SuperPotterLock- The Goblet of Fire

The Invitation

John was walking slowly around a small kitchen watching an elderly man in his pyjamas limping around, preparing a hot water bottle. Over the summer, he'd gotten a lot better at realising when he was having a vision, and this is where he was now. He knew because the man couldn't see him, nor hear him, but the broken hearing aid that John spotted may have ruled that out anyway. In truth, he had no idea why he was being shown an old man, but he tried to memorise as much detail as possible. At least that way, Sherlock might be able to figure it out.

There were muddy boots by the back door, with a rake and shovel hanging on pegs above them. He must enjoy gardening, John thought. There were unopened letters on the counter addressed to Frank Bryce. Since there didn't seem to be anyone else living here, then this must be Frank.

At that moment, both John and Frank noticed a flickering light in one of the top windows of the large manor house outside. Frank began muttering angrily and limped up the stairs as fast as he could to get dressed. John waited for him in the kitchen, staring at the flickering light with a sense of unease.

When Frank returned, he grabbed a rusty old key and a walking stick, and John followed him out into the garden. It was dark and eerily quiet. There was a faded plaque above the front door. It was difficult to make out but John thought it might say 'Riddle'.

Frank continued around the back of the house and put the key into a door almost completely hidden by ivy. He let them both into the kitchen and John was forced to listen intently for Frank's footsteps, as he couldn't see where they were going. He chuckled to himself slightly at the irony.

The two of them trod carefully through the house. Though John couldn't make any noise, he couldn't help himself. They went upstairs and a little light escaped from under a door that was ajar at the end of the hallway. Frank and John edged closer to the door and looked inside. A fire had been lit inside the grate and Frank stopped as he heard voices inside the room. His hearing aid must be working after all.

John heard a timid voice first. 'There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry.' John shuddered as he recognised it as Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail.

'Later,' said a second voice. This one was strangely high-pitched and cold. John's eyes widened and his blood ran cold as he realised who it must belong to. His heart began to race, and the scene wavered around him. No, he thought to himself. Concentrate. He took a few deep breaths and calmed himself as much as he could. As scared as he was, this seemed to be important and, after all, no one could see him.

'Where is Nagini,' said the cold voice.

'I- I don't know, my Lord,' Wormtail said nervously. 'She set out to explore the house, I think...'

'You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail. I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.'

'My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?' asked Wormtail.

'A week, perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.'

'The-the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?' Wormtail stammered. 'Forgive me, but – I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?'

'Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty. On watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.'