The Cupboard Series 4: The Fourth School

Chapter 18

The owl was expected, its arrival bringing a sigh of relief to the man waiting to take its burden. It was never good to keep the Master waiting and his eagerness to hear this news had not produced a ... comfortable evening for the man.

After taking the piece of parchment, the man released the owl to hunt, after all, a response might well need to be sent. And if it happened to be bad news, then even the most stupid of people knew that owls couldn't fly when they were dead.

The man indulged himself for a minute, savouring the clear, evening air. For after all, if it was bad news, then the Master would need someone to punish. Finally, he turned, deliberately retracing his steps.

More times than he could count, he'd wanted to run, disappear from here and reappear ... elsewhere, a place where he could begin to recover what he'd once been. Not that he could ever completely do that. Even his once fine distinguished features were no longer. His platinum hair was longer, dirtier and more tangled than it had ever been in his life. Likewise, his once proud features were now marred by a long ugly scar that ran from the middle of his left cheek up and past what remained of his ear.

"News, my slippery friend?" the high waspish voice asked lightly the instant that he stepped into the dank, dingy room.

"Indeed, Master," the man replied, sketching a bow.

"Read it to me," he was instructed.

Opening the parchment, the man skimmed it, hoping for a clue as to his fate this evening. It seemed to bode well, but one never could completely be sure.

"The cup did as expected. The boy, though, has refused to compete. If he doesn't, I'm assured that he'll lose his magic. We'll know for certain on the twenty-fourth."

Silence stretched between Master and servant until sweat had broken out on the man's forehead.

"Not ideal, but more than acceptable," the Master finally stated. "Monitor the situation, closely."

"Yes, My Lord," the man bowed in obedience.

-oOoOo-

Harry Potter was in a rage. A blind towering rage that needed an outlet. And he was not shy in giving voice to his thoughts and feelings. Only the strong silencing charms that Sirius had placed on every room within the Diricawl hovercraft and then upon the hovercraft in its entirety stopped the castle beyond their doors from hearing every word that he vented.

"You promised me! You promised me that I'd be safe! Nothing will happen, you said. We'll be there, you said! There's no way that Dumbledore will even be allowed to get anywhere near you, you said!"

Harry spun about the lounge room, piercing each of the adults in the room with his gaze. And every single one of them dropped their eyes from meeting his shining green eyes. Magic swirled around him, but he didn't care, he had no intention of reining it in.

"And now look what's happened! Some stupid, bloody cup has spat my name out! Did I put my name in it? N-ooo. Not that that means anything anyway. Every bloody thing always seems to happen to me and it's that bloody stupid crooked nosed wizard that's always there when it does.

"So now what? Instead of staying and challenging the decision, you've all followed me back here! How's that supposed to help me? You should be up there, getting me out of this bloody stupid Tournament!

"I tell you now, I'm not competing. No matter what it means, what it costs, I'm not going to play to their tune!"

He was on a roll now, so much so that the whispered conversation taking place on the sofa to his right didn't even penetrate his consciousness.