Neville landed heavily on hard ground. The Triwizard Cup slipped from his fingers and rolled a few feet away to rest against a hedge. Neville looked up. He was back in the maze, back on Hogwarts grounds once more.
He was near the entrance; he could just make out in the distance the crowd still eagerly awaiting the outcome of the Third Task. The Triwizard Tournament felt like it had happened a century ago to Neville. In fact, he had only been away less than an hour.
His left hand still clutched hold of Cedric’s; he found that he could not let it go. Cedric’s lifeless eyes were still open and his last look of horror was still fixed upon his face. Neville could not bear to look at it. It had been his fault. But now he knew what to do. Ignoring the Triwizard Cup and leaving it to lie where it fell, he bent down, put his arm around Cedric’s chest and lifted him onto his shoulders.
The weight was almost too much for Neville to manage, but Neville didn’t care. He began to walk forward. Cedric was much taller than Neville, and his feet dragged on the ground, adding extra resistance, but Neville pressed on. He did not notice the pain he was feeling, nor the blood still seeping from the cut on his arm, nor the sweat pouring from his brow and the tears streaming down his face. All his focus was on one thing: carrying Cedric’s body out of the maze.
Slowly, he inched forward, gritting his teeth and forcing his aching, tired legs to take each small step. As he approached the entrance of the maze, the crowd caught sight of him and began to cheer, but gradually they started to fall silent as he got closer. With one last effort, he crossed the threshold of the maze and came out into the open, before collapsing to the ground.
The body of Cedric fell next to him. The world was beginning to fade in front of Neville’s eyes; pain and exhaustion were overwhelming him. He was vaguely aware of screams and cries from the crowd, and people running over to him. He felt himself being rolled onto his back, and a blurry face looked down at him. “He’s alive, Professor,” said a voice that Neville recognised as that of Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, “but he’s been badly hurt.” Neville head was pushed back and a thick, sticky liquid was poured down his throat. “What about Diggory?”
“I’m afraid he’s dead, Poppy,” said the grave voice of Professor Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey gave a strangled cry of shock, and Neville could hear other gasps close by.
“Stay back, all of you,” Neville heard Professor McGonagall say. “Please, stay in your seats.” There was a general murmuring from the crowd as Neville felt more people crowding around him and Cedric. Suddenly, a terrible scream rent the air, a wailing cry that shook Neville as much as anything he had experienced that night. He knew what it was immediately: Mrs Diggory had seen the body of her son.
The potion, whatever it had been, was beginning to have its effect. Neville’s eyes were coming back into focus. A large group was standing or kneeling around him. The Triwizard judges were all there, along with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Cedric’s distraught parents were being consoled by Professor Sprout.
“How could this happen?” asked Ludo Bagman.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” said Dumbledore, examining Cedric’s body. Neville tried to speak, but could not find the energy.
“Vot do ve do, Albus?” asked Preminin.
“Minerva, who’s still out on patrol?” said Dumbledore.
“Alastor and Filius,” replied McGonagall. “I’ll go find them at once.” She left hurriedly.
“Professor, Longbottom must be taken to the hospital wing at once,” advised Pomfrey.
“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “Olympe, Alexander, look after your own students. Try to keep everyone calm. Pomona and I will deal with the body.”
“I think Ludo and I should go with you, Madam Pomfrey,” said Crouch. Dumbledore nodded. Pomfrey conjured a stretcher and laid Neville on it. “Come, Winky,” said Crouch to his house-elf.
The stretcher rose up and floated away towards the castle, past the silent spectators and across the grounds. Pomfrey, Bagman, Crouch and Winky walked alongside. Neville was still too weak and exhausted to speak. When they reached Hogwarts, Neville was taken straight up to the hospital wing.
They found the wing deserted when they got there. Pomfrey laid Neville on a bed and fetched further potions, which she made him swallow. Crouch and Bagman stood by, keeping guard. As the potions began to take effect, Neville felt his strength returning.
His voice had recovered, and he was just about to shout out a warning about Voldemort, when Crouch saw him sit up, and asked Pomfrey, “Is he going to be all right, Madam Pomfrey? Will he recover?”
“Certainly, Mr Crouch,” said Pomfrey. “He’s fine. He’ll be right as rain in a minute.”
“Very well,” said Crouch. “Winky, now!”
It happened so fast. The house-elf raised her hand and there was a bright flash. Madam Pomfrey fell to the floor. At the same time, Crouch took out his wand and, with a jet of red light, Bagman fell, Stunned. Neville sat in shock as Crouch yelled, “Winky, seal the door!” Winky turned and sent a blast at the great door of the hospital wing, which shook and seemed to expand to fill in the crack between it and the frame.
Crouch advanced on Neville on the bed, his wand pointing at Neville’s chest. The usual bored, morose expression on his face had vanished, replaced by a vicious sneer, and he was moving with a quick eagerness quite unlike his usual slow, middle-aged gait. “How did you survive?” he demanded.
He seized Neville’s arm and pulled back the sleeve to reveal the bloody gash made by Pettigrew’s knife. “It worked, didn’t it?” he said with excitement. “I felt the Dark Mark burn. It has happened. The Dark Lord has returned.”
Neville stared into Crouch’s wild eyes and, slowly, terrible realisation began to dawn on his face. He remembered Voldemort’s words about his “faithful servant” who had ensured Neville would be delivered to him. “I-it was you?” he stammered. “Y-you put my name in the Goblet?”
Crouch snorted. “That bit was simple. As an organiser of the Tournament, I had easy access to the Goblet of Fire, and all that was needed was a Confundus Charm and a scrap of parchment. No, the really hard part has been making sure you won the Tournament and touched that Cup. We needed to get you out of Hogwarts, away from its protective charms and the watchful eye of Dumbledore. The Triwizard Cup was the only way of getting a Portkey onto the grounds. Again, as an organiser, I could take care of that.
“But it was obvious to me from the start you did not have the talent to win, even with Mad-Eye’s coaching. Oh yes, I know about that; I have kept a discreet close eye on you all year. I was happy to turn a blind eye to Dumbledore’s bending of the rules, as it suited my purposes. But you were going to need help to succeed. Fortunately, I had the perfect ally.”
He waved an arm in the direction of Winky, who was standing keeping watch on the sealed door. “Few wizards acknowledge it, but house-elf magic is remarkably powerful, and not bound by as many limitations as our own. As a judge, I was in no position to use magic to help you, but Winky was. She could be hidden away out of sight, ready to step in whenever needed.
“It was Winky who pushed you away from the dragon’s claws in the First Task. It was she who drove the grindylows away from you. Tonight, I let her loose in the maze to eliminate your opponents. Although she only took out Krum and Delacour, it seems it was enough. It is incredible what a house-elf can do if you give it the right orders. She has done everything I asked of her, even ensuring I had the regular… supplies I needed. We have always been close, Winky and I.”
Neville sat paralysed in fear and shock. His wand was in the right-hand pocket of his robes, but he did not dare go for it, not with Crouch standing right over him. The mad glint in Crouch’s eye was getting brighter. “Master, it is about time for your potion,” Winky called over.
“Not now, Winky,” said Crouch. “Bigger things are at hand. The Dark Lord is among us once more. How much of an honour it must have been, Longbottom, to be the first to see him return. Did the others come to him?” Neville nodded feebly. “The cowards came crawling back to him then, to beg forgiveness. None of them stayed loyal when he fell. They all fled, or hid, or turned traitor. I remember how they all scattered in fear when I sent the Dark Mark into the sky at the Quidditch World Cup. None of them truly believe in him. But I do. I never gave up my faith.
“And now, I have the chance to become the greatest of his servants. I have already ensured his return. Now, I have the Boy-Who-Lived himself in my power. Somehow, you escaped the Dark Lord’s clutches. And you came all the way back here… right to me. Fortune smiles upon me. How the Dark Lord will reward me for ridding him of his one loose end. Goodbye, Neville Longbottom.”
Crouch levelled his wand, but at that moment there was an almighty explosion. In a blast of light and flame, the door to the hospital wing was blown inwards, shattering into pieces and knocking Winky to the ground.
As the dust cleared and the light faded away, Neville saw a single small figure standing in the doorway. Its right hand was outstretched and it was wearing nothing but a thin, dirty rag, a pair of red, woollen socks and a pair of brightly polished black shoes. “You will not harm Neville Longbottom!” cried Dobby.
Dobby charged through the doorway and bore down on Winky. Winky got back to her feet and aimed a spell back at Dobby, which he blocked. The air between the two house-elves began crackle with energy, and flashes and sparks spilled out across the hospital wing. This was a house-elves’ duel, and Neville had never seen anything like it before. Raw magic was pouring out of both elves in a ferocious battle of power and force. It seemed to Neville they would not stop until they had torn the whole room apart in their struggle.
Crouch, astonished by the sudden turn of events, turned to help Winky, but at that moment, another larger figure came crashing into the room. Mad-Eye Moody had a look of ferocity on his face such as Neville had never seen. Crouch aimed a jinx at him, but he deflected it with ease and the two wizards began to duel.
There was no contest to the duel. Crouch was completely overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of Moody. The former Auror defeated his opponent with ease, and pinned him down to another of the beds. Winky, seeing her master fall, was distracted for a brief moment, and Dobby, with one last huge effort, blasted Winky back against the wall, where she fell, unconscious.
“Great work, lad,” said Moody to Dobby. Dobby merely nodded, and ran to check Neville was unhurt. Neville barely had a chance to stammer out a thank you to his rescuers, when Professor Dumbledore swept into the room.
Ignoring the wreckage and the unconscious figures strewn across the hospital wing, Dumbledore went straight to Neville. “Neville, are you all right? As soon as we found Professor Moody Stunned, we knew something was wrong,” he said. There was genuine worry in his usually calm expression.
“I came as soon as I was revived,” stated Moody, “but it seems this house-elf was here before me.”
“Dobby overheard voices; he knew you were in trouble,” Dobby explained. “Dobby would not let anything happen to Neville Longbottom.”
“I-I’m all right,” said Neville, unconvincingly. “Professor, it was him, it was Mr Crouch…”
“Oh, I don’t think that is Barty Crouch, Neville,” said Dumbledore.
Crouch, still pinned down under Moody’s spell, began to laugh. “Oh, but I am, Dumbledore,” he said in between his crazed giggles. “I really am. All this time and you do not see.”
“What do you mean?” snarled Moody, his magical eye looking Crouch up and down.
Crouch looked down at his right hand and felt his fingertips with his thumb. “If you wait just a couple of minutes, I think you’ll find out,” he said with another chuckle.
“We don’t have time for this,” growled Moody.
Dumbledore raised a hand, “No, Alastor, we will wait.” Moody stayed watching Crouch, while Dumbledore checked on the health of the other people in the room. Bagman and Pomfrey were quickly revived. Dobby stood guard over the prone form of Winky.
Suddenly, Crouch began to spasm and convulse. As Neville watched, Crouch’s body twisted and contorted, changing its shape. Wrinkles were smoothed out, the moustache faded away and the hair turned from grey to sandy blonde. It was as if thirty years had been stripped away from him.
Moody’s natural eye widened. “Barty Crouch, Junior. You’re supposed to be dead.”
The younger Crouch smiled. “When my father condemned me to Azkaban, my mother, the only person who truly cared about me, begged for my reprieve. She was already dying, and in the end, with the simple aid of Polyjuice Potion, she took my place. Not that my father kept his side of the bargain. He kept me locked up for years at his house, under the Imperius Curse. Winky was my only companion. But, at last, the Dark Lord secured my freedom, to return to his service.”
“Where is your father?” asked Dumbledore.
“Dead!” Crouch spat. “Dead and good riddance! I hated him! I took just what I needed from him, enough to make the Polyjuice Potion I needed to take his place, and then I killed him. I have endured his decrepit shell for months, and I am glad to be rid of it. The last of my father is gone.”
“So that’s why you were always taking drinks from your house-elf,” muttered Moody. “I should have realised you were not just following my cautious example.”
“But what have you done, Barty?” said Dumbledore. “What have you done?”
In answer, Barty Crouch, Junior rolled up his left sleeve. There, etched into the skin, was the Dark Mark. It was thick and jet black and stretched right across his forearm. “It burns,” Crouch said with glee, “and the fire stirs my soul. You understand what this means, don’t you, Dumbledore? He has returned.”
The face of Dumbledore turned ashen grey. “I’m sorry, sir,” said Neville, and his tears began to flow again. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. He’s back.”
Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville returns to Hogwarts and Voldemort’s agent in the Triwizard Tournament is revealed.