to do.”
Hermione glared at one of her least favourite teachers, Professor Snape.
“She didn’t do it on purpose,” said Ron rudely. He bent down next to Hermione.
“Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley,” said Snape as he stalked away.
“Git,” muttered Ron under his breath.
“Now, now, what is all this commotion about?” demanded Professor McGonagall. She stopped and stared at Hermione, who was still lying face down on the ground.
“Miss Granger, I’m surprised at you. A boy has just died and-”
“It wasn’t her fault, she ran into Sna-Professor Snape!” said Ron, angrily.
Hermione felt a brush tickle her cheeks. He was standing up for her.
She sat up, wincing, “I need to go to Harry!”
“You will not. Go back into the stands and wait until you are called!” Ron pulled her up and they walked back into the edge of the crowds. Their Transfiguration teacher hurried away, muttering to herself and pulling out her wand.
Hermione closed her eyes. The throbbing in her temples just seemed to be getting worse. If it would only go away so she could think clearly about what to do next. She supposed they would just have to wait until the teachers left Harry alone. If he wanted to talk to them, but Hermione couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. If it was her she would never want to speak to anyone again.
“What’s Moody doing?” asked Ron.
She opened her eyes again, “Huh? What were you saying?”
“Look.” he pointed to the retreating backs of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Harry. Moody kept on looking behind him, shiftily, as though checking he wasn’t being watched. “Dumbledore told him to wait there.”
“Maybe he changed his mind.”
“I hope he has. Harry shouldn’t be made to wait around outside with people goggling at him.”
“I think he wanted him here for a reason,” said Hermione as she sat down on the grass.
After about five minutes, Dumbledore and McGonagall came hurrying across the pitch. They stopped suddenly.
“Where’s they boy?” she asked.
Hermione got up, “Erm, Professor Moody took him away somewhere. I think he took him to the Hospital Wing.”
Something like fear flickered over the Headmaster’s face, “When did this happen, Miss Granger?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
Snape had joined and was listening intently. Hermione felt uncomfortable under the gazes of the three teachers. She blushed and looked at her shoes. Why couldn’t they look somewhere else?
“Which direction did they go in?” asked Dumbledore, quietly.
Hermione pointed towards the castle, which was glowing in the last, very orange rays of the dying sun. The sky behind it was red rapidly fading into blue, and shimmered with speckles of stars. McGonagall gasped, “You’re right Albus, it’s true!”
The three teachers started to run towards the castle. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and followed. They sprinted across the lawn to they path leading to Hogwarts. Every muscle inside her was acing and bruised, but she willed herself to carry on. Harry’s in danger, something’s going to happen to him! Next to her Ron was rasping for breath. Their eyes met and he flashed her a quick grin. Hermione took the stone steps two at time, with even more energy than before. As she swung the door open, Professor McGonagall looked back.
“Weasley! Granger!” she spat furiously.
Snape glared at them, “What are you two doing here?”
“Let them come, Severus,” said Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall froze. She stared at Dumbledore as though his head had suddenly burst into flame. “B-but,” she spluttered, “the danger! They’re only children.”
“Let them come,” repeated Dumbledore quietly. Hermione felt a warm rush of gratitude to the Headmaster as they hurried up a twisting spiral staircase. They headed down a stone corridor, and Ron almost crashed into a tarnished suit of armour.
“We’re not going to the Hospital Wing,” gasped Hermione, “this is-”
They’d stopped outside the door to Moody’s office. Dumbledore signalled for silence as they crept closer and closer. Her stomach twisted when she heard what the teacher was almost yelling inside it.
“-is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him-and now-I conquer you!”*
She hadn’t noticed Dumbledore raise his wand. He tapped the door, which splintered with a sudden flash of white light which made Hermione’s eyes sting. She stumbled back into Ron, fumbling in her jeans waistband for her wand.
The Headmaster aimed a Stunning spell at Moody, which hit him squarely in the chest. He was thrown back onto the office floor, and slumped against his trunk. Hermione tentatively stepped into the room. She felt numb and scared as she glanced around it. How could Moody have tried to kill Harry? He was one of Dumbledore’s most trusted friends, and an ex-Auror. She walked past the Foe-Glass, which the three teachers were glaring out of, towards Harry. He was shaking slightly, his eyes fixed on the spot where Moody’s head had been moments before. If they’d arrived a few minutes later…
Hermione felt sick and hugged Harry tightly, “Are you ok?”
He didn’t reply, just shrugged his shoulders and gave a weak sort of smile. Harry finally stopped looking at the Foe-Glass. She wanted to say something to him, but the words wouldn’t form in her brain. What could she say?
“It was Moody all along,” croaked Harry, “he did it all. He put my name in the goblet, and he guided me through all the tasks so that he could-”
Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. He looked terrifying. “This person here,” he gestured to the man lying on the floor, “is not the real Moody. You have never met the real one. The person there is an impostor. A brilliant one, who must be a great wizard, and a cunning one too, but the real Alastor Moody never would have taken you away tonight.”
Snape pulled the hip-flask from inside Moody’s coat. He unscrewed the silver cap and showed the flask to Dumbledore, “Polyjuice potion.”
“As I suspected. A simple idea, but ingenious nethertheless. Which means the real Alastor must also be here. The impostor needed his hair for the potion.” Dumbledore examined the person who looked like Moody, “But we will worry about that later. It seems we will soon know who this person really is. He is changing back.”
Everyone quickly looked over to the fake Moody. The potion was starting to wear off, and he was growing more conscious as it did so. Within a few minutes his face had become smooth, whole and angular. The magic eye had fallen out, to be replaced by two normal, brown, if slightly bulging, eyes. The wooden leg fell away as Moody’s robes grew baggier as the body inside them grew thinner and taller. His hair was now thick and straw-coloured. It all seemed to flop over the left side of his face. Hermione moved backwards, dragging Harry with her.
“Who is he?”
“It’s Mr Crouch’s son. I saw him on trial,” Harry looked disbelievingly at the slumped figure.
Crouch blinked slowly as freckles began to appear slowly all over his face. He looked like he’d just woken up. He yawned and pushed his hands through his hair.
“Severus, the Veritaserum,” said Dumbledore urgently as he bent down to examine the young man.
Snape produced a small glass bottle and handed it to the Headmaster. Crouch tried to pull away but Dumbledore forced his mouth open and dripped in three drops of colourless liquid inside.
“Now Barty Crouch,” he said, “tell us exactly what you are doing at Hogwarts pretending to be Alastor moody.
***
Hermione sat down on the cold stone step outside the Hospital Wing and put her knuckles against her eyes. It was too much information coming in at once. Bits of interrogation kept spinning back into her mind. About his escape from Azkaban…all the time he spent being trapped under the Imperius curse…the Quidditch world cup…and how he’d killed his own father, and been deliriously happy about it. How could he be so pleaded to have done it? It made her want to throw up.
But, despite all he’d done, she mainly just felt pity for him. After all, how would she have turned out if her father despised and ignored her? Maybe she would have joined the Dark Side. And he couldn’t have been all bad, his mother had liked him. She must have loved him a lot to sacrifice the last of his life to get him safely out of Azkaban. But had she really helped him? Hermione shuddered to think what life would be like trapped inside one house, hardly ever going out, with a father who pretended he wasn’t there. It was no surprise that he’d tried to escape. Hermione probably would’ve. But she felt cold thinking how close he’d been to her during that match. Only a row behind her. And in the forest…he had been only a few metres away from them.
Hermione lent against the cold stone wall. it was hard to believe, yet it made complete sense. Maybe Harry would be able to shed some more light on it, when he woke up, of course. After he had come out of Dumbledore’s office, he’d been sent straight to the Hospital Wing, which was becoming quite crowded. Moody, after having been found in his own trunk, was there. Harry was sleeping in one of the beds, with lots of people including the Weasleys and Sirius (disguised as a dog) sitting by him. And an unconscious Barty Crouch, who seemed to have got concussion from his fall, with Professor McGonagall guarding him.
Hermione heard some people yelling inside the Hospital Wing. What were they doing? They’d wake Harry up. She heard the clunk of furniture and some yells of ‘Stuperfy’. Hermione ran back inside.
In the Hospital Wing, the scene was pure chaos. Sirius was barking madly. Harry was standing on his bed with his wand outstretched. Several people were lying unconscious on the floor. Ron dived behind a chest of drawers to avoid being hit by a curse which had just bounced off the ceiling. A chair flew Hermione’s way and she jumped left, almost crashing into a table with jars all over it. Spells were flying left, right and centre.
And standing proudly on a bed, which was now on its side, looking like a conqueror returning from battle was Barty Crouch. He was surrounded on all angles by people brandishing wands.
“Come on, get down now,” said McGonagall, “be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? Me? Never.”
And before anyone could cast another spell, Crouch had jumped over the top of Ron, landed neatly on the other side, and run up to Hermione.
He grabbed her round the waist and held his wand to her neck, “Don’t anybody move, or she’s dead.”
Hermione could hardly breathe. There was absolute silence. He was pressing her against him, but she couldn’t see anything of him but his feet. She gave out a slight whimper.
“Sorry about this,” he whispered in her ear so it tickled, “I generally try to keep women out of this sort of thing.”
If his wand hadn’t been pressed against the side of her neck quite so hard, she would have yelled that she didn’t care what he usually did. All she wanted was to let her go.
“Now everybody,” Crouch said, edging backwards slightly and dragging Hermione with him, “there’s absolutely no need to panic. Can everybody please put their wands down.”
She tried to look around, to see what they were going to do, but he kept her looking straight on. Would they do it? Would he kill her if they didn’t? There was a clatter of noise as people dropped their wands on the floor. Harry looked reluctant.
“Potter, put your wand down,” said McGonagall sharply.
He looked around the room, and then dropped his too.
“That’s good,” he said, pulling Hermione back to the wall and letting go of her, finally.
She could suddenly breathe again. She gasped for air, and stumbled backwards into the wall. Relief flooded through her. She was alright. He hadn’t done anything to her.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. It’s a shame, I know, but there’s a very important appointment I have to keep,” he winked, grabbed a broomstick that was lying on the floor, leapt onto the window sill, gave a flourishing bow, and jumped out. “Byeee!”
“Hermione, are you alright?” asked Ron.
Harry jumped off the creaking bed and ran to the open window, “He’s on that broom. HE’S GOING TO ESCAPE!”
He grabbed his wand and tore from the room, followed by Ron and Hermione. They would probably be too late, but they couldn’t just give up now. Ron gasped as the three of them rounded the corner and hurtled down a flight of steps. They found themselves in the Entrance Hall already. Without another word they sprinted across it and out into the night.
As they sped into the grounds Barty Crouch was just passing the lake.
“Ah, this looks like my fan club! Would you like me to sign some autographs?”
Harry pulled his wand out and tried to think of the foulest, most painful curse he knew.
“Expelliamus,” said Crouch, sounding almost bored, making Harry’s wand soar away from him.
He was getting to the point where he’d be able to Disapparate. Hermione tried to run faster, but her muscles were burning and all the air seemed to have left her body. She could tell what Harry was thinking. That they couldn’t let that man escape. They had to catch him up. Crouch was outside the Hogwarts grounds now. He dismounted his broom, waved at the three of them, and Disapparated, shooting a Dark Mark into the sky as he did so.
“NO!” yelled Harry, sinking down onto the wet grass. “COME BACK! COME BACK AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, YOU COWARD!”
The Dark Mark above them glimmered and made Harry’s eyes light up with green sparks.
Roses and Thorns by Phoebe Gruzelier
Chapter Notes: I'd just like to remind you that anything you don't recognise belongs to me, except for Robert Moore (who belongs to himself).
All the italics with * after them are quoted directly from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' by the magical JK Rowling, from the chapter 'Veritaserum'.