Chapter 368
A question mark slowly floated above Harry’s head.
Wait, wouldn’t this be helpful to Miss Grindelwald?
Oh, right. If Mr. Bagman wanted to contact Veratia, he’d have to go through the official channels of the Austrian... no, the Greater German Ministry of Magic, and there was a good chance they’d make him wait several working days for a reply.
But if he took the "madam" route... no, the "boyfriend" route... the useful information would reach the other side almost instantly.
"Missing?!"
Harry frowned, finding it hard to believe what Mr. Bagman had just said.
"Mr. Crouch is a department head, after all. How could he just vanish like that?"
"Well... to be perfectly honest, we don’t really know what happened ourselves." Bagman sighed. "He... he just suddenly stopped coming to work. It’s been two weeks now. His assistant—that young Percy Weasley—says he’s ill, and it seems he’s been sending owls with instructions nonstop... But you must keep this absolutely secret, Harry, and only tell Miss Grindelwald, all right? Rita Skeeter’s sniffing around everywhere, and I’d bet my last Galleon she’d twist Barty’s ’illness’ into something catastrophic. She’d probably claim he’s disappeared just like Bertha Jorkins."
"I understand," Harry nodded, then asked, "Any news about Bertha Jorkins, then? I remember Percy mentioning it over the summer—said the Ministry was tearing its hair out over it, and Mr. Crouch especially was obsessed with the case."
"Nothing," Bagman replied, his expression tightening again. "Of course I’ve sent people to look for her... It’s all very strange. She definitely made it to Albania—she visited her second cousin there—then left to see an aunt in the south... and vanished without a trace."
At that, Bagman sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, grabbed a napkin from the table, and spat into it. "Bloody hell, I just don’t understand where she could have gone... She’s not the type to elope or run off... but who knows? ...Anyway, why are we sitting here talking about Bertha Jorkins? I think Miss Grindelwald needs to be informed about Mr. Crouch. She’ll definitely be interested."
"Wait a moment." Harry nodded. "I’ll message Veratia right now."
With that, he pulled out the crystal orb from his pocket and dialed Veratia’s number.
Veratia looked busy. She was wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a very formal suit, head bowed over some documents.
When the call connected, she looked up. "What is it, Harry?"
"Here’s the thing." Harry cleared his throat and, under Bagman’s stunned gaze, recounted everything Bagman had just told him, word for word.
Veratia frowned in thought. After digesting the information, she asked, "Is this known only within the Ministry?"
"Yes, Po—... Madam... Miss Grindelwald," Bagman stammered, nearly letting "Mrs. Potter" slip out.
In English custom, one says "Madam" before the surname.
Sure enough, at Bagman’s slip, the corner of Veratia’s mouth curved into a barely perceptible smile.
"I understand," she said. "I’ll speak to Dumbledore about this."
"And the Ministry...?" Bagman began, then stopped.
"Mr. Bagman," Veratia asked with a sweet smile, "do you think Fudge would tolerate an outsider like the Greater German Ministry of Magic meddling in the internal affairs of the British Ministry? Of course... it’s not just Fudge. Any seasoned politician would feel the same. After all, Crouch’s disappearance doesn’t threaten Fudge’s own political life... unless, of course, outsiders get involved. That could very well become a threat."
"Right." Bagman nodded. "I understand. Thank you for the explanation, Miss Grindelwald."
Harry turned his head. Cassandra silently mouthed "Thank you, Miss Grindelwald" in an exaggerated, sarcastic mimicry.
"All right, if there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up," Veratia said again. "I have some urgent matters to deal with..."
"Are you very busy lately?" Harry asked with concern.
"Oh, it’s fine." Veratia set down her papers and folded her hands in her lap. "Recently the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic approached us on their own initiative, wishing to merge with the Greater German Ministry. We’re handling the formalities."
She deliberately emphasized the words "on their own initiative."
The meaning was crystal clear: they came to us willingly; it has nothing to do with the orange cat.
In the Muggle world, Czechoslovakia had split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia in 1992 after the revolutions in Eastern Europe. The wizarding world, however, had been slower to react; the two countries’ ministries of magic had not yet separated.
"Do you really think the Czechs and Slovaks came begging on their own?" Cassandra rolled her eyes and whispered to Harry.
"Definitely not," Harry whispered back.
"I heard that, you two. Feel free to speak a little louder," Veratia drawled lazily. "Anyway, I don’t have time to play games with you, Cass— So, until next time, Harry."
With that, she ended the call.
"This thing..." Bagman clearly wasn’t concerned about the fate of Czechoslovakia; his eyes were fixed on the crystal orb.
"Oh, it’s a Deluminator—no, a Telephone," Harry explained. "A long-distance instant-communication device developed by Mr. Flamel."
"Cool!" Bagman’s eyes sparkled with unmistakable desire.
Harry caught the hint at once and grinned. "If Mr. Bagman likes it, I’ll have a word with Mr. Flamel and get one custom-made for you."
"Oh, I couldn’t possibly..."
He said the words, but his expression very clearly meant "I’ll accept your kind offer, then."
"By the way," Bagman suddenly lowered his voice, "how’s your research on that golden egg coming along? Once the Christmas holidays are over, it’ll be time for the second task."
"I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet," Harry admitted. "I was planning to get to it in a little while. There’s still plenty of time before the second task."
Bagman thought about it and had to agree. After the way Harry had completely crushed the Hungarian Horntail head-on, the difficulty of the second task probably wouldn’t matter much to him either way.
"All right," he said. "If you’re still stumped when the date gets closer, you can come straight to me—of course, keep it quiet."
"Got it." Harry accepted the gesture, though he had no intention of actually asking Bagman for the answer.
That would feel too much like cheating.
And truthfully, he didn’t need to cheat.
After a bit more small talk, Bagman tactfully took his leave.
After all, the two in front of him were on a date; it wouldn’t do for a middle-aged man to keep playing the third-wheel candle.
"He’s finally gone." Cassandra picked up her butterbeer and narrowed her eyes contentedly. "Merlin, he can talk, can’t he?"
"Yeah, the man’s a walking wireless." Harry clinked his glass against hers. "Good thing he’s gone, though... If he hadn’t reminded me, I might’ve completely forgotten about the egg..."
"The egg?" Cassandra set her glass down and looked up. "You mean that ridiculous golden egg you snatched during the first task? Ha, it’s almost as daft as you are..."
"Hey!" Harry protested. "What’s that supposed to mean, ’as daft as I am’?"
Cassandra just smiled without answering. She simply enjoyed the little pleasure of needling Harry; it was one of her favorite hobbies.
"So," she continued, "any ideas yet about that egg? From what Mr. Motor-Mouth was saying, it’s supposed to be the clue for your next task, right?"
"I’m not convinced," Harry said with a shrug. "You think that egg is just going to tell me the truth? Like it’ll open up and go, ’Hey, glasses boy, listen up—the next task is...’ and just spell it out for me?"
"Pfft—"
Cassandra burst out laughing at Harry’s clowning. She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking for a moment, then said, "Have you actually tried opening the golden egg properly?"
Without a word, Harry pulled the egg out of his wallet.
Before putting it away earlier, he’d repeatedly warned Alfonso not to damage it under any circumstances.
Evidently Alfonso had obeyed.
Under Cassandra’s watchful gaze, Harry opened the egg.
Instantly, a piercing, screeching wail exploded out, sweeping through the entire pub.
"Hey!" Madam Rosmerta shouted, clapping her hands over her ears in outrage. "You with the glasses over there—put that blasted thing away! Merlin’s apron, what in the name of magic is that?!"
Harry snapped the egg shut again, and the dreadful noise instantly ceased.
Cassandra looked a bit dazed from the assault on her eardrums—she had, after all, been closest.
"I told you," Harry said with a helpless shrug. "Whatever’s inside has no intention of politely telling me what the next task is. This thing simply wasn’t—"
The rest of his sentence was cut off; the sound had been too much.
After a long moment, Cassandra blinked back to reality.
"What did you say?" she asked, still a little stunned.
Great, I’ve gone and frightened the young lady senseless.
Harry repeated himself. Cassandra thought for a second, then said, "Maybe we’re opening it the wrong way."
"The wrong way?" Harry frowned. "What other way is there? Should I try a spell or something... like Alohomora?"
"No," Cassandra said. "I mean... that sound reminded me of a legend."
"What legend?" Harry asked, immediately interested.
"About sirens," Cassandra said thoughtfully. "According to Greek stories, the half-woman, half-bird siren sisters would sit in a meadow of flowers and sing enchanting songs that lured passing ships toward the island—only for the ships to crash on the rocks and everyone aboard to perish, bewitched and doomed."
"The king of Ithaca, Odysseus, followed the advice of the witch Circe. To protect himself from the sirens, he took careful precautions. Before the ship came close enough to hear their song, he had himself tied to the mast and ordered his crew to plug their ears with wax. He warned them that, no matter what he said or signaled while passing the island of death, they were to ignore him."
"Soon the rocky island came into view. Odysseus heard the bewitching song. It was so captivating that he struggled desperately to free himself and shouted at his crew to steer toward the siren sisters singing amid the blooming grass, but no one paid him any attention. The sailors rowed straight on until the song could no longer be heard. Only then did they untie Odysseus and remove the wax from their ears."
"This time the sirens sang in vain. The eldest of the three sisters, Parthenope, fell deeply in love with Odysseus for resisting her song. When his ship sailed past, she threw herself into the sea and drowned."
"...Was she mentally ill?" Harry asked, utterly baffled.
Cassandra shrugged and continued, "They say that after her death, Parthenope became a ghost. On the surface her song was harsh and screeching, but underwater it sounded like the music of heaven... I don’t know if it’s related, but maybe you should try opening the egg underwater?"
Harry thought about it. It wasn’t a bad idea.
"The Black Lake, then?" He scratched his head. "But this time of year the lake’s bloody freezing..."
"Are you an idiot?" Cassandra rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. "Why not the prefects’ bathroom? If I remember correctly, there’s a bathtub in there. Just fill it with water and open the egg underwater—problem solved."
"You know what? You’re absolutely right." Harry clapped her on the shoulder. "That’s brilliant... Though maybe not the school bathroom. I’ll do it tomorrow when I’m back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place... Will you come with me?"
"Why on earth would I come with you?" Cassandra asked, bewildered. "It’s your task, not mine."
"No, no—you owe me a Christmas present," Harry declared with perfect seriousness. "You forgot my Christmas gift, and I’m very upset about it—so I’ve decided you can make it up to me."
"M-make it up how...?" Cassandra asked, suddenly nervous.
"Hmm..." Harry toyed with the golden egg, grinning mischievously. "By compensating me with a bath together—"
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