Stella felt her feet slam into the ground; her hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. She raised her head.
"Where are we?" Harry said. Stella shook her head. She got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.
They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously traveled miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left.
Stella could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside. Harry looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Stella.
"Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.
"Nope," said Stella. She was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
"I dunno," said Harry. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"Yeah," said Stella, glad that Harry had made the suggestion rather than her. They pulled out their wands. Stella kept looking around her. She had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched. "Someone's coming," she said suddenly.
Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Stella couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, she could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, they were short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over their head to obscure their face. And — several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time — Stella saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby... or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Stella. She shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure. It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Stella and Harry and the short figure simply looked at one another. And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open. Stella reached for him and helped him get back on his feet.
"Are you okay?" She whispered and he shot his eyes tightly. "Voldemore is here, isn't he?" She asked and he stared at her.
"Maybe," he mumbled and she nodded simply. She took his wand from the grass and gave it back to him, "You might want to keep onto this."
From far away, above their heads, they heard a high, cold voice say, "Should we kill the spare."
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "No!"
Stella chuckled, "Didn't know you missed me so much," she yelled. But before she knew it there were ten people around her, dragging her away, she kept fighting but she couldn't escape all of them.
Harry felt the pain in his scar once again and the next thing he knew the short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it. Stella was tied next to him, although she still was trying to get out while other laughed. The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him — hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail.
"You!" he gasped and Stella knew exactly who he was. But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him. He just felt Stella's breathing next to him. Now, she was extraordinarily calm. She didn't move anymore, she just waited. She wanted to be eye in eye with Voldemor again. Harry did notice how there needed to be ten grown adults to get Stella to the gravestone while he was just dragged by stupid Wormtail and he got embarassed, but now wasn't the time for that.
They just stared in front of them. Some way beyond them, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground near it. And Stella cursed him upon noticing it, "I told you not to lose it," she hissed.
"I was kinda busy," he answered. "...Where is yours?" She didn't answer, she was focused on the bundle of robes that they had thought was a baby that was now close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully.
They watched it, and Stella noticed Harry was twitching again and trying to hold his scar and she knew... she knew what, or better - who was in the bundle of robes. It seemed like he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes, his eyes went wide and he wanted to look for Stella... he didn't want that bundle opened... They could hear noises at their feet. Stella looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where they were tied.
Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Stella's range of vision, and they saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water — they could hear it slopping around — and it was larger than any cauldron Stella had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And they heard the high, cold voice again. "Hurry!" The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds. "It is ready, Master."
"Now . . ." said the cold voice. Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell. It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind — but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Stella and Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face — no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes. The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it.
At that moment Stella started laughing loudly. She seemed to be really enjoying this. She looked at the creature on Wormtail's arms and she laughed so hard, her eyes started tearing up. Harry was so confused but she couldn't stop herself.
"Lord Voldemort," she said, "in his full glory! How nice."
"What are you doing?" Harry hissed but she ignored him.
"Looks like killing my parents last year did a number on you huh?" She spat.
"Last year?" Harry mumbled and she nodded.
"Yep, he was... well he wasn't exactly in his full power, but he certainly didn't look like this... Pathetic."
"Master, can we kill her, please?" Someone asked and Stella laughed.
"No!" he answered. "I want her here."
"Not the best idea, because I am going to kill you!" Everyone laughed and Wormtail proceeded doing what he started. He lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Stella heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
"Let it drown," Harry whispered, his scar burning almost past endurance, "please . . . let it drown..." Stella chuckled at his desperate praying but she couldn't wait to finally meet eye to eye with Voldemort.
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" The surface of the grave at Stella's feet cracked.
Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron, but Stella didn't seem fazed. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue. And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master." He stretched his right hand out in front of him — the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. They realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened — he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Stella as though she had been stabbed with the dagger too. She heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Stella watched as the potion had turned a burning red. Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him. "B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your foe." Harry and Stella could do nothing to prevent it, they were tied too tightly.
Squinting down, struggling helplessly at the ropes binding him, Harry saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it. He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white.
"He could've just taken the blood from your leg," Stella mumbled and rolled her eyes.
Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing. The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened...
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Stella, so that she couldn't see Wormtail or anything but vapor hanging in the air...
It's gone wrong, Harry thought... it's drowned . . . please . . . please let it be dead. . . . But then, through the mist in front of them, they saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head. The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry and Stella... and they stared back into the face that had haunted their nightmares for years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils...
Lord Voldemort had risen again.