Ludovic Bagman

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999

Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003590737

Chapter 6: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003592048

Chapter 7: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003593450

Chapter 8: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003594715

Chapter 9: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003595876

Chapter 10: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003596713

Chapter 11: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003597502

Chapter 12: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003598647

Chapter 13: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003600597

Chapter 14: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003602821

Chapter 15: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605031

Chapter 16: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605690

Chapter 17: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607525

Chapter 18: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607955

Chapter 19: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003608845

Chapter 20: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003609937

Chapter 21: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003612000

Chapter 22: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003613068

Chapter 23: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003613747

Chapter 24: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003614871

Chapter 25: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003617641

Chapter 26: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003618022

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox @Kakaonut @Potatopanda2121

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Pensieve

The door of the office opened.

‘Hello, Potter,’ said Moody. ‘Come in, then.’

Harry walked inside. He had been inside Dumbledore’s office once before; it was a very beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently.

Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore’s desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

‘Harry!’ said Fudge jovially, moving forward. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ Harry lied.

‘We were just talking about the night when Mr Crouch turned up on the grounds,’ said Fudge. ‘It was you who found him, was it not?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. Then, feeling it was pointless to pretend that he hadn’t overheard what they had been saying, he added, ‘I didn’t see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she’d have a job hiding, wouldn’t she?’

Dumbledore smiled at Harry behind Fudge’s back, his eyes twinkling.

‘Yes, well,’ said Fudge, looking embarrassed, ‘we’re about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Harry, if you’ll excuse us...perhaps if you just go back to your class—‘

‘I wanted to talk to you, Professor,’ Harry said quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave him a swift, searching look.

‘Wait here for me, Harry,’ he said. ‘Our examination of the grounds will not take long.’

They trooped out in silence past him and closed the door. After a minute or so, Harry heard the clunks of Moody’s wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. He looked around.

‘Hello, Fawkes,’ he said.

Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry. He stared fondly at the bird, remembering how it had come to his aid when he had thought all hope was lost, absorbing Harry's Fiendfyre then healing him back in second year.

Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. For several minutes, he sat and watched the old headmasters and headmistresses snoozing in their frames, thinking about what he had just heard, and running his fingers over his scar. It had stopped hurting now.

He felt much calmer, somehow, now that he was in Dumbledore’s office, knowing he would shortly be telling him about the dream. Harry looked up at the walls behind the desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. A glass case next to it held a magnificent silver sword with large rubies set into the hilt, Harry wondered what it was.

His attention was taken away from the sword when he noticed a patch of silvery light, dancing and shimmering on the glass case. He looked around for the source of the light and saw a sliver of silver-white shining brightly from within a black cabinet behind him, whose door had not been closed properly. Harry hesitated, glanced at Fawkes, then got up, walked across the office, and pulled open the cabinet door.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that Harry did not recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin’s contents, which were like nothing Harry had ever seen before. He could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid— or like wind made solid—Harry couldn’t make up his mind.

He wanted to touch it, to find out what it felt like, but nearly four years’ experience of the magic lessons told him that sticking his hand into a bowl full of some unknown substance was a very stupid thing to do. He therefore pulled his wand out of the inside of his robes, cast a nervous look around the office, looked back at the contents of the basin, and prodded them.

The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast.

Harry bent closer, his head right inside the cabinet. The silvery substance had become transparent; it looked like glass. He looked down into it, expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin—and saw instead an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance, a room into which he seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling.

The room was dimly lit; he thought it might even be underground, for there were no windows, merely torches in brackets such as the ones that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts. Lowering his face so that his nose was a mere inch away from the glassy substance, Harry saw that rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on what seemed to be benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that gave Harry an ominous feeling. Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it.

Where was this place? It surely wasn’t Hogwarts; he had never seen a room like that here in the castle. Moreover, the crowd in the mysterious room at the bottom of the basin was comprised of adults, and Harry knew there were not nearly that many teachers at Hogwarts. They seemed, he thought, to be waiting for something; even though he could only see the tops of their hats, all of their faces seemed to be pointing in one direction, and none of them were talking to one another.

The basin being circular, and the room he was observing square, Harry could not make out what was going on in the corners of it. He leaned even closer, tilting his head, trying to see...

The tip of his nose touched the strange substance into which he was staring.

Dumbledore’s office gave an almighty lurch—Harry was thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin—But his head did not hit the stone bottom. He was falling through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool—

And suddenly, Harry found himself sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. He looked up at the high stone ceiling, expecting to see the circular window through which he had just been staring, but there was nothing there but dark, solid stone.

Breathing hard and fast, Harry looked around him. Not one of the witches and wizards in the room (and there were at least two hundred of them) was looking at him. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that a fourteen-year-old boy had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. Harry turned to the wizard next to him on the bench and uttered a loud cry of surprise that reverberated around the silent room.

He was sitting right next to Albus Dumbledore.

‘Professor!’ Harry said in a kind of strangled whisper. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I was just looking at that basin in your cabinet—I—where are we?’

But Dumbledore didn’t move or speak. He ignored Harry completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.

Harry gazed, nonplussed, at Dumbledore, then around at the silently watchful crowd, then back at Dumbledore. And then it dawned on him...

Once before, Harry had found himself somewhere that nobody could see or hear him. That time, he had fallen through a page in an enchanted diary, right into somebody else’s memory...and unless he was very much mistaken, something of the sort had happened again...

Harry raised his right hand, hesitated, and then waved it energetically in front of Dumbledore’s face. Dumbledore did not blink, look around at Harry, or indeed move at all. And that, in Harry’s opinion, settled the matter. Dumbledore wouldn’t ignore him like that. He was inside a memory, and this was not the present-day Dumbledore. Yet it couldn’t be that long ago...the Dumbledore sitting next to him now was silver-haired, just like the present-day Dumbledore. But what was this place? What were all these wizards waiting for?

Harry looked around more carefully. The room, as he had suspected when observing it from above, was almost certainly underground—more of a dungeon than a room, he thought. There was a bleak and forbidding air about the place; there were no pictures on the walls, no decorations at all; just these serried rows of benches, rising in levels all around the room, all positioned so that they had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms.

Before Harry could reach any conclusions about the place in which they were, he heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered—or at least one man, flanked by two dementors.

Harry’s insides went cold. The dementors—tall, hooded creatures whose faces were concealed—were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man’s arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint, and Harry couldn’t blame him...he knew the dementors could not touch him inside a memory, but he remembered their power only too well. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.

Harry looked down at the man now sitting in the chair and saw that it was Karkaroff.

Unlike Dumbledore, Karkaroff looked much younger; his hair and goatee were black. He was not dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. Even as Harry watched, the chains on the arms of the chair glowed suddenly gold and snaked their way up Karkaroff ’s arms, binding him there.

‘Igor Karkaroff,’ said a curt voice to Harry’s left. Harry looked around and saw Mr Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside him. Crouch’s hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. ‘You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us.’

Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair.

‘I have, sir,’ he said, and although his voice was very scared, Harry could still hear the familiar unctuous note in it. ‘I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I—I know that the Ministry is trying to—to round up the last of the Dark Lord’s supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can...’

There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, others with pronounced mistrust. Then Harry heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledore’s other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, ‘Filth.’

Harry leaned forward so that he could see past Dumbledore. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting there—except that there was a very noticeable difference in his appearance. He did not have his magical eye, but two normal ones. Both were looking down upon Karkaroff, and both were narrowed in intense dislike.

‘Crouch is going to let him out,’ Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. ‘He’s done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he’s got enough new names. Let’s hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors.’

Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose.

‘Ah, I was forgetting...you don’t like the dementors, do you, Albus?’ said Moody with a sardonic smile.

‘No,’ said Dumbledore calmly, ‘I’m afraid I don’t. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures.’

‘But for filth like this...’ Moody said softly.

‘You say you have names for us, Karkaroff,’ said Mr Crouch. ‘Let us hear them, please.’

‘You must understand,’ said Karkaroff hurriedly, ‘that He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy...He preferred that we—I mean to say, his supporters—and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them—‘

‘Get on with it,’ sneered Moody.

‘—we never knew the names of every one of our fellows—He alone knew exactly who we all were—‘

‘Which was a wise move, wasn’t it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in,’ muttered Moody.

‘Yet you say you have some names for us?’ said Mr Crouch.

‘I—I do,’ said Karkaroff breathlessly. ‘And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely—‘

‘These names are?’ said Mr Crouch sharply.

Karkaroff drew a deep breath.

‘There was Antonin Dolohov,’ he said. ‘I—I saw him torture countless Muggles and—and non-supporters of the Dark Lord.’

‘And helped him do it,’ murmured Moody.

‘We have already apprehended Dolohov,’ said Crouch. ‘He was caught shortly after yourself.’

‘Indeed?’ said Karkaroff, his eyes widening. ‘I—I am delighted to hear it!’

But he didn’t look it. Harry could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless.

‘Any others?’ said Crouch coldly.

‘Why, yes...there was Rosier,’ said Karkaroff hurriedly. ‘Evan Rosier.’

‘Rosier is dead,’ said Crouch. ‘He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle.’

‘Took a bit of me with him, though,’ whispered Moody to Harry’s right. Harry looked around at him once more, and saw him indicating the large chunk out of his nose to Dumbledore.

‘No—no more than Rosier deserved!’ said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now. Harry could see that he was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff’s eyes darted toward the door in the corner, behind which the dementors undoubtedly still stood, waiting.

‘Any more?’ said Crouch.

‘Yes!’ said Karkaroff. ‘There was Travers—he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber—he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!’

Harry could tell that, this time, Karkaroff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together.

‘Rookwood?’ said Mr Crouch, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. ‘Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?’

‘The very same,m said Karkaroff eagerly. ‘I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information—‘

‘But Travers and Mulciber we have,’ said Mr Crouch. ‘Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide—‘

‘Not yet!’ cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. ‘Wait, I have more!’

Harry could see him sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard.

‘Snape!’ he shouted. ‘Severus Snape!’

‘Snape has been cleared by this council,’ said Crouch disdainfully. ‘He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore.’

‘No!’ shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. ‘I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!’

Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. ‘I have given evidence already on this matter,’ he said calmly. ‘Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort’s downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am.’

This was news to Harry. He had long suspected Snape to have a dark past, but he didn’t think he was a deatheater. His parents repeatedly warned him about Karkaroff for being a deatheater, and yet despite hating Snape they never once mentioned him being one.

Harry turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep skepticism behind Dumbledore’s back.

‘Very well, Karkaroff,’ Crouch said coldly, ‘you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime...’

Mr Crouch’s voice faded. Harry looked around; the dungeon was dissolving as though it were made of smoke; everything was fading; he could see only his own body—all else was swirling darkness...

And then, the dungeon returned. Harry was sitting in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different: relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. Harry noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite. She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a younger Rita Skeeter. Harry looked around; Dumbledore was sitting beside him again, wearing different robes. Mr Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter...Harry understood. It was a different memory, a different day...a different trial.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999

Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003590737

Chapter 6: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003592048

Chapter 7: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003593450

Chapter 8: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003594715

Chapter 9: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003595876

Chapter 10: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003596713

Chapter 11: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003597502

Chapter 12: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003598647

Chapter 13: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003600597

Chapter 14: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003602821

Chapter 15: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605031

Chapter 16: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605690

Chapter 17: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607525

Chapter 18: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607955

Chapter 19: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003608845

Chapter 20: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003609937

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox @Kakaonut @Potatopanda2121

Chapter Twenty-One: Rita Skeeter’s Scoop

Nearly everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Slytherin common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations.

Allison and the others who had signed up for the Boxing Day train were gone before Harry had even woken up, which was to bad because Harry thought he’d need some back up dealing with the Tracey and Terence situation.

When he got up to breakfast however he was pleasantly surprised to see they weren’t at each other’s throats. He soon inferred that Tracey and Terence had reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss what had happened the night before. The actual awkwardness as it turned out came from Theodore and Colin, who seemed to not quite know how to interact with each other normally anymore, tripping over everything each said or did.

Terence and Harry wasted no time in telling the others about the conversation they had overheard between Snape and Karkaroff as well as Madame Maxime and Hagrid. No one was really surprised when hearing the confirmation that Hagrid was a half-giant.

‘The man it over eleven feet tall,’ said Theodore in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘I’d be more surprised if you told me he was fully human.’

It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather relaxed or at least apathetic now that Christmas was over—everybody except Harry, that is, who was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.

The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn’t done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg. He therefore started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opening it, and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn’t. He tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room—though he hadn’t really expected that to help.

Harry had not forgotten the hint that Cedric had given him, but his less-than-friendly feelings toward Cedric just now meant that he was keen not to take his help if he could avoid it. In any case, it seemed to him that if Cedric had really wanted to give Harry a hand, he would have been a lot more explicit. Harry, had told Cedric exactly what was coming in the first task—and Cedric’s idea of a fair exchange had been to tell Harry to take a bath. Well, he didn’t need that sort of rubbishy help—not from someone who kept walking down corridors hand in hand with Cho, anyway.

The day before start of winter term the hogwarts train returned with all the students who had left both at the start of break and on Boxing Day. Harry had been studying enchanted eggs in the library when Tracey looked up and her jaw dropped, ‘Alli?’

Harry looked around to welcome Allison back when his jaw dropped as well. Allison apparently took the time off to get a fresh look as her shoulder length straight black hair had been cut into a very short bob style with a pink headband, and along with the three silver piercings she already had in her ears, she now had a small stud on her left nostril.

‘Alli, you look great!’ said Tracey.

‘Thanks, I really needed a new look.’

‘How is your mother?’ Harry asked.

‘Still sick, but her mood was lifted by me wearing her old wedding dress to the Yule Ball and then coming home for a week, so that was at least something.’

And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too.

Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn’t see into them as they walked past. Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, although Allison had jokingly said the skrewts blasts will keep them warm.

When they arrived at Hagrid’s cabin, however, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

‘Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago,’ she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow.

‘Are you a sub?’ Theodore asked, ‘Is Hagrid sick?’

‘My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,’ she said briskly. ‘I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher.’

‘Where’s Hagrid?’ Harry repeated loudly.

‘He is indisposed,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter reached Harry’s ears. He turned; Pansy Parkinson and the rest of her gang had joined the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.

'This way, please,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Harry, Theodore, Allison, and Tracey followed her, looking back over their shoulders at Hagrid’s cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?

'You didn't answer my friends question, is Hagrid sick?' Harry asked, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.

'Never you mind,' she said as though she thought he was being nosy.

'I do mind, though, he's my friend,' said Harry hotly. 'What’s wrong with him?'

Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn’t hear him. She led them past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered.

Many of the girls 'ooooohed!' at the sight of the unicorn.

'It is absolutely stunning,' whispered Hermione Granger. 'I've never seen one up close? Did you barrow one from the Unicorn Parkinson Prosperity or did you manage to catch one?'

The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.

'Boys keep back!' barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. 'They prefer the woman’s touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it...'

She and the girls walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The moment Professor Grubbly-Plank was out of earshot, Harry turned to Theodore.

'What d’you reckon’s wrong with him? You don’t think a skrewt got him? They are part manticore and their stings are—?'

Harry couldn't quite finish, his adoptive grandfather Lyall Lupin had died from a manticore still nearly two years ago, and it still hurt to think about sometimes. He was distracted from his thoughts by Blaise Zabini.

'Hagrid hasn't been stung, Potter, though I'd like to see what would happen if he was,' said Zabini softly. 'No, he’s has just been humiliated and too cowardous to show his monstrous face.'

'What d’you mean?' said Harry sharply.

Zabini pulled out a folded newsprint from the pocket of his robes.

'If you started reading more thoroughly you might not be left in the dark all the time,' he said, handing Harry the paper. 'Its all rather comedic if you as me.'

He smirked as Harry snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Theodore, Ron, and Neville looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty.

"DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Last year he hired werewolf Remus Lupin to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, in September of this year, he hired Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to take Lupin's place, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody’s well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being 'very frightening.'

'I was clawed at by a hippogriff,' says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student.

'I got a bad bite off a flobberworm,' claimed Vincent Crabbe.

'His new abominations have exploded in my face multiple times,' said Pansy Parkinson, a girl in the same year as Malfoy. 'Hagrid is dangerous be we have been to terrified to speak out about him.'

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed 'Blast-Ended Skrewts,' highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.

'It was quite fun,' he says, before hastily changing the subject.

As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not—as he has always pretended—a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.

Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror. While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa’s son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who’s fall from power—thereby driving Hagrid’s own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who’s supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend—but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants."

Harry finished reading and looked up at Theodore, who looked in shock from the amount of combined facts and lies the Prophet had combined. For a brief moment Harry wondered if Terence had blabbered about what he heard, but quickly dismissed that idea as he trusted his friend.

'Where did they get all this information?' he whispered.

But that wasn’t what was bothering Harry.

'What d’you mean, ‘we have been terrified of Hagrid’?' Harry spat at Blaise.

'What’s this rubbish about'—he pointed at Crabbe—'getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven’t even got teeth!'

Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself.

'It is past time we have teachers that are actually our kind, not monsters or half-breeds,' said Zabini, his dark eyes glinting. 'My mother will not be happy when she reads this, as I assume most proper wizarding families will be. Yet another teacher endangering their kids.'

'You—'

'Are you paying attention over there?'

Professor Grubbly-Plank’s voice carried over to the boys; the girls were all clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it. Harry was so angry that the Daily Prophet article shook in his hands as he turned to stare unseeingly at the unicorn, whose many magical properties Professor Grubbly-Plank was now enumerating in a loud voice, so that the boys could hear too.

'That was a far better lesson than I would normally get in that class,' said Pansy loudly when the lesson had ended and they were all heading back to the castle for lunch. 'Dealing with proper creatures and proper teachers.'

'Pansy, you have gotten to see multiple unicorns every summer for three years, do you ever get bored of typical magical creatures?'

'Perhaps, but anything is better than Hagrid teaching the class. I preferred him as a mere servant.'

Harry wished he could get some back up from the girls as they often had better come backs for Pansy, but Allison was too busy talking to Tracey about her upcoming date in Hogsmeade.

Once in the Great Hall Harry quickly tracked Terence down and showed him the article, 'Dia ár sábháil, how did they find out? Do you think Madam Maxime tipped the Prophet off as revenge?'

'I don't think she was that bitter, someone must have found off another way.'

'Do you think it was that bloody Skeeter woman?' Terence asked.

'The article was uncredited, it did sound like her but I don't see how she could have gotten her quotes and information, Hagrid mentioned she's banned from the grounds.'

Theodore than chipped in, 'Maybe she has an invisibility cloak, they are rare but someone like her might be able to afford one.'

'That's an idea,' said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. 'Sort of thing she’d do, isn’t it, hide in bushes listening to people. Although Hagrid should have never been talking about his giantess mother in the garden multiple people were in.'

Harry paused his Giant talk for a moment as Colin had sat down next to Theodore and didn't feeling like re-explaining everything that had happened, instead he worded his conclusion carefully, 'I going to see him after charms. Tell him we want him back...some of you should come to show your support.' The last part he said a little louder so Tracey and Allison would hear.

'What?' they said in unison as they hadn't heard any of the previous discussion.

'We're going to Hagrid's after dinner, you two in?'

'Sure, sounds fun.'

So that evening after dinner, the four of them plus Terence left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid’s cabin. They knocked, and Fang’s booming barks answered.

'Hagrid, it’s us!' Harry shouted, pounding on the door. 'Open up!'

Hagrid didn’t answer. They could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn’t open. They hammered on it for ten more minutes; Allison even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.

'Why won't he see us?' Tracey said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. 'We're the ones trying to help and support him.'

But it seemed that Hagrid did not wish to be seen. They didn’t see a sign of him all week. He didn’t appear at the staff table at mealtimes, they didn’t see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Pansy was gloating at every possible opportunity.

'Do you all really miss that oaf?' she kept chuckling at Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that she was safe from Harry’s retaliation. 'You must feel home sick not having a beast around at all times.'

The Hogsmeade visit had arrived and Harry had decided to join Allison, Tracey, and Urquhart, to Theodore's surprise.

'Wouldn't you rather be like me and take advantage of the less crowded Hogwarts to study? Its just over a month until the next task and the egg isn't going to solve itself.'

'Oh I—I reckon I’ve got a pretty good idea what it’s about now,' Harry lied.

'You have?' said Theodore, looking suspicious. 'Okay than...'

Harry’s insides gave a guilty squirm, but he ignored them. He still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages...whereas if he went into Hogsmeade, he might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back.

He, Allison, Tracey and her date left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.

'He’s mad!' said Harry, staring at Krum’s dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. 'It must be freezing, it’s January!'

'It might be colder in Bulgaria, and I know its colder in Svalbard,' said Allison, 'this cold must not be as bad to him.'

'Well,' said Tracey half distracted, 'I just hope someone has warned him about the giant squid.'

Harry kept his eyes skinned for a sign of Hagrid all the way down the slushy High Street, it was just him and Allison searching now as Tracey and Urquhart had gone off to the Cafe for their date. Harry eventually suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks once he had ascertained that Hagrid was not in any of the shops. The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick look around at all the tables told Harry that Hagrid wasn’t there. Heart sinking, he went up to the bar with Allison, ordered three butter-beers from Madam Rosmerta, and thought gloomily that he might just as well have stayed behind and listened to the egg wailing after all.

'What is he doing here?' Allison whispered in an annoyed tone. 'Look over there!'

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

It was indeed odd, Harry thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up.

'In a moment, in a moment!' Harry heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward Harry, his boyish grin back in place. 'Harry! How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?'

'Fine, thanks,' said Harry, although he would rather be talking to Pansy Parkinson at the moment than Bagman.

'Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?' said Bagman eagerly. 'You couldn’t give us a moment, miss, could you?'

'Um—I guess?' said Allison, and she went off to find a table.

Bagman led Harry along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta.

'Well, I just thought I’d congratulate you once again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry,' said Bagman. 'Really superb.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, but he knew this couldn’t be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry in front of Allison or the barmaid. Bagman didn’t seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him and Harry in silence through their dark, slanting eyes.

'Absolute nightmare,' said Bagman to Harry in an undertone, noticing Harry watching the goblins too. 'Their English isn’t too good...translations spells don't work so well on non-human languages. This lot keep gabbling in Gobbledegook...and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means ‘pickax.’ I don’t like to use it in case they think I’m threatening them.'

He gave a short, booming laugh, but Harry could help hear a little hesitation in said laugh.

'What do they want?' Harry said, noticing how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely.

'Er—well...' said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. 'They...er...they’re looking for Barry Crouch.'

'Why are they looking for him here?' said Harry. 'He’s at the Ministry in London, isn’t he?'

'Er...as a matter of fact, I’ve no idea where he is,' said Bagman. 'He’s sort of...stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he’s ill. Apparently he’s just been sending instructions in by owl. But would you mind not mentioning that to anyone, Harry? Because Rita Skeeter’s still poking around everywhere she can, and I’m willing to bet she’d work up Barty’s illness into something sinister. Probably say he’s gone missing like Bertha Jorkins.'

'Have they finally found her, Ms Jorkins I mean?' Harry asked.

'No,' said Bagman, looking strained again. 'I’ve got people looking, of course...' (About time, thought Harry) 'and it’s all very strange. She definitely arrived in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin’s house to go south and see an aunt...and she seems to have vanished without trace en route. Blowed if I can see where she’s got to...she doesn’t seem the type to elope, for instance...but still...What are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you'—he lowered his voice—'how are you getting on with your golden egg?'

'Sir I said at Christmas I didn't want to talk about it, but I am, er...doing not bad,' Harry said untruthfully.

Bagman seemed to know he wasn’t being honest.

'Listen, Harry,' he said (still in a very low voice), ‘I feel very bad about what has happened to you...you were thrown into this dangerous tournament, you didn’t volunteer for it...and if...’ (his voice was so quiet now, Harry had to lean closer to listen) ‘if I can help at all...just a small tip in the right direction...I’ve taken a liking to you...the way you got past that dragon...well, just say the word.’

Harry just stared up into Bagman’s round face and blue eyes with astonishment, he wasn’t sure how many times he could tell this man no.

‘Mr Bagman, I really do appreciate your willingness to help, but we’re supposed to figure this clue out on our own. I’ve already got dozens of people thinking I’m a cheat, I don’t want to give them any reason to think they were right,’ he said this all very carefully to keep his voice casual and not sound as though he was accusing the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.

‘Well...well, yes,’ said Bagman impatiently, ‘but—come on, Harry—we all want a Hogwarts victory, don’t we?’

'Have you offered Cedric help?' Harry asked.

The smallest of frowns creased Bagman’s smooth face.

‘No, I haven’t,’ he said. ‘I—well, like I say, I’ve taken a liking to you. Just thought I’d offer...’

‘Well, thanks,’ said Harry, ‘but I think I’m nearly there with the egg...couple more days should crack it.’

A small part of him wondered why he was refusing Bagman’s help, except that Bagman was almost a stranger to him, and accepting his assistance would feel somehow much more like cheating than asking advice from his friends, Hagrid, or his family. It didn’t help that Tracey’s suspicions of Bagman still rang in his head.

Bagman looked almost affronted, but couldn’t say much more as Fred and George Weasley turned up at that point.

‘Hello, Mr. Bagman,’ said Fred brightly. ‘Can we buy you a drink?’

‘Er...no,’ said Bagman, with a last disappointed glance at Harry, ‘no, thank you, boys...’

Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry as though he had let him down badly.

‘Well, I must dash,’ he said. ‘Nice seeing you all. Good luck, Harry.’

He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Harry went to rejoin Allison.

‘That looked very awkward, another minute and was going to go over there and rescue you,’ she said, the moment Harry had sat down.

‘He offered to help me with the golden egg again,’ said Harry.

‘I am really starting to agree with Tracey,’ she said a little miffed. ‘He definitely wants you to win for some reason, and is clearly willing to bend the rules to get what he wants. He needn’t bother though, I heard you tell Theo you had solved the clue.’

‘Well...that might have been a slight exaggeration so he’d let me go to Hogsmeade,’ Harry confessed.

One thing that Harry liked about Allison was that she was usually on his side, she didn’t bother him about the egg, instead she changed the topic.

‘Those goblins he was with didn’t look Happy,’ she said, sipping her butterbeer. ‘Why were they hounding him?’

‘Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman,’ said Harry. ‘He’s still ill. Hasn’t been into work.’

‘Maybe his law enforcement day’s are catching up to him, my dad isn’t even flirty yet but some day he looks like he’s fifty, or Moody who looks over seventy but I hear is just over fifty.’

Harry nodded, then circled back to the goblins, ‘It’s odd though that goblins would be looking for Mr Crouch here of all places, wouldn’t his home be a better bet?’

‘Well maybe he’s recovering somewhere more private, or maybe he’s sick of work and actually taking a tropical vacation in secret. Perhaps-oh no!’

Harry looked around to see what had caught Allison’s eye. Rita Skeeter had just entered the pub. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby, Harry and Allison glared at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something.

‘...didn’t seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what’s he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights...what non-sense...he was always a bad liar. Reckon something’s up? Think we should do a bit of digging? “Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman...” Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo—we just need to find a story to fit it—‘

‘Trying to ruin someone else’s life?’ said Harry loudly.

A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter’s eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.

‘Harry!’ she said, beaming. ‘How lovely! Why don’t you come and join—?’

‘I wouldn’t come near you with a ten-foot broomstick,’ said Harry furiously. ‘What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?’

Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows. ‘Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my—‘

‘Who cares if he’s half-giant?’ Harry shouted. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him! He is the gentlest soul I know!’

The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.

Rita Skeeter’s smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her new Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, ‘How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?’

Allison stood up very abruptly, and cracked her knuckles, ‘Oh look, another quill for me to break.’

The quill started shivering and tried floating as far away from Allison’s grasp as possible, Rita Skeeter seemed less phased than her quill.

‘Sit down, you silly little girl, it would be a shame if I had to write a piece on how auror Albert Runcorn was nowhere to be found during the World Cup incident, or that he supposedly doesn’t seem to care that his wife of fifteen years can barely leave her bed. His bosses wouldn’t like that, and he would be upset at the daughter that caused it,’ said Rita Skeeter in a quiet cold voice, her eyes hardening as they fell on Allison. ‘So I’d keep your fat hands off my property and your mouth shut, or you will regret it.’

Instead of getting Allison to calm down, her blue eyes seemed to be lit with icey fire. Harry took her arm and slowly started walking away. ‘Come on Allison, I think it’s best we leave.’

They left; many people were staring at them as they went. Harry glanced back as they reached the door. Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table.

‘She might skip your father for now, he’s too powerful, but I’d be shocked if the next piece didn’t involve you in someway, Allison,’ said Harry in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street.

‘I don’t care,’ said Allison defiantly; she was shaking with rage. 'Story or no story I am going to get my revenge. Silly little girl, my foot! First you, then Hagrid, now my father, she is going to pay!’

‘Allison, I want Rita to suffer as much as you do, but she is not only an adult, but an adult with a lot of influence. Don’t do something you’ll regret.’

‘I am more clever than her, Harry, whatever I decide to do she won’t see coming,’ Allison was now striding along so fast that it was all Harry could do to keep up with her. ‘Oh and we should visit Hagrid now! Rita is in the wrong, not him, so it’s time he stop hiding!’

Breaking into a run, she led them all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid’s cabin.

The curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached.

'Hagrid!' Allison shouted, pounding on his front door. 'Hagrid, it is time to stop hiding, we want you back!’

Harry chimed in, ‘Nobody that cares about has a problem with you being a half-giant, Hagrid! If you keep hiding out in your cabin than you are letting a cruel person win. Please let us in—‘

The door opened. Harry was about to thank Hagrid for finally opening the door, but then stopped, because he had found himself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly, smiling down at them.

‘We-um-wanted to she Hagrid, is he ok?’ said Harry in a quieter voice than how he had been yelling a moment ago.

‘Yes, I surmised as much,’ said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. ‘Why don’t you come in?’

‘Yes...alright,’ said Allison.

She and Harry went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment he entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang and looked around.

Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire.

‘Hi, Hagrid,’ said Harry.

Hagrid looked up.

‘’Lo,’ he said in a very hoarse voice.

‘More tea, I think,’ said Dumbledore, closing the door behind Harry and Allison, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, ‘Did you by any chance hear what Miss Runcorn and Mr Potter were shouting, Hagrid?’

Allison went slightly pink, a rare colour on her, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, ‘Allison, Harry, and several other students including Tracey Davis, Ron Weasley, and Terry Boot still seem to want you back. And Harry and his friends still want to get to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door.’

‘Of course we still want to know you!’ Harry said, staring at Hagrid. ‘You don’t think anything that Skeeter cow—sorry, Professor,’ he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.

‘I have gone temporarily deaf and haven’t any idea what you said, Harry,’ said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

‘Er—right,’ said Harry sheepishly. ‘I just meant—Hagrid, how could you think we’d care what that—woman—wrote about you?’

Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.

‘Living proof of what I’ve been telling you, Hagrid,’ said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. ‘I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it. Charlie Weasley even sent me a howler when he thought I had fired you—‘

‘Not all of ’em,’ said Hagrid hoarsely. ‘Not all of ’em wan’ me ter stay.’

‘Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I’m afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time,’ said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. ‘Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school that I haven’t had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?’

‘Yeh—yeh’re not half-giant!’ said Hagrid croakily.

‘Hagrid, look what I’ve got for relatives!’ Harry said furiously. ‘My mother’s side is filled with the worst muggles I know, yet neither she or I are anything like them.’

Allison then spoke up, ‘I don’t talk about this often Hagrid, but my grandmother on my mothers side was a squib, one of the lowest member of the wizarding world, but she didn’t let the stigma run her out of the magical world she had come to love. She found work within the magical world, she married a wizard she loved, she didn’t let how she was born dictate her life.’

This was the first time Harry had ever heard this, he knew through Theodore that Allison had a squib ancestor, but he never knew the the story involved.

‘An excellent point,’ said Professor Dumbledore. ‘My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I’m not entirely sure he can still read, so that may not have been bravery...’

‘Continue to teach, Hagrid,’ Allison begged. ‘It maybe true your lesson are unordinary, but that is what makes them exciting, I am so bored in half my classes because the they are teaching the same way the classes have been taught for a hundred or more years, but every class wth you is an adventure.’

Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.

Dumbledore stood up. ‘I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday,’ he said. ‘You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all.’

Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang’s ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Harry kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, ‘Great man, Dumbledore...great man...’

‘He knows that you are equally a great man,’ said Allison.

Hagrid, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘I bin stupid...my ol’ dad woulda bin ashamed o’ the way I’ve bin behavin...’ More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, ‘Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here...’

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid’s crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid’s shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth—he looked hardly older than eleven.

‘Tha’ was taken jus’ after I got excepted inter Hogwarts,’ Hagrid croaked. ‘Dad was dead chuffed...thought I migh’ not be a wizard, see, ’cos me mum...well, anyway. ’Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really...but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...’

Harry had heard some of this during the Yule Ball, so he had to pretend this was the first time hearing this tale.

‘Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job...trusts people, he does. Gives ’em second chances...tha’s what sets him apar’ from other heads, see. He’ll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s’long as they’ve got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren’...well...all tha’ respectable. But some don’ understand that. There’s some who’d always hold it against yeh...there’s some who’d even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an’ say—I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed. ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with.’ An’ he was right. I’ve bin an idiot. I’m not botherin’ with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones...I’ll give her big bones.’

Harry and Allison looked at each another nervously; Harry would rather have taken fifty Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than admit to Hagrid that he had overheard him talking to Madame Maxime, but Hagrid was still talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.

‘Yeh know wha’, Harry?’ he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, ‘when I firs’ met you, you reminded me o’ me a bit. Mum an’ Dad gone, an’ you didn’t know were ya belonged, remember? Not sure who ya really were...an’ now look at yeh, Harry! School champion!’

He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously, ‘Yeh know what I’d love, Harry? I’d love yeh ter win, I really would. It’d show ’em all...yeh don’ have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don’ have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It’d show ’em Dumbledore’s the one who’s got it righ’, lettin’ anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin’ with that egg, Harry?’

‘Great,’ said Harry. ‘Really great.’

Hagrid’s miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile. ‘Tha’s my boy...you show ’em, Harry, you show ’em. Beat ’em all.’

Lying to Hagrid wasn’t quite like lying to anyone else. Harry went back to the castle later that afternoon with Allison, unable to banish the image of the happy expression on Hagrid’s whiskery face as he had imagined Harry winning the tournament. The incomprehensible egg weighed more heavily than ever on Harry’s conscience that evening, and by the time he had got into bed, he had made up his mind—it was time to shelve his pride and see if Cedric’s hint was worth anything.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox

Chapter Five: Bagman and Crouch

Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

‘Morning, Basil,’ said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

‘Hello there, Arthur,’ said Basil wearily. ‘Not on duty, eh? It’s all right for some...We’ve been here all night...You’d better get out of the way, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at seven. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley...’

He consulted his parchment list. ‘About a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr Roberts. Diggory...second field...ask for Mr Payne. Lupin-Black...also first field, about a dozen tents further than the Weasley’s.’

‘Thanks, Basil,’ said Mr Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

Sirius also stated his gratitude, ‘Good day Mr Basil.’

They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

‘Morning!’ said Mr Weasley brightly.

‘Morning,’ said the Muggle.

‘Would you be Mr Roberts?’

‘Aye, I would,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘And who’re you?’

‘Weasley—two tents, booked a couple of days ago?’

‘And Lupin-Black-one tent, booked around the same time,’ said Remus.

‘Aye,’ said Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door.

‘Weasley, you’ve got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?’

‘That’s it,’ said Mr Weasley.

‘And Lupin-Black, your close to their, just eleven spots further. You’ll both be paying now, then?’ said Mr Roberts.

Ah—right—certainly—‘ said Mr Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage while Remus handed Mr Roberts their fee.

While Remus paid, Mr Weasley beckoned Harry toward him. ‘Help me, Harry,’ he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. ‘This one’s a—a—a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now...So this is a five?’

‘A twenty,’ Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr Roberts trying to catch every word.

‘Ah yes, so it is...I don’t know, these little bits of paper...’

‘You foreign?’ said Mr Roberts as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.

‘Foreign?’ repeated Mr Weasley, puzzled.

‘You’re not the first one who’s had trouble with money,’ said Mr Roberts, scrutinizing Mr Weasley closely. ‘I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.’

‘Did you really?’ said Mr Weasley nervously.

Mr Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

‘Never been this crowded,’ he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. ‘Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up...’

‘Is that right?’ said Mr Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr Roberts didn’t give it to him.

‘Aye,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There’s a bloke walking ’round in a kilt and a poncho.’

‘Shouldn’t he?’ said Mr. Weasley anxiously.

‘It’s like some sort of...I dunno...like some sort of rally,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.’

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door.

‘Obliviate!’ he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. Instantly, Mr Roberts’s eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

‘A map of the campsite for you,’ Mr Roberts said placidly to Mr Weasley. ‘And your change.’

‘Thanks very much,’ said Mr Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied the eleven of them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, ‘Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman’s not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.’

The man then disapparated.

Mr Weasley looked disappointedly at Sirius and Remus.

‘Mr Bagman should know better than to be talking about wizarding matters in front of muggles at his high rank.'

Remus patted him on the back, 'It has been my experience that wizards that are at the very top enjoy enforcing rules onto everyone but themselves.'

'That sadly is often the case,' Mr Weasley agreed. 'And Ludo’s always been a bit...well...lax about security. You couldn’t wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.'

They all trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

'Always the same,' said Mr. Weasley, smiling. 'We can’t resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.' They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read weezly.

'Couldn’t have a better spot!' said Mr Weasley happily. 'We'll start setting up our tent, we'll meet up with you all once we are all done pitching the tents.'

'Agreed, we'll see you in an hour or two, Arthur,' Sirius said with a smile.

They continued on just a bit further towards their site, unlike the Weasley's however they did not need a sign to know which spot was theirs. Surrounding the sign that said Lupin-Black was dozens of dog treats. Remus sighed and turned to Harry, 'Collect all the dog biscuits, you can give them to Fang when you return to Hogwarts.'

After being outed as a werewolf at the beginning of the summer, Remus decided there was no longer a reason to wait to publish his book "Where For The Werewolf". The was experiencing some positive outcomes which made it worth it, but the more common outcome was that anyone who didn't already know Remus was a werewolf in June did know now. They had received a lot of hate mail, almost no wizard had come to the cafe, and now their site was covered in dog treats.

Sirius tried to lighten the situation by changing the subject. 'Did you all know the game field is right on the other side of the wood there, we’re right next to where the game will take place.' He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. 'Well,' he said hesitantly, 'we best get to work, there is no magic allowed with muggles watching, so we’ll be putting the tent up by hand.' No one but Sirius had ever pitched a tent, so they all followed his lead. With Sirius' instruction, a bit of logic, and a great deal of hard work they got the poles and pegs where they should be, and raised a half decent tent.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at their tent would guess it belonged to wizards, Harry thought. Although another thought then occurred to him, there was five of them, and this tent looked as though it only had room to comfortably fit two people, and two of them would be transforming tonight.

'Um, Sirius, did we get the right size muggle tent?'

'Muggle? Oh, this is no muggle tent, its just meant to loo like that on the outside. Come see.'

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an eighties, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Two of the bedrooms looked ordinary enough, while the third looked like it was more sturdy and had a small amount of sound proofing.

'This was originally my tent for when I go on adventures across the country side, but I altered the spell yesterday to fit all of us and give a safe space for Remus ad Canini tonight.'

Remus brought in the box containing their food. He pulled out a couple empty two litre water containers. 'I'll need you kids to go fetch some water.'

'Where do we get water?' Harry asked.

'I think I saw something on the map the muggle man gave us, not to long of a walk.' said Theodore.

'Then it is settled, you four will go fill up these containers while me and Remus start a fire,' said Sirius excitedly.

'Fire?' said Canini, 'Why do we need a fire, we have a stove right there.'

'When muggles camp they use out side fires to roast their food and that sounds really fun. Don't worry, anything that can't be cooked right with a fire we'll just sneak back inside and use the stove. Now off you all go.'

As they headed out they passed the Weasley's two tents, where Ron, Fred, and George were also sent out to fetch water. Canini decided to stay behind to hang out with the girls, leaving the six boys venturing out to find the spigot on the map.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never been surrounded by so many magical folk, let along magical folk from so many different countries and cultures.

Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry rarely got to see witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

'How many times, Kevin? You don’t—touch—Daddy’s—wand—yecchh!'

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy’s yells—'You bust slug! You bust slug!'

A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass, Harry vaguely remembered owning a similar one when he was little. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, Theodore, Terence, and the Weasley’s he muttered distractedly, 'In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose—'

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn’t work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: the salem witches’ institute. Harry caught snatches of conversation in foreign languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn’t understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

'Er—is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?' said Ron.

'Aye, your eyes do not deceive you, Weasley,' Terence said excitedly.

They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, Harry heard someone call the Weasley's names.

'Ron! Fred! George!'

It was Seamus Finnigan, a fourth year Gryffindor. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

'Like the decorations?' said Seamus, grinning. 'The Ministry’s not too happy.'

The mother looked like she was about to speak, but Terence beat her too it, 'Like it? These tents are incredibly quare! I have never seen so many fellow Irish wizards. Its practically lashing pride!'

'Aye, why shouldn’t we show our colours?' said Mrs Finnigan happily. 'You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You’ll be supporting Ireland, of course?' she added, eyeing Harry, Theodore, and the Weasleys beadily. When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, 'Like we’d say anything else surrounded by that lot.'

'We are going to win,' said Terence, 'The Irish are the best of the best this year.'

'Mrs Finnigan mentioned the Bulgarian tents were just as prideful.' said Theodore.

'Let’s go and have a look,' said Harry, they said goodbye to the Weasley's and made their way to a large patch of tents upheld, where the Bulgarian flag—white, green, and red—was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

'Viktor Krum,' said Theodore quietly.

'That's what he looks like?' said Terence.

'Yes,' said Harry, 'one of the youngest Seekers to ever play in the World Cup.' Krum!” said Ron.

“He doesn't look very happy,” said Terence, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.

'He is just stone faced' Theodore raised his eyes to the heavens. 'I sure he smiles when he catches the Snitch, which he has done dozens of times. You will see this afternoon.'

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Theodore, and Terence joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pin-striped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

'Just put them on, Archie, there’s a good chap. You can’t walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate’s already getting suspicious—'

'I bought this in a Muggle shop,' said the old wizard stubbornly. 'Muggles wear them.'

'Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,' said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

'I’m not putting them on,' said old Archie in indignation. 'I like a healthy breeze ’round my privates, thanks.'

The conversation was getting awkward fast, Harry was trying to think of an excuse to run back to their tent when Archie had collected his water and moved away.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Lucian Bole, a Beater of Harry and Terence's Quidditch team, who was about to start his final year, dragged Harry over to his parents’ tent to introduce him, and told him about the summer he was having, he also mentioned he had seen Allison Runcorn about an hour earlier. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year Harry was friendly with, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. More to stop Terence from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seen before.

'Who d’you reckon they are?' he said. 'They don’t go to Hogwarts, do they?'

'They must be from different magic schools world wide,' said Theodore curiously. 'If I had to take a guess I would say they are from Durmstrang, but they could be from other schools as well.'

They finally arrived back at there camp, where they were greeted with a roaring fire. The three boys were heading towards the tent to drop off the containers, but Harry was so focused on the water that he tripped and the entire container spilled onto the fire. Harry was mortified, but Sirius assured him it was alright. Remus packed up their food and they made their way to the Weasley’s camp. Their fire wasn’t lit yet but it was at least dry.

‘Hello Arthur,’ said Sirius chipperly, ‘we had a bit of an indecent with our fire. May we share with you?’

‘Course,’ said Mr Weasley, ‘but I think I might need some help getting it started.’

Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but Mr Weasley looked as though he was having the time of his life.

‘Oops!’ he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

‘I can help, Arthur,’ said Remus kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. The Weasley’s tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry’s family’s benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

‘That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office...Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he’s with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he’s had those horns for a while now...Hello, Arnie...Arnold Peasegood, he’s an Obliviator—member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know...and that’s Bode and Croaker...they’re Unspeakables...’

‘They’re what?’ asked Harry.

‘Unspeakable work in the Department of Mysteries,’ Remus explained. ‘Their work is strictly top secret, even during my time as an auror I never learned a single thing about their work.’

At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them just before noon.

'Just Apparated, Dad,’ said Percy loudly. ‘Ah, excellent, lunch!’

They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them. 'Aha!' he said. 'The man of the moment! Ludo!'

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Harry had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

'Ahoy there!' Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

'Arthur, old man,' he puffed as he reached the campfire, 'what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless day...and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements...Not much for me to do!'

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

'Ah—yes,' said Mr Weasley, grinning, 'this is my son Percy. He’s just started at the Ministry—and this is Fred—no, George, sorry—that’s Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron—my daughter, Ginny—and these are some friends of mine, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin and their kids Canini Howling, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, and Harry's friend Terence Higgs.'

Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry’s name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

'Everyone,' Mr Weasley continued, 'this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it’s thanks to him we’ve got such good tickets—' Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

'Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?' he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. 'I’ve already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland’s front three are the strongest I’ve seen in years—and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match.'

'Oh...go on then,' said Mr Weasley. 'Let’s see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?'

'A Galleon?' Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. 'Very well, very well...any other takers?'

'They’re a bit young to be gambling,' said Mr. Weasley. ;Molly wouldn’t like—'

'We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,' said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, 'that Ireland wins—but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we’ll throw in a fake wand.'

'You don’t want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that—' Percy hissed, but Bagman didn’t seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

'Excellent! I haven’t seen one that convincing in years! I’d pay five Galleons for that!'

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

'Boys,' said Mr Weasley under his breath, 'I don’t want you betting...That’s all your savings...Your mother—'

'Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur!' boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. 'They’re old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum’ll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance...I’ll give you excellent odds on that one...We’ll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we...'

Mr Weasley looked on helpless as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins’ names.

'Cheers,' said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully.

'And I will take that Ireland will win for two Galleon,' Terence called out.

'Who might you be young man?' Bagman asked, seemingly interested in making two more Galleons in profit.

'Terence Higgs sir, Bertie Higgs nephew.'

'Alright, Two Galleons that Ireland wins for Mr Higgs.' Bagman then turned most cheerfully back to Mr Weasley.

'Couldn’t do me a brew, I suppose? I’m keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number’s making difficulties, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’ll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.'

'Mr Crouch? said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. 'He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll...'

'Anyone can speak Troll,' said Fred dismissively. 'All you have to do is point and grunt.'

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

'Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?' Mr Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

'Not a dicky bird,' said Bagman comfortably. 'But she’ll turn up. Poor old Bertha...memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She’ll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it’s still July.'

Sirius turned to the kids, 'We should probably get going, only a few hours until the game starts. Finish your eggs.'

Mr Weasley continued as Percy handed Bagman his tea, 'You don’t think it might be time to send someone?'

'Barty Crouch keeps saying that,' said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, 'but we really can’t spare anyone at the moment. Oh—talk of the devil! Barty!'

A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager; Harry doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was.

'Pull up a bit of grass, Barty,' said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.

No thank you, Ludo,' said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. 'I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.'

'Oh is that what they’re after?' said Bagman. 'I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.'

'Mr Crouch!' said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback.

'Would you like a cup of tea?'

'Oh,' said Mr Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. 'Yes—thank you, Weatherby.'

Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

'Oh and I’ve been wanting a word with you too, Arthur,' said Mr Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr Weasley. 'Ali Bashir’s on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.'

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh.

'I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?'

'I doubt it,' said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. 'He’s desperate to export here.'

'Well, they’ll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?' said Bagman.

Remus had risen, as if to say it was time for them to leave, but Sirius grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down.

'Ali thinks there’s a niche in the market for a family vehicle,' said Mr Crouch. 'I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve—but that was before carpets were banned, of course.'

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

'So, been keeping busy, Barty?' said Bagman breezily.

'Fairly,' said Mr Crouch dryly. 'Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.'

'I expect you’ll both be glad when this is over?' said Mr Weasley.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked.

'Glad! Don’t know when I’ve had more fun...Still, it’s not as though we haven’t got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?'

Mr Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details—'

'Oh details!' said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. 'They’ve signed, haven’t they? They’ve agreed, haven’t they? I bet you anything these kids’ll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it’s happening at Hogwarts—'

'Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know,' said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman’s remarks short. 'Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.'

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

'See you all later!' he said. 'You’ll be up in the Top Box with me—I’m commentating!' He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

'What’s happening at Hogwarts, Dad?' said Fred at once. 'What were they talking about?'

'You’ll find out soon enough,' said Mr Weasley, smiling.

'Well,' said Remus, 'it is past time we get back to our own tent. Much we have to do before the game starts. Thank you Arthur for letting us share your fire.'

As all five of them headed back, Remus elbowed Sirius, 'What was that all about, we should have left over half an hour ago.'

Sirius, rubbing his ribs, had a mischievous smile, 'Sorry Moons, the drama was getting to good, I had to see where it leaded. Speaking of Moons we should probably get you and Canini your potions before we head to the game.'

Harry was still thinking about one of the last things Bagman had said, 'Sirius, what is happening at Hogwarts this year?'

'I am not actually sure Harry, must be very big if both Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman are involved. You will probably learn once you are back at school.'

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By two the days heat was at its peak, however the angle of the sun was allowing some shade. For the thousands of waiting wizards, the last of their restraint had depleted: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes—green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria—which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

'This is absolutely the best day of my life,' Terence told Harry as they all strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Terence bought as many Irish souvenirs as his pocket money would allow, Harry and the others each bought a dancing shamrock hat, while Theodore also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Theodore’s hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.

'Wow, look at those omnioculars!' said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked somewhat like muggle binoculars, except that they were covered with brass and all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

'Ever use omnioculars before?' asked the saleswizard eagerly. 'You can replay action...slow everything down...and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain—ten Galleons each.'

'I'll take one,' said a familiar voice.

Harry turned around to see his good friend Allison Runcorn. 'Allison, I had heard you were here, but couldn't find the Runcorn tent.'

'That is because my father is actually working, our tent is with the rest of the people who put this event together.

Harry picked up and paid for his own omnioculars. 'Where are you sitting?'

'I was going to sit close to wherever my father is stationed to guard, but now I will just come and find you. Being the daughter of a high ranking auror has its advantages.'

'Ok then. I got to go, but I'll see you soon.'

His money bag considerably lighter, he went back to meet up with his family and the Weasleys. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes, both Mr Weasley and Terence were carrying an Irish flag, and Remus had his cookies and fresh bread ready. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path through the brief woods.

'It’s time!' said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. 'Come on, let’s go!'

'Everyone better have everything,' said Sirius, 'because it is game time and there is no going back!'

So in GoF, Bagman made loads of bets. This person (I don't remember the name of the person) bet half the shares on their eel farm that it would be a week-long match (i think it was that), and they lost to him. So why did Bagman not sell his shares and at least tried to pay back the goblins and other people by himself, instead of betting that Harry would win the cup? or maybe he would breed the eels and sell them or something? I'm probably not making much sense, and maybe this question is stupid but has always irked me.

In your opinion if Ludo Bagman had made it to the film version of Goblet of fire who would've been the right actor to portray him on screen, pick any actor you would've liked to have seen in the series.