ressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately,
the Longbottoms' evidence was - given their condition - none too reliable."
"Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" said Harry slowly.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"As to that, I have no idea."
Harry sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl. There
were two more questions he was burning to ask . . . but they concerned the guilt of
living people. . . .
"Er," he said, "Mr. Bagman . .."
"... has never been accused of any Dark activity since," said Dumbledore calmly.
"Right," said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which
were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts.
"And ... er ..."
But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him.
Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into
it, and then up at Harry.
"No more has Professor Snape," he said.
Harry looked into Dumbledore's light blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to
know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it.
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"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"
Dumbledore held Harrys gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a
matter between Professor Snape and myself."
Harry knew that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there
was a finality in his tone that told Harry it was time to go. He stood up, and so did
Dumbledore.
"Harry," he said as Harry reached the door. "Please do not speak about Neville's
parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he is ready."
"Yes, Professor," said Harry, turning to go.
"And-"
Harry looked back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from
beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at Harry for
a moment, and then said, "Good luck with the third task."
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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - THE THIRD TASK
Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who's getting stronger again as well?" Ron
whispered.
Everything Harry had seen in the Pensieve, nearly everything Dumbledore had
told and shown him afterward, he had now shared with Ron and Hermione - and,
of course, with Sirius, to whom Harry had sent an owl the moment he had left
Dumbledore's office. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat up late in the common room
once again that night, talking it all over until Harry's mind was reeling, until he
understood what Dumbledore had meant about a head becoming so full of
thoughts that it would have been a relief to siphon them off.
Ron stared into the common room fire. Harry thought he saw Ron shiver slightly,
even though the evening was warm.
"And he trusts Snape?" Ron said. "He really trusts Snape, even though he knows
he was a Death Eater?"
"Yes," said Harry.
Hermione had not spoken for ten minutes. She was sitting with her forehead in her
hands, staring at her knees. Harry thought she too looked as though she could have
done with a Pensieve.
"Rita Skeeter," she muttered finally.
"How can you be worrying about her now?" said Ron, in utter disbelief.
"I'm not worrying about her," Hermione said to her knees. "I'm just thinking. . .
remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? 'I know things about
Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl. ' This is what she meant, isn't it?
She reported his trial, she knew he'd passed information to the Death Eaters. And
Winky too, remember . . .'Ludo Bagman's a bad wizard.' Mr. Crouch would have
been furious he got off, he would have talked about it at home."
"Yeah, but Bagman didn't pass information on purpose, did he?"
Hermione shrugged.
"And Fudge reckons Madame Maxime attacked Crouch?" Ron said, turning back
to Harry.
"Yeah," said Harry, "but he's only saying that because Crouch disappeared near
the Beauxbatons carriage."
"We never thought of her, did we?" said Ron slowly. "Mind you, she's definitely
got giant blood, and she doesn't want to admit it-"
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"Of course she doesn't," said Hermione sharply, looking up. "Look what happened
to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, jumping to
conclusions about her, just because she's part giant. Who needs that sort of
prejudice? I'd probably say I had big bones if I knew that's what I'd get for telling
the truth."
Hermione looked at her watch. "We haven't done any practicing!" she said,
looking shocked. "We were going to do the Impediment Curse! We'll have to
really get down to it tomorrow! Come on. Harry, you need to get some sleep."
Harry and Ron went slowly upstairs to their dormitory. As Harry pulled on his
pajamas, he looked over at Nevilles bed. True to his word to Dumbledore, he had
not told Ron and Hermione about Neville s parents. As Harry took off his glasses
and climbed into his four-poster, he imagined how it must feel to have parents still
living but unable to recognize you. He often got sympathy from strangers for
being an orphan, but as he listened to Nevilles snores, he thought that Neville
deserved it more than he did. Lying in the darkness, Harry felt a rush of anger and
hate toward the people who had tortured Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. ... He
remembered the jeers of the crowd as Crouch's son and his companions had been
dragged from the court by the dementors. ... He understood how they had felt. . . .
Then he remembered the milk-white face of the screaming boy and realized with a
jolt that he had died a year later. . . .
It was Voldemort, Harry thought, staring up at the canopy of his bed in the
darkness, it all came back to Voldemort. ... He was the one who had torn these
families apart, who had ruined all these lives. . . .
Ron and Hermione were supposed to be studying for their exams, which would
finish on the day of the third task, but they were putting most of their efforts into
helping Harry prepare.
"Don't worry about it," Hermione said shortly when Harry pointed this out to them
and said he didn't mind practicing on his own for a while, "at least we'll get top
marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts. We'd never have found out about all
these hexes in class."
"Good training for when we're all Aurors," said Ron excitedly, attempting the
Impediment Curse on a wasp that had buzzed into the room and making it stop
dead in midair.
The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense again.
Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would take place a week
before the end of term. Harry was practicing hexes at every available moment. He
felt more confident about this task than either of the others. Difficult and
dangerous though it would undoubtedly be, Moody was right: Harry had managed
to find his way past monstrous creatures and enchanted barriers before now, and
this time he had some notice, some chance to prepare himself for what lay ahead.
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Tired of walking in on Harry, Hermione, and Ron all over the school. Professor
McGonagall had given them permission to use the empty Transfiguration
classroom at lunchtimes. Harry had soon mastered the Impediment Curse, a spell
to slow down and obstruct attackers; the Reductor Curse, which would enable him
to blast solid objects out of his way; and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery
of Hermiones that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to
check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. He was still
having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a
temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses; Hermione
managed to shatter it with a well-placed Jelly-Legs Jinx, and Harry wobbled
around the room for ten minutes afterward before she had looked up the counterjinx.
"You're still doing really well, though," Hermione said encouragingly, looking
down her list and crossing off those spells they had already learned. "Some of
these are bound to come in handy."
"Come and look at this," said Ron, who was standing by the window. He was
staring down onto the grounds. "What's Malfoy doing?"
Harry and Hermione went to see. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in the
shadow of a tree below. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be keeping a lookout; both
were smirking. Malfoy was holding his hand up to his mouth and speaking into it.
"He looks like he's using a walkie-talkie," said Harry curiously.
"He can't be," said Hermione, "I've told you, those sorts of things don't work
around Hogwarts. Come on, Harry," she added briskly, turning away from the
window and moving back into the middle of the room, "let's try that Shield Charm
again."
Sirius was sending daily owls now. Like Hermione, he seemed to want to
concentrate on getting Harry through the last task before they concerned
themselves with anything else. He reminded Harry in every letter that whatever
might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not Harry's responsibility,
nor was it within his power to influence it.
If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, he wrote, my priority is to ensure
your safety. He cannot hope to lay hands on you while you are under
Dumbledore's protection, but all the same, take no risks: Concentrate on getting
through that maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other matters.
Harry's nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not
as bad as those he had felt before the first and second tasks. For one thing, he was
confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the
task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly he did, the
tournament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief.
Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the
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third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry a good-luck card from Sirius. It
was only a piece of parchment, folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its
front, b