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HP Chapter 100: The End of Fourth Year (Part 1)
🕑 Added 2025-09-23 15:23:36 +0000 UTCAnne sat alone at the desk in her dormitory. A single white candle hovered midair, its flame bright and hot, casting light across every item on the desk.
An open book lay before her, but she hadn’t absorbed a single word. After a while, she admitted to herself that she couldn’t concentrate.
Sighing, she closed the book and stood. She opened a drawer, reached in, and retrieved a small black box. Inside lay a silver-toned harmonica.
A guitar would be too conspicuous, and CDs were impossible at Hogwarts, magical interference around the castle prevented electricity from working.
The harmonica, then, was optimal. Anne tucked it into her pocket and quietly left the dorm. She passed through the empty common room, pausing to glance at the glass ceiling above. Then she made her way along the castle's silent corridors, the distant cheers from the Quidditch pitch growing louder with each step.
She descended to the kitchens in the basement, where house-elves perked up at her arrival. Even Scabbers put down his butterbeer bottle.
“Would you like me to play something for you?” Anne asked, holding up the harmonica. The elves responded with delighted cheers.
Anne played several tunes, each one earning applause. The elves seemed genuinely pleased, few had ever performed music for them before.
Once she was tired, she drank a cup of pumpkin juice and waved farewell to the elves. Feeling lighter than before, she returned to the Slytherin dormitory, pulled a book from the shelf, and settled in to read.
But her peaceful evening ended abruptly. A loud crash rattled her door, Fanny burst in, panic-stricken. Without saying a word, she grabbed Anne’s arm and dragged her out.
“What’s, ” Anne began, but her words were cut off. Pansy and Millicent followed, fear etched on their faces.
In the common room, everyone wore the same haunted expression, as though haunted by a terrifying memory. A few first-years even had tears on their cheeks.
Fanny dragged Anne all the way to the school infirmary. Inside, frantic voices filled the air; only then did Fanny let her go. Anne gasped for breath, shocked to see how fast Fanny could run.
She looked around and saw Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione crowded around Madam Pomfrey, who looked overwhelmed. They were clamoring for news about Harry’s condition.
Anne pushed open the door, interrupting the chaos, but Mrs. Weasley immediately resumed her frantic questioning. Hermione came to stand beside Anne, her expression pale, she still hadn't recovered from seeing Cedric’s body and Harry's disappearance.
Anne took a shaky breath. “What happened…” she began, but another knock sounded at the door, cutting her off.
Dumbledore, Harry, and a large black dog entered. Everyone’s attention snapped to the doorway. Mrs. Weasley gasped in relief.
“Harry! Oh, Harry!” she cried, rushing forward. Dumbledore stepped between them.
“Molly,” he raised his hand gently, “please, if you would hear just a few words first. Harry has undergone a terrible ordeal this evening. He’s just now shared exactly what happened. He needs rest, quiet, and peace. You all may stay, if he wishes company,” he looked at Ron, Hermione, Bill, Anne, and Fanny, “but please do not question him unless he speaks. Not tonight.”
Mrs. Weasley nodded, pale but resolute. She turned to Ron, Hermione, and Bill, hushed but firm: “Do you hear him? He needs silence.”
Dudley’s dog, no, Sirius in dog form, stood in the corner, and Madam Pomfrey said, “Headmaster, if I may ask what this… is…”
“This dog is here to stay with Harry for a while,” Dumbledore explained in a calm voice. “He’s well-trained. Now, Harry, once you’re settled in, I will leave.”
“I visited Fudge, then came straight back to you,” Dumbledore continued. “Please remain here tomorrow. I intend to speak to the staff and students before you leave.” With that, he departed.
Madam Pomfrey guided Harry to a bed. The others watched in silence. Harry paused at his bed to glance toward Moody, stretched out in another bed at the far end.
“Is he all right?” Harry asked softly.
“Yes, he’ll be fine,” Pomfrey assured him. She handed Harry pajamas and drew a curtain around his bed. He changed, climbed in, and the others took seats in the hushed room. Fanny and Anne hovered behind Ron and Hermione.
“I’m okay,” Harry said quietly. “Just exhausted.”
Mrs. Weasley brushed Harry’s sheets away and dabbed at her eyes. Pomfrey left to fetch a vial and a goblet containing a purple potion.
“You'll need to drink this,” she told Harry. “It'll give you a dreamless sleep.”
He drank, then sank into a deep, immediate slumber. Pomfrey sighed with relief and shot a cautious glance at the large dog before slipping behind Moody’s curtain to tend to him.
The infirmary fell into a hushed stillness. Anne looked around; everyone was frozen, staring at Harry. She stepped out from behind the curtain and approached Pomfrey, who was checking on Moody.
“Can I help with anything?” Anne whispered.
“Oh. Anne. Yes… oh dear. Tonight… we received a… oh, poor boy,” Pomfrey murmured.
Anne didn’t answer, she simply handed her tools and potions as Pomfrey prepared several colored vials for Moody.
Fanny noticed Anne was alone and tugged Hermione’s sleeve. Hermione looked at her, confused.
Fanny whispered, “Anne… she doesn’t know yet. I didn’t have time to tell her on the way, and she didn’t go to the match tonight. Do you think I should?”
Hermione watched Harry’s sleeping form and nodded. She slipped out, disappearing behind a curtain.
No sooner had she left than heated voices rose near the door.
“If they don’t quiet, they might wake him!” Mrs. Weasley scolded softly.
“What’s going on out there? Something else?” Ron muttered.
“That’s Fudge… and McGonagall,” Mrs. Weasley hushed.
“We did not bring that here!” Professor McGonagall snapped. “If Dumbledore finds out…”
The door burst open again, and Fudge strode in, hotly followed by McGonagall and Snape.
“Where’s Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded.
“He’s not here,” Mrs. Weasley protested. “Minister, this is a sickbed, surely you…”
Before she could finish, Dumbledore appeared behind them with measured steps.
“What is going on?” he asked firmly, glaring at Fudge and McGonagall. “Why are you disturbing these people? Professor McGonagall, I asked you to watch Father Crouch.”
“Dumbledore, he’s no longer necessary!” McGonagall shot back sharply. “The Minister has ensured it!”
“We did, Mr. Fudge,” said Snape quietly. “We discovered that Death Eaters were involved in tonight’s events. He believed himself personally at risk, so he insisted on bringing a Dementor into the castle. He took it into Mr. Crouch’s office…”
“You know I would not permit that!” McGonagall shouted. “I told him no Dementors!”
“My dear lady,” Fudge bellowed, “as Minister of Magic, I have the right to guard myself. I am about to meet someone who could be extremely dangerous, ”
McGonagall interrupted, trembling with outrage. “That thing, it attacked Crouch. It, it, ”
She struggled for words, but everyone understood: the Dementor had given Barty Crouch Jr. the Grim.
“People will say he deserved it,” Fudge crowed. “He caused multiple deaths!”
“But now he cannot testify,” Dumbledore interjected. He stared Fudge down. “He cannot explain.”
“Why did he kill them? He’s a madman on the loose!” Fudge spat. “McGonagall and I agree: he convinced himself he was following Voldemort’s orders!”
“He was given orders by Voldemort,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Those deaths occurred during the plan to bring Voldemort back. And it succeeded. Voldemort returned.”
Fudge staggered, as if hit. He stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. “Voldemort… returned? Nonsense.”
“Professor McGonagall and Snape have told you,” Dumbledore continued. “We have confirmed through Veritaserum that Crouch was smuggled out of Azkaban. Voldemort learned of his survival through the Lestranges, rescued him from his father, and used him to locate Harry. That plan worked. He’s back.”
“You… you can't expect anyone to believe it!” Fudge scoffed. “Voldemort’s back? Ridiculous!”
“He touched Harry via the Goblet tonight,” Dumbledore said quietly but firmly. “Harry saw Voldemort’s rebirth himself. You may come by my office later. I’ll explain everything.”
He glanced at Harry, now awake behind the curtain. “But not tonight, no questioning.”
Fudge’s expression hardened. “So you accept Harry’s story as fact?”
A tense silence followed. Sirius growled, standing up, and showed his fangs at Fudge.
“I believe Harry,” said Dumbledore, eyes blazing. “I believe Crouch’s confession and Harry’s account, they align perfectly with the events since last summer.”
Fudge looked again at Harry, then back at Dumbledore. “You’re willing to believe in Voldemort’s return, in a deranged criminal’s confession and a child’s? And that child…”
He glanced sharply at Harry, who understood the insult.
"You must’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Minister,” Harry whispered.
Everyone gasped, no one thought Harry had awakened.
Fudge’s face flushed, resistant.
“And don’t forget,” Fudge said accusingly, “you’ve been hiding certain facts about Harry, haven’t you? Parseltongue, odd behaviors, ”
“You mean the pain Harry feels from his scar?” Dumbledore replied, icy calm.
“Then you admit he’s been feeling pain? Nightmares? Hallucinations?” Fudge pressed.
“Listen, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, stepping forward. “Harry is as lucid and rational as either of us. His scar doesn’t cloud his mind. It only hurts when Voldemort is near, or when his murderous intent flares.”
Fudge staggered back, eyes stubborn. “I never heard a scar… ring like an alarm bell…” he muttered.
“I saw him revived!” Harry cried, suddenly rising, but Mrs. Weasley held him back. “I saw Death Eaters! I can name them, Lucius Malfoy, ”
Snape motioned sharply, and Harry paused.
“Malfoy was cleared!” Fudge snapped. “An honorable family, they contribute generously!”
“McNair!” Harry threw out the next name.
“Also cleared! Working at the Ministry!”
“Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, ”
“You’re just reading names ruled not to be Death Eaters 13 years ago!” Fudge hissed. “You can find that in the trial transcripts. By Merlin, Dumbledore, this boy’s mind is full of invented horrors!”
“You fool!” Professor McGonagall shouted. “Cedric Diggory! Barty Crouch Jr.! Their deaths were no crazed murder spree!”
“Why not?” Fudge fired back, face purple with anger. “You’re trying to sensationalize, to break the careful calm we’ve built!”
“Voldemort is back,” Dumbledore said calmly. “If you acknowledge it now and act, we can still salvage our position. First: remove Dementors from Azkaban, ”
“Rubbish!” Fudge barked. “Remove Dementors? Propose that and I’ll be out in a day! Half the Ministry sleeps easily because Dementors guard Azkaban!”
“Cornelius, if we know that your guards obey the commands of the most dangerous Death Eaters, how long will anyone, myself included, sleep easy?” Dumbledore asked. “Those creatures answer only to fear and cruelty. Voldemort, “
Fudge’s mouth snapped shut, expression contorting in outrage.
“We must also reach out to the giants,” Dumbledore continued. “Extend friendship now, before Voldemort does.”
“Send messages to giants? You must be joking!” Fudge exclaimed.
“You will regret it,” Dumbledore warned. “Voldemort offered them something we cannot, power, freedom, they’ll choose him.”
“Insanity…” Fudge backed away.
Dumbledore’s voice rose, calm yet commanding, a halo of authority surrounding him. “Cornelius, you’ve confused blood purity with true worth. You dismissed the last of an ancient wizarding family through your Dementors’ kiss. Right now, history demands boldness. If you do your duty, even under my guidance, you will be remembered as one of the bravest Ministers the wizarding world has ever known. If you do nothing, then history will remember that you stood aside, and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy everything.”
“Preposterous,” Fudge whispered as he retreated.
A hush fell. Pomfrey stood at Moody’s bed, hand over her mouth. Mrs. Weasley remained by Harry, shoulders tense. All eyes were fixed on Fudge, but Anne remained thoughtful, her gaze calculating.
“If you persist in denial, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said firmly, “then we must part ways. You do as you wish, I’ll do as I must.”
No threat, no snarl, just a statement. But Fudge seemed to see a wand aimed at him.
“Fine, Dumbledore,” he threatened, finger raised. “I’ve given you freedom…and respect. I may not like your choices, but I’ve stayed silent. Not many would allow you to employ werewolves, to keep Hagrid, to teach students unsanctioned lessons. But if you’re prepared to work against me, ”
“My only foe,” Dumbledore replied coldly, “is Voldemort. If you stand against him, Cornelius, then you still stand with me.”
Fudge wavered, clutched his hat, stepped back, then spoke more gently. “He’s not coming back, Dumbledore. He can’t.”
Snape strode forward swiftly, pulling back his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. Fudge stepped back in horror.
“See?” Snape’s voice was hoarse. “The Dark Mark, it’s still faint, burned black, but visible. Every Death Eater wears it. It’s how they recognize each other. When Voldemort touches the mark, Hogwarts Apparates to him. This past year, it’s grown darker. Karkaroff had one, too. Ever wonder why he fled? Fear. He betrayed Voldemort’s followers, they didn’t forgive him.”
Fudge stumbled for words. He stared at the mark, then Dumbledore.
“I don’t know what games you play, Dumbledore,” he whispered, “but I’m done. I’ll speak to you tomorrow about this school. I must return to the Ministry.”
He reached Harry’s bed. Whispering, he tossed a pouch of Galleons onto the bedside table: “Your winnings, a thousand Galleons. There was supposed to be a ceremony, but… under the circumstances…”
With that, he donned his hat, thundered out, and the door slammed behind him.
Dumbledore turned to the group by Harry’s bed. “There is work to be done,” he said. “Molly…and Arthur, you both can be relied upon?”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Weasley said emphatically, though pale and drained. “We understand Fudge. Arthur’s interest in Muggles has always blocked his progress at the Ministry. Fudge despises Muggle heritage.”
“Good. I have a letter I need Arthur to deliver. For anyone who may recognize the threat, we need to alert them. Arthur, you can contact Ministry members who aren’t as short-sighted as Cornelius.”
“I’m going to Dad now,” Bill said, rising. “I’ll do it right away.”
“That’s excellent,” Dumbledore encouraged. “Tell him what happened. Mention I’ll be in touch soon, but he must proceed discreetly. If Fudge suspects my involvement, ”
“I know what to do,” Bill assured him. He patted Harry’s shoulder, kissed Mrs. Weasley, donned his cloak, and strode out.
“Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore said next, “I will see Hagrid, if Madam Maxime is willing to accompany him.” She nodded without speaking and left quietly.
“Please, Pomfrey,” Dumbledore said, “would you please visit Professor Moody’s office? There you will find a distraught house-elf named ‘Scabbers.’ Comfort her and bring her down to the kitchens, Dobby will look after her.”
“Oh, yes,” Pomfrey replied, surprised, then set off.
Dumbledore turned to Fanny and Anne. Anne sensed that he was about to speak of more sensitive matters, clearly not intended for them. Fanny, for family-neutral reasons, would stay at a distance. Anne herself didn’t want to be dragged into any further secrets, and she felt oddly fine with that.
“We only came to check on Harry,” Anne said softly. “Since he’s stable, Fanny and I will return to the dorm.”
Fanny let a sigh escape. As they passed Dumbledore and Snape, both gave Anne a meaningful glance, one she ignored with ease.
Once downstairs, Fanny nearly spoke up. “Anne…?”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I think I understand. You’re tired. Go rest. And other than your parents… best not to share what you overheard tonight. They might not believe you, anyway.” Anne said gently.
Fanny nodded silently, then hesitated before asking, “Anne, do you think Voldemort is really back?”
“What do you think?” Anne answered.
“I…” Fanny paused, shivering. She said quietly, “I don’t know…but I trust Dumbledore. My grandmother said he’s a good headmaster. I believe her…Anne? What about you?”
“Me?” Anne said, with a hint of a smile. “I trust my uncle. Whatever he thinks, that’s what I do.”
Fanny frowned. “That’s not an answer…”
“Still, two students don’t have to worry ourselves,” Anne replied comfortably. “Dumbledore has his plan.”
“True, but why did he keep Ron and Hermione behind?” Fanny persisted.
“They’re protagonists, after all,” Anne joked. But she cracked a slight smile.
“Honestly? I’d guess Dumbledore has something specific for them,” she added lightly.
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The next morning, during breakfast, Dumbledore addressed the school. He asked everyone not to disturb Harry or pressure him about that night’s events.
That evening’s end-of-year feast was quieter than ever. Normally, the great hall would be decorated in the colors of the winning house, but tonight, a black curtain hung behind the staff table in tribute to Cedric Diggory.
Silence reigned more than any other year. As Dumbledore rose to speak, the hall fell utterly still.
“One more year,” he began, gazing at the assemblies below. His eyes found the Hufflepuff table, its mood heavy, its faces pale.
“I have much to say tonight,” Dumbledore continued, “but first I must solemnly announce that we have lost a fine young man who ought to have been seated here among us,” he gestured to the Hufflepuff table, “sharing this feast. I ask everyone to stand and raise a glass to Cedric Diggory.”
Everyone rose and chairs scraped quietly as they raised goblets, voices low but steady: “Cedric Diggory.”
“Cedric exemplified the best of Hufflepuff,” Dumbledore said. “He was kind, loyal, hardworking, and believed in fair competition. His death has shaken us all, whether you knew him or not. You deserve to hear the truth.”
Most students looked up, eyes fixed on Dumbledore.
“Cedric Diggory was killed by Voldemort.”
A whisper swept through the hall. Fear and disbelief mingled on every face, but then the room fell silent once more.
“The Ministry did not wish for me to tell you this,” Dumbledore said. “Some parents may be shocked, either unable to believe in Voldemort’s return, or believing I should have kept this from you. But I believe truth is always better than lies. To call Cedric’s death an accident, or blame his own carelessness, is to dishonor him.”
“When speaking of Cedric’s death, we must also speak of another person,” he continued, pausing. “I’m referring to Harry Potter.”
A ripple went through the crowd. A few turned to glance at Harry, then quickly looked back at Dumbledore.
“Harry Potter escaped Voldemort’s grasp,” Dumbledore said. “He risked his life to bring Cedric’s body back to Hogwarts. He has shown true courage, rare for one so young facing Voldemort’s power. For that, we owe him our respect.”
Dumbledore turned to Harry again and raised his goblet. Almost everyone followed, murmuring Harry’s name in toast.
After the hall settled, Dumbledore resumed. “The Triwizard Tournament was meant to foster mutual understanding across magical communities. In light of recent events, especially Voldemort’s return, that connection is more vital now than ever.”
“To every student in this hall,” he said, glancing at the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang tables, “you are always welcome here, no matter where you come from. I say again: following Voldemort’s return, we must stand united. Divided, we are weak. Voldemort sows mistrust expertly. Our only defense is strengthening our bonds, transcending differences of tongue and culture.”
“I wish I were wrong, but I fear dark and difficult times lie ahead. Some here have already felt his poison. Many families have been torn apart. One week ago, a student among us was taken from life.”
“Remember Cedric. When you must choose between right and easy, do not forget a brave, honest boy who perished by chance in Voldemort’s shadow. Always remember Cedric Diggory.”
Silence lingered until the feast ended. Harry edged through the crowd and approached Anne and Fanny, Ron close behind.
