«Hello, Apple Codling Moth!
The third trial is coming up soon. I have no idea what it will be—couldn't find out anything—but hey, we've never backed down before! I'll manage.
Listen, I don't like that professor of ours. He tried an Unforgivable on me...»
*
«Lemon Eater!
And what, you couldn't complain to anyone?! You-know-who, for example? Or at least your aunt—she would've ripped off everything that could be ripped off!»
*
«Codling Moth, I handled it myself. He doesn't bother me anymore, ha! I'll tell you when we meet, don't feel like writing about it, sorry.»
*
"…And that's how it was, sir," Potter concluded, recounting his adventures to Snape. "I really don't like this Moody, kill me if you must."
"I would've killed him long ago," Snape replied darkly, "if I had the right. What were you thinking, Potter? You danced, why not sing as well?"
"Do you remember my singing, sir? Exactly. And there were girls in the class, by the way! Besides, I'm just tired of all this…" Harry sighed. "He's done with spiders, thank Merlin—I like them, unless they're Acromantulas. Now he's moved on to mice. Who knows, maybe he'll turn someone into a mouse next and go from there! Luna, for example… How does the Headmaster even allow this? I read that Unforgivables are only studied theoretically in school!"
"In our school," Snape corrected. "In others, they're part of the curriculum. Though, of course, they aren't tested on students… Potter!"
"What?"
"When exactly did you learn Avada Kedavra, if I may ask?"
"Oh, last summer," Harry answered serenely. "When I was visiting my godfather and aunt."
"I hope you haven't used it on anyone yet?"
"Only on mannequins. They have this amazing training hall…"
"I've heard," Snape muttered. "By the way, has your godfather given up yet?"
"In what sense? Oh! About the headquarters? No, not at all! His aunt and that Black from the portrait—who seems to have completely settled in at Grimmauld Place—gave him such a hard time that he goes mad at the mere mention of it!"
"What a family…" the professor sighed. "By the way, Potter, I worked on the cup. It's exactly what you thought it was."
"Excellent…" Harry scratched his nose. "So, we have the cup, the diadem, and the locket…"
Everything went smoothly with Hufflepuff's Cup. Mrs. Lestrange expressed a passionate and sincere desire to return the Founders' relic to Hogwarts, the Ministry temporarily lifted the seizure from her property, and the cup was ceremoniously retrieved from the vault and solemnly handed over to Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry was very worried that he wouldn't be able to steal the cup from the headmaster's office, so he got his people on board in advance, and the house stood united: the relic should be kept in Hufflepuff's dungeons! Professor Sprout supported the idea, and the cup took its place on a monstrously large fireplace shelf… from where, a couple of weeks later, Harry calmly took it, replacing it with a copy transfigured from some forgotten trophy from the Trophy Room. No one even noticed. True, the spell had to be refreshed from time to time, but that didn't bother Harry in the slightest.
"The snake hasn't been found yet," he continued. "No idea where the ring is hiding. That leaves two more things my dear aunt doesn't know about!"
"One," Snape said reluctantly. He met Harry's surprised look and explained, "Remember that old notebook? That's a Horcrux too. The very first one. I found out recently."
"Awesome!" Potter exclaimed. "So now we have an equation with just one unknown. We'll track down the rest… But what do we do with all this stuff after, sir?"
"If only I knew," Snape muttered. "I'll talk to Karkaroff; they have plenty of Dark Arts specialists. Maybe they'll give us a lead…"
"Good idea," Harry approved. "Well, I'll be off then, sir! Good night!"
"The same to you…"
*
«Hey there, apple moth!
They've finally announced the conditions for the third task. What a thrill—it's all about navigating a maze, overcoming dangers, and all that jazz. And in the center of the maze stands the Cup. Whoever gets there first and grabs it is the champion. I'd bet on the Bulgarian; he's a tough guy. On the other hand, I should root for my own school… Let's call it 50/50. I mean, in terms of betting. I even placed a bet on myself—to lose. Obviously not in person, found a middleman! But I'll do my best to cash in—after all, the headmaster is still convinced I'll win, so a lot of people believe in me too!»
*
«Hey, lemon eater!
Yeah, don't try too hard, we already talked about that. But making some cash—that's a different matter!
Hang in there, mate, just a little longer!»
*
Harry Potter was the last to enter the maze, where shouts, growls, and flashes of spells were already echoing.
"Oy vey," he muttered, mimicking Terry's grandmother. "Why am I even doing this? Do I really need this?"
He had to go forward, though. He wasn't in any rush, dragging his feet and leaving a trail of tangerine peels, but he kept a wary eye on his surroundings, giving anything suspicious a wide berth. And, of course, he made sure to look thoroughly lost, though he had no idea how anyone could actually get lost in this garden fence.
"Wow, a real sphinx!" he said, stepping into a clearing.
"Answer my riddle," the creature with a lion's body and a woman's head droned, "or I will kill you."
"Alright," Harry nodded. The sphinx's face was quite beautiful. "Oh, excuse me, are you from Egypt? Your features are very distinct… And the statue by the pyramids—is that one of your relatives, by any chance?"
"The riddle!" she boomed.
"Alright, let's have your riddle," Potter shrugged. "I was just trying to be polite…"
"Hmm… Very well, listen…"
After scratching his head for a couple of minutes, Harry solved the riddle.
"Go," the mythical beast waved a paw.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Potter said gallantly, "but am I the last one?"
"Exactly. So hurry up, mortal!"
"Don't want to," he grimaced. Whoever got to the Cup first would win, and the rest would lose—so what difference did it make where Harry stalled? "Boring. Let's play riddles instead! Aren't you tired of asking the same one for the fourth time? Or… or were they different questions?"
"The same," she answered gloomily. "But do you really know something I don't?"
"Well, who knows?" Potter shrugged, recalling clever Bilbo Baggins and dredging up every riddle he could remember. The One Ring wasn't in his future, but chatting with a sphinx was far more pleasant than fighting… judging by Fleur's screams, a giant Acromantula. "Even a mere mortal can surprise sometimes!"
"Hmm…" The lion's tail flicked. "But what about the competition? Your… Cup?"
"Eh, forget it," Harry waved dismissively, sitting down on his haunches out of habit. "When else will I get the chance to talk to a brilliant conversationalist?"
"Flatterer…"
"Not at all! I read that sphinxes are the most intelligent of all mythical creatures, but I've never seen one before… Wait—" He recalled something: Bill Weasley worked in Gringotts' Egyptian branch. "Did the goblins send you here?"
"Oh yes. I usually guard their treasures, but they received an offer they couldn't refuse."
"I see… Excuse me, how should I address you? 'Lady Sphinx' doesn't quite sound right."
"You likely wouldn't be able to pronounce my true name, mortal!" she huffed.
"May I call you… say, Bastet?" Harry fished a fragment of Egyptian mythology from the depths of his memory.
"It would be an honor to bear the name of a goddess," she replied with a hint of amusement but quite amicably. "Well then, shall we begin, mortal?"
"I'm Harry," he inserted. "Want a tangerine?"
"I wouldn't refuse… Alright, since you solved my riddle, it's your turn!"
"Alright… Here! Higher than a tree, its roots find no ground, it cannot grow upward, yet it reaches the sky!"
"A mountain," his companion answered disdainfully. "Now, listen to this one…"
By the third riddle, Harry was sweating and sat down, which did not go unnoticed by the sphinx.
"This won't do," she said. "You humans are so fragile, you'll catch cold!"
"I've heard that somewhere before…" Potter muttered, handing her the last tangerine.
"Come here…" Bastet curled up in a perfectly feline manner, somehow folding herself in an impossible position, and beckoned him with a claw. "Sit. This way, I can see you, and you won't freeze on the cold ground. The climate here is dreadful!"
"Well, if I'm not inconveniencing you…" Harry clambered onto the sphinx's hind leg and made himself comfortable. Her fur was soft and fluffy. "And I completely agree about the climate!"
"What inconvenience? You weigh nothing," she sniffed. "By the way, it's your turn again…"
"Speaks without a voice, flies without wings, roars without a mouth, bites without teeth—what is it?"
"The wind," Bastet answered instantly. "Now, listen to this one…"
*
From the maze, an unconscious Fleur Delacour and an injured Viktor Krum were carried out. Cedric Diggory was still missing, but judging by the situation, he had been the one to reach the Cup.
"Has Harry not returned?" Dumbledore asked anxiously.
"No, no one has seen him, and we can't find him," Snape replied grimly. He could fly over the maze on a broomstick, but he hated that mode of transportation. "With your permission, I'll go fetch him myself."
"Go, go, my boy…"
Finding Potter's trail was ridiculously easy—bright tangerine peels marked his path. Judging by them, he had been walking in a bizarre zigzag, with no apparent intention of reaching the maze's center.
The poisonous bushes parted as the professor approached, and those that hesitated turned to ash. He was beyond furious. If you're not dead yet, Potter, he promised himself, I'll kill you myself!
"And this one?" a familiar voice came from the bushes. "Lick it first, then press it?"
"Mmm… I know… I know… A stamp! A postage stamp!"
"Correct! Your turn!"
"They have teeth but don't bite?"
"A rake! Whose tip drips in the morning?"
"Harry, we agreed—no indecent riddles!" a second voice protested, clearly female.
"There's nothing indecent about it! I swear!"
"I don't know…" the woman admitted, sounding offended.
"A samovar," Harry said smugly.
"A what?!"
"It's a Slavic thing, like a teapot. How do I explain… A metal pot with a pipe inside, you light a fire in the pipe, water boils around it, and there's a little tap to pour the tea. And sometimes it drips… They usually drink tea in the morning."
"Hah, I'll remember that! Where did you learn it?"
"From our Bulgarian guests," he scoffed. "Alright, you skip your turn, I'll ask another one—"
"Potter!" Snape's voice rang out like metal as he stepped from behind a bush. "Would you care to explain what is going on here?!"
The sight before him was surreal. In the middle of a clearing lay—no, lounged—a sphinx, and on her back, straddling her hindquarters like a victorious knight, sat Potter, looking entirely too pleased with himself and completely unharmed. The mythical creature was even holding him steady with her tail to keep him from falling off.
"We're playing riddles," Harry replied. "What's the problem?"
"The problem, Potter, is that the Tournament has long since ended, and you've been missing!"
"Oh, well, we got a little carried away…" Harry slid off, straightened his robes, and gave the sphinx an elegant bow. She had already assumed a more dignified posture. "Thank you for the match, esteemed lady!"
"The pleasure was mine," she purred, her almond-shaped eyes glinting. "If you ever find yourself near the pyramids, do pass on my regards to my grandfather. He's almost entirely turned to stone, but his hearing has always been excellent!"
"I certainly will, Lady Bastet! But now, I fear we must go…"
"What exactly were you doing here, Potter?" Snape hissed, dragging the boy back by the collar.
"I told you—we were playing riddles," Harry said, perplexed. "What's so wrong with that?"
"Have you no regard for the rules of the Tournament?!"
"I couldn't get past the sphinx!" Harry declared cheekily. "Honestly, sir, I couldn't! What do I care about that Cup? She was such a fascinating lady, and she was dreadfully bored. Too bad we couldn't take a picture together…"
Snape remained silent. He wouldn't have minded a conversation with a sphinx himself.
"So, what do we tell the Headmaster?" he finally asked. "Rules are rules…"
"Well… not everyone made it through, right?" Harry received a nod and quickly rattled off: "Some were bitten, some were crushed, and I…"
"Couldn't get past the sphinx and miraculously survived," Snape concluded. "That's the story we're sticking to."
"Yes, sir!"
A crowd rushed toward them as they emerged.
"Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore cried.
"Potter!" Moody bellowed.
"Oh, oh!" women gasped, "You're safe!"
"Forgive me, sir," Harry said repentantly to the Headmaster. "I couldn't get past the sphinx…"
"That's alright, that's alright…"
"What was the score?" Snape whispered.
"Sixteen to ten," Harry replied. "In her favor. But I cheated."
"How does one cheat at riddles?!"
"Easily. She doesn't know modern realities, especially Muggle ones," Harry snickered. "Though she still guessed most of them—her logic is impeccable. And she doesn't know riddles from other countries either…"
"You're a monster."
"I know, sir!" Harry said proudly.
"But where's the winner?" Karkaroff suddenly asked. "He should have been out of the maze long ago!"
"The problem," Dumbledore said slowly, stroking his beard, "is that I have just been informed that Cedric Diggory has vanished without a trace—along with the Cup."
"Did he steal it?" Harry joked humorlessly. "Why on earth would he need that old cauldron?"
"What kind of madness is going on at your school?!" Madame Maxime huffed indignantly, nearly blowing McGonagall's hat off. "What do you intend to do about this?"
"We have summoned an elite team of Aurors. We will search…"
By nightfall, the tension had reached its peak. The school was a boiling cauldron of panic one moment and deathly silent with anticipation the next.
And when news finally did arrive, it exploded as if that very cauldron had given in to the pressure and shattered into a thousand pieces…
*
«Hello, Apple Codling Moth!
Well, let me tell you, things have gone completely crazy here! Dumbledore still can't explain himself—he just keeps repeating that he didn't know, couldn't have guessed, and so on.
So, while I was having fun, Diggory actually reached the Cup. Normally, I'd be happy for him—he's from my house, after all—but there's nothing to celebrate here.
The Aurors searched for a long time, but in the end, they figured out what happened. That damn Cup turned out to be a disguised Portkey, and the moment Diggory touched it, the poor guy got thrown into some forsaken place—a graveyard. And there, from what I managed to overhear, they found traces of preparations for some very, very dark magic ritual. Diggory was found there too… dead.
Do you get what this means?»
*
«Hello, Lemon Eater!
Merlin's beard, if it weren't for your habit of doing everything completely backwards, it could have been you lying in that graveyard! You say it was a dark magic ritual? Doesn't that mean the Dark Lord actually got hold of one of his backups (remember when we talked about that?) and managed to resurrect himself, at least a little? And to complete the process, he needed you for something…
You said everyone was convinced you'd win, so they must have enchanted the Cup. But who could have done it?!»
*
«Hey, Codling Moth!
I carefully prodded you-know-who, and he hissed at me, but in the end, he admitted that yeah, you can't just load yourself from a single backup. That ritual requires a ton of nasty stuff, including the enemy's blood. Meaning mine. So yeah, the Dark Lord really did need my young and tender body—sorry for the sarcasm.
And since I completely messed up the third task, poor Diggory died instead of me. They must have killed him so he wouldn't recognize anyone or be able to tell the tale.
As for who got their filthy hands on this whole thing, I'll definitely find out! If only because this means there's a helper of the Dark Lord right here at school! You might think it was you-know-who, but that would be just ridiculous…
There weren't any outsiders around—though, of course, someone could have snuck in through secret passages; I'm not the only one who knows them. On the other hand, there are plenty of 'outsiders' here—the French and the Bulgarians—but they don't seem to have any reason to pull something like this. Although, from what I've seen and heard, you-know-who and the head of the Bulgarian delegation go way back, so he could very well be a Death Eater.
Then again, the Cup was heavily guarded. The Headmaster put protective spells on it, our Defense professor too, and you-know-who as well—no way to just waltz up to it… unless one of them left a backdoor.
Honestly, my brain is overheating at this point! Luna says my Wrackspurts are acting up so badly that you can hear them from a mile away. I'll go to sleep on it… Maybe I'll dream up something useful.»