One of the best things about the aftermath of the second task was that everybody was very keen to hear details of what had happened down in the lake, which meant that Ron was getting to share Harry’s limelight for once. Harry noticed that Ron’s version of events changed subtly with every retelling. At first, he gave what seemed to be the truth; it tallied with Hermione’s story, anyway — Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall’s office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up.
Obviously the first version is the truth, because like fuck a mere fifty merpeople would be able to subdue Ron. That aside, in Ron's telling, did the merpeople bounce their way on land like seals, or did he just happen to take a fully clothed winter swim? Also, nobody tell Ron he was the 365th choice; all the spiders said no. You can tell Hogwarts is a classy place because Harry and Ron aren't being bombarded with gay jokes.
“But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve,” he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. “I could’ve taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted.”
“What were you going to do, snore at them?” said Hermione waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood.
Ron’s ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events.
Notice Rowling clearly views this as just a teenage boy being a bit silly, and not foreshadowing that Ron is going to sell Hermione out to the neo-Death Eaters for making his dick feel small. Or foreshadowing that Ron and Hermione are going to sell out Harry and the rest of the neo-Death Eaters, depending on the fic.
In March, Sirius sends Harry another letter:
Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can.
This premake of
The Time Traveller's Wife is weird. Next is Double-Potions with the Slytherins, who are cackling over the latest issue of
Witch Weekly:
Hermione, Harry, and Ron headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today’s potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:
Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache
Before the internet, fanfiction was mostly disseminated by women's magazines.
Fun fact, in the 30s, Lee Falks'
The Phantom was serialised in
The Australian Woman's Mirror. And in case you think I'm referring to some pre Andrew Lloyd Webber
Phantom of the Opera adaptation or something else girlie, I mean this Phantom:
Just imagine, there had to be at least one non-sexually confused tween boy in the 30s who hoarded his mother's old magazines specifically for this guy.
A boy like no other, perhaps — yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter.
Don't like, don't read, next chapter will only be released if I get ten good reviews.
Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.
Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys’ affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited
her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has “never felt this way about any other girl.”
I mean, who could turn down a trip to post-communist Bulgaria!
However, it might not be Miss Granger’s doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys’ interest.
“She’s really ugly,” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “but she’d be well up to making a Love Potion, she’s quite brainy. I think that’s how she’s doing it.”
Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter’s well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.
Angry Harmonian noises.
I really want to see Rita's coverage of the events of the first three books.
“I told you!” Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. “I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She’s made you out to be some sort of—of scarlet woman!”
Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. “Scarlet woman?” she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.
“It’s what my mum calls them,” Ron muttered, his ears going red.
Molly used to be really into Thelema.
“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. “What a pile of old rubbish.”
I think I've made it very clear in this thread I think Ron is more than worthy of Hermione's love, but to be clear, that cuts both ways.
She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and she, Harry, and Ron started unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion.
Excellent, now they'll be able to cheat at their exams far more effectively.
(Shock twist, Wit-Sharpening Potion is just Adderall)
“There’s something funny, though,” said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. “How could Rita Skeeter have known … ?”
“Known what?” said Ron quickly. “You haven’t been mixing up Love Potions, have you?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again.
Love potions would only let her enslave about half of her old primary schoolmates. Also, I'd just like you all to know that my browser's grammar checker thinks I ought to have typed "beatles" there, thus implying it believes Hermione is brutally crushing aging rock legends to death. Surely, if you were going to kill any musician for a Wit-Sharpening Potion, it'd be Brian May, actual astrophysicist.
“No, it’s just … how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?”
Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron’s eyes.
“What?” said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.
“He asked me right after he’d pulled me out of the lake,” Hermione muttered. “After he’d got rid of his shark’s head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn’t hear, and he said, if I wasn’t doing anything over the summer, would I like to —”
“And what did you say?” said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione.
“And he did say he’d never felt the same way about anyone else,” Hermione went on, going so red now that Harry could almost feel the heat coming from her
I think I'm going to concur with Iridium that this is probably the most self-insert fantasy Hermione has ever been, but if this was
House of Night, not only would it be far more overwhelming, Rita's article would be entirely accurate. Unfortunately, Snape overhears the trio talking, and proceeds to read out a bit of the article in front of the entire class, because he's a cunt.
“You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you,” Snape went on, so quietly that no one else could hear him (Harry continued to pound his scarab beetles, even though he had already reduced them to a very fine powder), “but I don’t care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.”
To be fair, they kind of are beneath him.
Harry tipped the powdered beetles into his cauldron and started cutting up his ginger roots. His hands were shaking slightly out of anger, but he kept his eyes down, as though he couldn’t hear what Snape was saying to him.
“So I give you fair warning, Potter,” Snape continued in a softer and more dangerous voice, “pint-sized celebrity or not — if I catch you breaking into my office one more time —”
“I haven’t been anywhere near your office!” said Harry angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness.
“Don’t lie to me,” Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry’s. “Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.”
I like that in Snape's paranoid fantasy, Harry is powerful enough to break his security spell.
Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink or to look guilty. In truth, he hadn’t stolen either of these things from Snape. Hermione had taken the boomslang skin back in their second year — they had needed it for the Polyjuice Potion — and while Snape had suspected Harry at the time, he had never been able to prove it. Dobby, of course, had stolen the gillyweed.
Maybe Snape has early onset dementia and thinks it's still
Chamber of Secrets.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry lied coldly.
“You were out of bed on the night my office was broken into!” Snape hissed. “I know it, Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!
“Right,” said Harry coolly, turning back to his ginger roots.
It is a bit weird Snape had Lily's corpse stuffed and posed in the classroom.
’ll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there.”
Snape’s eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, Harry thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse him — then he saw that Snape had drawn out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion. Harry stared at it.
“Do you know what this is, Potter?” Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.
“No,” said Harry, with complete honesty this time.
“It is Veritaserum — a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear,” said Snape viciously.
It was invented the precise second after Sirius was sentenced to Azkaban.
Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines.
Lest it prevent the plot of the third book, or prevent Lucius Malfoy from pretending he was bewitched.
(Okay, at least one of those things is depressingly realistic)
I'm guessing the Ministry regulates Veritaserum because, like the polygraph, it was invented by Charles Moulton, and as a side-effect, anyone who takes it develops a bondage fetish.
Harry said nothing. He turned back to his ginger roots once more, picked up his knife, and started slicing them again. He didn’t like the sound of that Truth Potion at all, nor would he put it past Snape to slip him some. He repressed a shudder at the thought of what might come spilling out of his mouth if Snape did it … quite apart from landing a whole lot of people in trouble — Hermione and Dobby for a start — there were all the other things he was concealing … like the fact that he was in contact with Sirius … and — his insides squirmed at the thought — how he felt about Cho. … He tipped his ginger roots into the cauldron too, and wondered whether he ought to take a leaf out of Moody’s book and start drinking only from a private hip flask.
Wow, fourteen years old and already sliding into alcoholism. Ringo would be proud.
There was a knock on the dungeon door.
“Enter,” said Snape in his usual voice.
The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.
“We need to talk,” said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist. Harry kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard.
“I’ll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.
“I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me.”
"Did that night together mean
nothing?"
Karkaroff hovered behind Snape’s desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Keen to hear what Karkaroff wanted to say, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to go to the bell, which gave him an excuse to duck down behind his cauldron and mop up while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door.
“What’s so urgent?” he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.
“This,” said Karkaroff, and Harry, peering around the edge of his cauldron, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.
“Well?” said Karkaroff, still making every effort not to move his lips. “Do you see? It’s never been this clear, never since —”
Should've used protection, Igor.
They left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, all three of them had taken off their cloaks and thrown them over their shoulders. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in Harry’s bag; they had sneaked a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table.
They went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby, where they had fun selecting the most lurid socks they could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly.
I assume if you put the same enchantment on Vernon's socks they'd immediately kill themselves.
Harry had never been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading them out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; they were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay.
Harry usually just wears his school uniform, so he has no need to seek out Merlin trials for extra inventory slots.
Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar. …
“Hello, Sirius,” said Harry when they had reached him.
The black dog sniffed Harry’s bag eagerly, wagged its tail once, then turned and began to trot away from them across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed over the stile and followed.
Sirius led them to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were soon out of breath. They followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour they climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius’s wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoulder straps of Harry’s bag cutting into his shoulders.
It's still winter, but to be fair, seeing as they're on a mountain, this is probably the first time the children have ever seen the sun.
(Ron had a brief spell of vampirism in Egypt)
Anyway, Sirius lures the trio in a cave, because I assume he briefly forgot he wasn't a murderer. Also, Buckbeak is here.
“What’re you doing here, Sirius?” he said.
“Fulfilling my duty as godfather,” said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. “Don’t worry about it, I’m pretending to be a lovable stray.”
And probably starting a new British rabies panic.
He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry’s face, said more seriously, “I want to be on the spot. Your last letter … well, let’s just say things are getting fishier. I’ve been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I’m not the only one who’s getting worried.”
And then a cage drops on top of Hermione.
Ron nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets. There were two: The first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing — Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved.
Harry scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out at him: hasn’t been seen in public since November … house appears deserted … St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment … Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness. …
Genuinely shocked Rita hasn't decided Percy murdered his boss. Probably too busy feuding with fifteen-year-old girls. Harry notes that Barty wasn't there to watch the World Cup, despite making Winky "save him a seat." Regarding the whole Dark Mark incident, Sirius asks Harry if he checked his pocket for his wand before leaving the Top Box, which Harry did not, leading to a discussion of who might've stolen it there. Hermione insists it couldn't have been Winky, both because she's too Woke to consider it, and because in this case, it's a legitimately absurd and unlikely idea.
“The Malfoys!” said Ron suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoed all around the cave, and Buckbeak tossed his head nervously. “I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!”
“Anyone else?” said Sirius.
Having the Malfoys be responsible would be far too obvious, and it's too early in the series to make a meta-twist out of it.
“No one,” said Harry.
“Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman,” Hermione reminded him.
“Oh yeah …”
“I don’t know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps,” said Sirius, still pacing. “What’s he like?”
“He’s okay,” said Harry. “He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament.”
“Does he, now?” said Sirius, frowning more deeply. “I wonder why he’d do that?”
“Says he’s taken a liking to me,” said Harry.
“Hmm,” said Sirius, looking thoughtful.
He's probably wondering if he should place a huge bet on Harry, buy his freedom, and maybe an Order of Merlin while he's at it.
“We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared,” Hermione told Sirius. “Remember?” she said to Harry and Ron.
“Yeah, but he didn’t stay in the forest, did he?” said Ron. “The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite.”
“How d’you know?” Hermione shot back. “How d’you know where he Disapparated to?”
“Come off it,” said Ron incredulously. “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?”
Ludo Bagman throwing Nazi salutes? He's a sports hero, not royalty!
“It’s more likely he did it than Winky,” said Hermione stubbornly.
“Told you,” said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, “told you she’s obsessed with house —”
Ron's line is actually leftover from a deleted subplot where Hermione became a NIMBY. Or a YIMBY, whichever's funnier.
But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.
“When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry’s wand, what did Crouch do?”
“Went to look in the bushes,” said Harry, “but there wasn’t anyone else there.”
“Of course,” Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, “of course, he’d want to pin it on anyone but his own elf … and then he sacked her?”
“Yes,” said Hermione in a heated voice, “he sacked her, just because she hadn’t stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled —”
“Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!” said Ron.
Sirius shook his head and said, “She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”
Very good advice, but sadly not advice Sirius will follow himself.
“All these absences of Barty Crouch’s … he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn’t bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too. … It’s not like Crouch. If he’s ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I’ll eat Buckbeak.”
Sirius, Harry just brought you a load of KFC, don't be greedy.
“D’you know Crouch, then?” said Harry.
Sirius’s face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer.
“Oh I know Crouch all right,” he said quietly. “He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban — without a trial.”
"Not for the mass murder, though, I made some unfortunate hoots about Acromantula."
“You’re kidding!” said Harry.
“No, I’m not,” said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. “Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn’t you know?”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads.
“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” said Sirius. “He’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical — and power-hungry.
I refuse to believe Fudge is an archmage.
Oh never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side … well, you wouldn’t understand … you’re too young. …”
“That’s what my dad said at the World Cup,” said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Try us, why don’t you?”
Here, Sirius is suggesting that it's possibly to be sincerely opposed to something undeniably evil or dangerous, and still be a ruthless, unethical arsehole. This is a pretty obvious observation to anyone who's remotely literate in regards to history or politics, but you can see why the internet eventually turned against Rowling.
“All right, I’ll try you. …” He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, “Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing … the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere … panic … confusion … that’s how it used to be."
Imagine if the guys trying to stop the Holocaust were also covering it up. Still, I'm guessing the Death Eaters at least didn't livestream themselves killing hippies at a music festival.
“Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning — I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. …” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch’s own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who’d managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power.”
“Crouch’s son was caught?” gasped Hermione.
He was driven mad by being forced to watch
Adolescence over and over again. Oh, speaking of that miniseries, the creators current project is an adaptation of
Lord of the Flies. I have no idea if it's any good or not, I just find it funny they've done two projects in a row about small, evil British boys. I hope they keep the streak going in their remake of
Threads. Maybe they can have Horrid Henry start the nuclear war.
“Yep,” said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. “Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while … gotten to know his own son.”
Imagine if 'Cat's in the Cradle' ended with the son converting to Wahhabism and joining ISIS. Was Barty Crouch Junior ginger by any chance?
“Was his son a Death Eater?” said Harry.
“No idea,” said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. “I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I’d bet my life were Death Eaters — but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf.”
Spoilers, he absolutely was, but we'll discuss that more in depth later.
“Did Crouch try and get his son off?” Hermione whispered.
Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark.
“Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again — doesn’t that tell you what he’s like? Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy … then he sent him straight to Azkaban.”
He was the Scott Adams of magical law enforcement.
“He gave his own son to the dementors?” asked Harry quietly.
“That’s right,” said Sirius, and he didn’t look remotely amused now. “I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though … they all went quiet in the end … except when they shrieked in their sleep. …”
For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius’s eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.
“So he’s still in Azkaban?” Harry said.
“No,” said Sirius dully. “No, he’s not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in.”
A reminder Hagrid was in here for three fucking months.
He died?”
“He wasn’t the only one,” said Sirius bitterly. “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited.
"They sang that one Voltaire song in the nursing home."
Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son’s body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it.”
Man, imagine if Mrs Crouch had stockpiled her hairs, and Barty made Barty live as his wife for years. Full method.
“So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic … next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I’ve heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”
Imagine becoming so politically toxic they pick
Fudge over you.
“Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards,” Harry told Sirius.
“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s become a bit of a mania with him,” said Sirius, nodding. “If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater.”
I assume his attempts mostly consist of accusing random foreign diplomats and only occasionally being right.
“And he sneaked up here to search Snape’s office!” said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione.
“Yes, and that doesn’t make sense at all,” said Sirius.
“Yeah, it does!” said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head.
“Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn’t he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him.”
Okay, time to spoil the big twist, Crouch has actually taken the form of Neville, because he has a humiliation fetish. That was actually why he kangaroo courted his son to begin with.
“Look, I don’t care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape —”
“Oh give it a rest, Hermione,” said Ron impatiently. “I know Dumbledore’s brilliant and everything, but that doesn’t mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn’t fool him —”
Still, I'd like to think he checked all his "i"s were dotted before putting the guy in charge of Practical Poisons class. On the other hand, Lockhart.
“Why did Snape save Harry’s life in the first year, then? Why didn’t he just let him die?”
“I dunno — maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out —”
As opposed to this year, where he has a cushy job lined up at Cackles Academy?
(Hardbroom put in a good word for him)
“What d’you think, Sirius?” Harry said loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen.
“I think they’ve both got a point,” said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. “Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I’ve wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,” Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. “Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters.”
I wonder why Sirius is keeping the fact Snape
was a Death Eater under his hat? Doesn't want the kids jumping to conclusions and getting monofocused? Is worried that if Snape is up to evil, they'll do something stupid? Doesn't want Ron to need a change of undies?
Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.
“Rosier and Wilkes — they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges — they’re a married couple — they’re in Azkaban. Avery — from what I’ve heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he’d been acting under the Imperius Curse — he’s still at large.
I kind of get the impression the only people who did go to Azkaban were the ones who didn't play the Imperius card.
But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater — not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape’s certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble.”
“Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet,” said Ron.
Okay, I forgot this wasn't at all public knowledge. My mistake.
“Yeah, you should’ve seen Snape’s face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!” said Harry quickly. “Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape’s been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn’t see what it was.”
He was worried it would hurt his chances in the Democratic primary. It didn't.
“Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape’s office then?” said Ron stubbornly.
“Well,” said Sirius slowly, “I wouldn’t put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher’s office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody.
Someone has to bring McGonagall to justice.
I’m not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he’s seen, it’s not surprising. I’ll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though … he’s a different matter … is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape’s office? And if he’s not … what’s he up to?
Clearly he's looking for medicine!
“You say your brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he’s seen Crouch lately?”
“I can try,” said Ron doubtfully. “Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch.”
That's why he won't let him out of the house!
“And you might try and find out whether they’ve got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you’re at it,” said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.
“Bagman told me they hadn’t,” said Harry.
“Yes, he’s quoted in the article in there,” said Sirius, nodding at the paper. “Blustering on about how bad Bertha’s memory is. Well, maybe she’s changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn’t forgetful at all — quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic … maybe that’s why Bagman didn’t bother to look for her for so long. …”
She's the Beria of the Ministry. Sirius tells Harry to keep writing him, but not to go sneaking out of school just to see him.
They walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward them from the Great Hall.
“Poor old Snuffles,” said Ron, breathing deeply. “He must really like you, Harry. … Imagine having to live off rats.”
Crookshanks: Don't knock it till you've tried it.
