"It's either because you are unwilling to accept the fact that the Dark Lord has returned or you are simply a stubborn fool,"
A/n : Hiii!! you can skip the italic parts, some of you already know that. Anyways, one more chapter left and we're off to OOTP!!! don't forget to comment and votes. (I'm planning to post my works on tiktok, wduguys think?).
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Voldemort averted his gaze from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands resembled large, pale arachnids; his long white fingers fondled his own chest, his arms, his face. The crimson eyes, with pupils resembling slits like those of a cat, gleamed even brighter in the darkness. He raised his hands, flexing the fingers, his expression enraptured and triumphant. He paid no attention to Wormtail, who lay convulsing and bleeding on the ground, nor to the immense serpent that had slithered back into view, encircling Harry once more and hissing.
Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally elongated hands into a deep pocket and retrieved a wand. He gently caressed it as well, then raised it and aimed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and hurled against the tombstone where Harry was bound. He tumbled to its base and lay there, crumpled and weeping. Voldemort fixed his scarlet gaze upon Harry, emitting a high-pitched, chilling, joyless laughter.
Wormtail's robes were now gleaming with blood; he had wrapped the stump of his arm with them.
"My Lord..." he choked, "my Lord... you promised... you did promise..."
"Extend your arm," lazily instructed Voldemort.
"Oh, master... thank you, master..."
He stretched out his bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed once more.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, please... please..."
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm.
He forcibly rolled up the sleeve of Wormtail's robes beyond his elbow, and Harry caught sight of something on the skin there, something akin to a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth - the very same emblem that had appeared in the sky during the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark.
Voldemort examined it meticulously, paying no mind to Wormtail's uncontrollable sobbing.
"It has returned," he murmured softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see... now we shall know..."
He pressed his elongated, pale index finger against the branding on Wormtail's arm.
The scar on Harry's forehead throbbed with a sharp pain once again, and Wormtail emitted a fresh howl. Voldemort withdrew his fingers from Wormtail's Mark, and Harry observed that it had turned pitch black.
With a cruelly satisfied expression on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and surveyed the dark graveyard.
"How many will have the courage to come back when they sense it?" he whispered, his shining red eyes fixed upon the stars.
"And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"
He began to stride back and forth in front of Harry and Wormtail, his eyes scanning the graveyard continuously. After a minute or so, he glanced down at Harry once more, a cruel smile contorting his serpent-like face.
"Harry Potter, you stand upon the remnants of my deceased father," he hissed softly.
"A Muggle and a fool... much like your dear mother. But both of them served a purpose, did they not? Your mother died defending you as a child... and I killed my father, and look at how useful he has proven himself, even in death..."
Voldemort laughed once more. He continued his pacing, casting his gaze all around him as he moved, while the snake continued its circling in the grass.
"Do you see that house on the hillside, Potter? My father resided there. My mother, a witch who lived in this village, fell in love with him. However, he abandoned her when she revealed her true nature... he despised magic, my father..."
"He left her and returned to his non-magical parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... but I vowed to find him... I sought my revenge against him, that fool who bestowed his name upon me... Tom Riddle..."
Still, he paced, his red eyes darting from one grave to another.
"Listen to me, reliving the history of my family..." he said quietly. "Why, I am becoming rather sentimental... But look, Harry! My true family has returned..."
The air suddenly filled with the sound of cloaks swishing. Among the graves, figures began to appear, their robes billowing in the breeze. Amidst the graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy crevice, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and wearing masks. And one by one, they advanced... slowly, cautiously, as if scarcely believing their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, awaiting their arrival. Then, one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled towards Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.
"Master... master..." he whispered.
The Death Eaters behind him followed suit; each of them approached Voldemort on their knees, kissing his robes before retreating and standing up, forming a quiet circle that enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the weeping and trembling heap that was Wormtail. Yet, they left gaps in the circle, as if expecting more individuals. However, Voldemort did not appear to anticipate any more arrivals. He surveyed the hooded faces, and even though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to pass around the circle, as if it had shuddered.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort softly.
"Thirteen years... thirteen years since our last encounter. Yet you answer my summons as if it were yesterday... we are still united under the Dark Mark, are we not? Or are we?" He revealed his dreadful countenance once again and sniffed, his slitted nostrils widening.
"I smell guilt," he declared. "There is a reek of guilt in the air."
A second tremor coursed through the circle, as if each member wished, yet dared not, to step away from him.
"I see all of you here, unharmed and powerful, with your abilities intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself... why did this group of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore unwavering loyalty?"
No one uttered a word. No one moved, except for Wormtail, who remained on the ground, still sobbing over his injured arm.
"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have thought me shattered, they believed I was gone.
They sneaked back among my adversaries, claiming innocence, ignorance, and enchantment..."
"Then I inquire, how could they have believed that I would not rise again? They, who witnessed the measures I took long ago to safeguard against mortal demise? They, who had seen undeniable evidence of the magnitude of my power, during times when I surpassed every living wizard?"
"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed in the existence of an even greater power, one that could conquer even Lord Voldemort... perhaps they now pledge allegiance to another... perhaps that champion of commoners, Mudbloods, and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"
At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, some muttering and shaking their heads.
Voldemort paid them no heed. "It is a letdown to me... I admit my disappointment..."
Suddenly, one of the men lunged forward, breaking the circle.Trembling from head to toe, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet. "Master!" he shrieked.
"Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
Voldemort burst into laughter. He raised his wand. "Crucio!"
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and screamed; Harry was certain the sound must have carried to the nearby houses... let the authorities come, he desperately thought... anyone... anything... Voldemort raised his wand.
The tormented Death Eater lay sprawled on the ground, gasping.
"Get up, Avery," Voldemort said softly. "Stand up. You seek forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years... I demand thirteen years of retribution before I forgive you. Wormtail here has already paid part of his debt, hasn't he, Wormtail?"
He gazed down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.
"You returned to me not out of loyalty, but out of fear for your former friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes, master," moaned Wormtail. "Please, master... please..."
"Yet you aided in my return," Voldemort said coolly, observing Wormtail's sobbing form.
"Worthless and treacherous as you are, you assisted me... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers..."
Voldemort raised his wand once more and swiftly moved it through the air. A streak of what appeared to be molten silver shimmered in the wand's wake.
Temporarily formless, it wriggled before transforming into a radiant replica of a human hand, as bright as moonlight. It descended and seamlessly attached itself to Wormtail's bleeding wrist.
Wormtail's sobbing ceased abruptly. His breathing became harsh and ragged as he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now seamlessly fused to his arm as if adorned with a dazzling glove.
He flexed the gleaming fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig from the ground and crushed it into powder.
"My Lord," he whispered.
"Master... it is beautiful... thank you... thank you..."
He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"May your loyalty never falter again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.
"No, my Lord... never, my Lord..."
Wormtail rose and took his place in the circle, gazing at his formidable new hand, his face still glistening with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, coming to a halt before him. "I am informed that you have not forsaken the old ways, even though you present a respectable facade to the world. Are you still willing to lead in a bout of Muggle-torture, I wonder? Yet you never made an effort to locate me, Lucius... your antics at the Quidditch World Cup were undoubtedly entertaining, but could your efforts not have been better focused on finding and aiding your master?"
"My Lord, I was ever vigilant," Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly emerged from beneath the hood. "If there had been any indication of your presence, any hint of your whereabouts, I would have been by your side instantly; nothing could have stopped me-"
"And yet you fled from my Mark when a loyal Death Eater cast it into the sky last summer," Voldemort interrupted lazily, causing Mr. Malfoy to abruptly fall silent.
"Yes, I am well aware of that, Lucius... you have disappointed me... I expect more loyal service in the future."
"Of course, my Lord, of course... your mercy knows no bounds, thank you..."
Voldemort moved on and paused, fixing his gaze on the space - spacious enough for two individuals - that separated Malfoy from the next man.
"The Lestranges should occupy this position," Voldemort said quietly. "But they are imprisoned in Azkaban. They were loyal. They chose Azkaban over betraying me... when Azkaban is breached, the Lestranges will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. The Dementors will join us... they are our natural allies... we will summon back the banished giants... I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures that instill fear in all..."
He continued walking. Some of the Death Eaters he passed without a word, but he paused before others and spoke to them.
"Macnair... now destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic, Wormtail informs me? Soon, Macnair, you shall have better prey than that. Lord Voldemort will provide..."
"Thank you, master... thank you," murmured Macnair.
"And here," Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures, "we have Crabbe... you shall fare better this time, won't you, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"
They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.
"Yes, master..."
"We will, master..."
"The same applies to you, Nott," said Voldemort quietly, as he passed a stooped figure in Mr. Goyle's shadow.
"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful-"
"That will suffice," said Voldemort.
He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood there, surveying it with his vacant, red eyes, as if he could see people standing there.
"And here we have six missing Death Eaters... three deceased in my service. One too cowardly to return... he shall pay. One who I believe has forsaken me forever... he will be killed, naturally... and one who remains my most loyal servant, and who has already recommenced his service to me."
The Death Eaters stirred; Harry noticed their eyes darting sideways at each other through their masks.
"He is at Hogwarts, that loyal servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived tonight...
"Yes," Voldemort said, a grin curling his lipless mouth, as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry Potter has graciously joined us for my rebirth celebration. One could even consider him the guest of honor."
There was silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice came from beneath the mask.
"Master, we long to know... we implore you to tell us... how you have accomplished this... this miracle... how you managed to return to us..."
"Ah, what a tale it is, Lucius," Voldemort said. "And it begins-and ends-with my young friend here."
He strolled leisurely over to stand beside Harry, so that all eyes in the circle were fixed on the two of them. The snake continued to slither around.
"You know, of course, that they have dubbed this boy my downfall?" Voldemort spoke softly, his red eyes focused on Harry, whose scar began to burn so intensely that he almost cried out in agony. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I attempted to kill him. His mother died in her effort to save him-and inadvertently bestowed upon him a protection I must confess I had not anticipated... I could not touch the boy."
Voldemort raised one of his long, pale fingers and brought it very close to Harry's cheek.
"His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice... it is ancient magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it... but it doesn't matter now. I can touch him now."
Harry felt the cold tip of the long, white finger touch him, and the pain in his head was excruciating.
Voldemort chuckled softly in his ear, then withdrew his finger and continued speaking to the Death Eaters. "I made a mistake, my friends, I admit it. My curse was redirected by the woman's foolish act of sacrifice and rebounded upon me. Ahh... pain beyond measure, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was torn from my body, reduced to something less than a spirit, less than the feeblest ghost... yet I remained alive. What I became, even I cannot fully comprehend... I, who have delved further than anyone on the path to immortality. You all know my objective-to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it seemed that one or more of my experiments had succeeded... for I had not been killed, despite the curse's intent. However, I was utterly powerless, weaker than the frailest creature, and unable to help myself... for I had no physical form, and every spell that might have aided me required the use of a wand..."
"I only remember forcing myself to exist, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second... I found solace in a remote location, within a forest, and I waited... surely, one of my loyal Death Eaters would attempt to find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain..."
The circle of Death Eaters trembled once again, filled with a sense of unease. Voldemort allowed the silence to linger, savoring the tension before resuming his narrative.
"Only one power remained to me. I could inhabit the bodies of others. However, I dared not venture where humans were abundant, for I knew that the Aurors were still active and searching for me. At times, I resorted to possessing animals-snakes being my favored choice. But even within them, I was no better off than as a mere spirit, as their bodies were ill-suited for performing magic... and my presence within them hastened their demise. None of them lasted long..."
"Then... four years ago... the opportunity for my return seemed within reach. I encountered a wizard-a young, foolish, and easily manipulated wizard-who happened to cross my path in the forest that I called home. Oh, he appeared to be the chance I had been dreaming of, for he was a teacher at Dumbledore's school... he proved pliable to my influence... he brought me back to this country, and eventually, I possessed his body to closely oversee his actions as he carried out my commands. But my plan failed. I was unable to seize the Philosopher's Stone. Immortality eluded me once more. I was thwarted... thwarted yet again by Harry Potter..."
Silence fell once more, enveloping the scene. Not a leaf rustled on the yew tree. The Death Eaters remained motionless, their masked eyes fixed upon Voldemort and Harry.
"When I departed from the servant's body, he perished, and I was left as feeble as ever. I retreated to my distant hiding place, and I will not deceive you-I feared that I might never regain my powers. Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour. I could not hope for another wizard to possess, and I had relinquished all hope that any of my Death Eaters cared about my fate..."
Despite the unease displayed by some of the masked wizards, Voldemort paid them no mind. He continued his account with a sense of triumph. "And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it finally occurred... a servant returned to me: Wormtail here, who had staged his own death to evade justice, was forced out of hiding by those he once considered friends and chose to come back to his master. He searched for me in the country where rumors had long suggested I was hiding... aided, of course, by the rats he encountered along the way. Wormtail has an odd affinity for rats, does he not, Wormtail? His filthy little companions informed him about a place deep in an Albanian forest that they avoided-a place where small animals like them met their demise under the influence of a dark shadow..."
"But his journey back to me was not without complications, was it, Wormtail? One night, hungry and on the outskirts of the very forest where he hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food... and who should he encounter there but Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic?"
"Now observe how fate favors Lord Voldemort. This could have spelled the end for Wormtail and dashed my last hope for rebirth. However, Wormtail-displaying an unexpected presence of mind-persuaded Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her... he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who could have spelled disaster, turned out to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams... for, with a little coaxing, she became a veritable mine of information."
"She informed me that the Triwizard Tournament would take place at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a loyal Death Eater who would be more than willing to assist me if only I could contact him. She divulged many things... but the methods I employed to break the Memory Charm on her were potent, and once I had extracted all useful information, her mind and body were irreparably damaged. She had served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her."
Voldemort's smile stretched across his face, his red eyes devoid of mercy or compassion.
"Wormtail's body, of course, was ill-suited for possession since everyone believed him to be dead, and his appearance would draw too much attention if seen. However, he was the capable servant I required. Despite his shortcomings as a wizard, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I provided, which would allow me to return to a rudimentary, weak body of my own. It would be a body I could inhabit temporarily while I awaited the necessary ingredients for true rebirth. These ingredients included a couple of spells of my own creation, a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom provided by my dear Nagini," Voldemort's gaze turned towards the snake that continued to circle.
"I swiftly regained an almost human form and acquired enough strength to travel. Stealing the Philosopher's Stone was no longer an option, as I knew Dumbledore would have ensured its destruction. But before pursuing immortality, I was willing to settle for reclaiming my old body and former power."
"I understood that to accomplish this-using an ancient piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight-I would require three potent ingredients. Well, one of them was already within reach, wasn't it, Wormtail? Flesh willingly given by a servant..."
"My father's bone, naturally, meant that we had to come to this place where he was buried. However, I needed the blood of a foe... Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, wouldn't you, Wormtail? Any wizard who despised me-as so many still do. But I knew the specific individual I had to use if I wanted to rise again, more powerful than ever before. I desired Harry Potter's blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of my power thirteen years ago. By doing so, I would also inherit the lingering protection his mother once bestowed upon him, as it would then flow through my veins as well..."
"But how could I reach Harry Potter? He has been safeguarded more thoroughly than even he realizes, protected by measures put in place by Dumbledore long ago, when it was his responsibility to secure the boy's future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic to ensure Harry's safety as long as he remained under his relatives' care. Not even I can harm him there... Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup. I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relatives and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt a kidnapping amidst a crowd of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is under the watchful eye of that Muggle-loving fool from morning till night. So how could I seize him?" Voldemort's voice dripped with disdain.
"Why... by utilizing the information provided by Bertha Jorkins, of course. I would employ my loyal Death Eater, who was stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that Harry's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. I would use my Death Eater to ensure that Harry emerged as the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, that he touched the Triwizard Cup first-the very Cup that my Death Eater had transformed into a Portkey. It would transport him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's aid and protection, and into my waiting arms. And now, here he is-the boy whom all of you believed had caused my downfall."
Voldemort slowly advanced, turning to face Harry. He raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
Agony consumed Harry like a blazing fire. His bones felt as if they were being shattered; his scar seemed to split his head in two; his eyes rolled uncontrollably in their sockets. He yearned for it to end... to black out... to die...
And then, it was over. Harry hung limply in the ropes that bound him to Voldemort's father's headstone, gazing up through a haze at those piercing red eyes.
The night reverberated with the laughter of the Death Eaters. "You see," Voldemort declared, "how foolish it was to believe that this boy could ever have been stronger than me. But I want there to be no doubt in anyone's mind. Harry Potter eluded me due to a stroke of luck.
And now, I will demonstrate my power by killing him right here, right now, before all of you, with no Dumbledore to aid him and no mother to sacrifice herself for him. I will grant him a fighting chance, and you will have no doubt about which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini," he whispered, and the snake slithered away through the grass to join the watching Death Eaters.
"Now, untie him, Wormtail, and return his wand to him." Voldemort commanded.
Wormtail approached Harry, who struggled to stand on his own before the ropes were undone. Wormtail raised his new silver hand and removed the gag from Harry's mouth with a single motion. Then, with a swift slash, he severed the bonds that held Harry to the gravestone.
For a fleeting moment, Harry considered making a run for it, but his injured leg trembled beneath him as he stood on the unkempt grave. The Death Eaters closed in, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, eliminating any potential escape routes.
The gaps left by the absent Death Eaters were filled, and Wormtail walked out of the circle to retrieve Harry's wand from where Cedric's lifeless body lay. Without looking at Harry, he roughly thrust the wand back into his hand before resuming his place among the watching Death Eaters.
"Have you been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked softly, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness.
At those words, Harry's mind flashed back to the Duelling Club he had briefly attended at Hogwarts two years ago.
However, all he had learned there was the Disarming spell, "Expelliarmus." What good would it do, even if he could disarm Voldemort, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered at least thirty to one? He had never been taught anything that could possibly prepare him for this moment.
He realized he was facing the very thing Moody had always warned him about-the unblockable Avada Kedavra curse. Voldemort was right-his mother was not here to sacrifice herself for him this time. He was utterly defenseless.
"We show each other respect, Harry," Voldemort murmured, bending slightly but keeping his serpentine face directed at Harry.
"Come, let us observe proper etiquette. Dumbledore would appreciate your display of manners. Bow to death, Harry."
The Death Eaters erupted into laughter once more, while Voldemort's lipless mouth curled into a smile. But Harry refused to bow. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to toy with him before killing him. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
"I said, bow," Voldemort repeated, raising his wand. Instantly, Harry felt an immense, invisible force bending him forward ruthlessly, and the laughter of the Death Eaters grew even louder.
"Very good," Voldemort whispered softly, and the pressure on Harry subsided as he lowered his wand. "And now, you face me like a man, standing tall and proud, just as your father did when he died... And now, we duel."
Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could react or defend himself, he was struck once again by the Cruciatus Curse.
The pain was so excruciating, so overwhelming, that he lost all sense of his surroundings.
It felt as if searing-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, and his head throbbed with unbearable agony. His screams echoed through the air, louder than he had ever screamed before. And then, abruptly, it ceased.
Harry rolled over and struggled to his feet, his entire body trembling uncontrollably, mirroring Wormtail's tremors when his hand had been severed. He stumbled sideways into the line of watching Death Eaters, who pushed him back towards Voldemort.
"A little break," Voldemort taunted, his slitted nostrils dilating with excitement. "A brief pause... that hurt, didn't it, Harry? You wouldn't want me to do that again, would you?"
Harry didn't respond. He knew he was going to die, just like Cedric. Those merciless red eyes told him as much. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. But he refused to play along. He wouldn't obey Voldemort. He wouldn't beg.
"I asked you if you want me to do that again," Voldemort said softly. "Answer me! Imperio!"
In that moment, Harry experienced the sensation of his mind being wiped clean for the third time in his life. It was blissful not to think, as if he was floating and dreaming.
Just answer "no," the voice urged him. But a stronger voice in the back of his head spoke up-I won't do it, I won't say it. Just answer "no." Harry resisted the urge, fighting against the Imperius Curse.
"I WON'T!" Harry's defiant words echoed through the graveyard, shattering the dreamlike state.
The pain from the Cruciatus Curse rushed back, coursing through his body, and the reality of his situation hit him once again.
"You won't?" Voldemort responded calmly, and the Death Eaters' laughter ceased. "You won't say 'no'? Harry, obedience is a virtue I must teach you before you die... perhaps another dose of pain?"
Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was prepared. With the agility honed from his Quidditch training, he threw himself to the ground, rolling behind the marble headstone of Voldemort's father. He heard the curse crack against the stone, missing its mark.
"We're not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," Voldemort's voice grew colder as he drew closer, while the Death Eaters laughed.
"You can't hide from me. Does this mean you're tired of our duel? Would you prefer me to end it now, Harry? Come out and play... it will be quick... it might even be painless... I wouldn't know... I've never died..."
Harry crouched behind the headstone, knowing that the end was near. There was no hope, no help to be found. As he heard Voldemort approaching, he realized one thing with absolute certainty, a conviction beyond fear or reason-he wouldn't die cowering like a child playing hide-and-seek. He wouldn't die kneeling at Voldemort's feet. He would die standing tall, like his father, and he would die fighting to defend himself, even if no defense seemed possible.
Before Voldemort could expose his snake-like face from behind the headstone, Harry swiftly rose to his feet. His grip on his wand tightened as he pointed it directly at Voldemort. With determination, he flung himself around the headstone, squarely facing his archenemy.
Knowing that the moment had arrived, Voldemort prepared himself. Just as Harry shouted the disarming spell, "Expelliarmus!" with all his might, Voldemort responded with a sinister cry, "Avada Kedavra!"
A brilliant flash of green light erupted from Voldemort's wand, colliding with a fierce burst of red light emitted from Harry's. The two spells met in mid-air, crackling and struggling for dominance.
Yet, something unprecedented occurred-their wands began to vibrate uncontrollably, as if charged with electric energy. Harry's hand clenched around his wand, paralyzed, unable to release it. Astonishingly, he noticed that Voldemort's long, pale fingers were also trembling, gripping a wand that mirrored the same vibrations.
And then, in a turn of events that left Harry astounded, his feet lifted off the ground, and Voldemort too was levitating alongside him.
Connected by a thread of shimmering golden light, their wands continued to emit a radiant beam. Drifting away from the tombstone where Voldemort's father lay, they descended onto an open expanse devoid of graves.
Amidst the chaotic shouts of the Death Eaters, who sought Voldemort's guidance, the snake slithering at their heels, some began to raise their wands. But before they could strike, the golden thread between Harry and Voldemort splintered into a multitude of dazzling offshoots. Like a splendid web, it arched high above them, forming a majestic dome of light. Within this enchanting cage, the Death Eaters circled like hungry jackals, their cries muted by the enchantment.
Surprised and battling against the magical connection, Voldemort struggled to sever the golden thread that tethered their wands. Meanwhile, Harry clung tightly to his wand, his hands clasping it with unwavering resolve, ensuring the bond remained unbroken.
Voldemort's scarlet eyes widened with astonishment, his fury mixing with disbelief at the extraordinary turn of events. With a voice filled with fury, he commanded his loyal followers, "Do nothing unless I explicitly command you!" The Death Eaters, entrapped by the radiant cage, obeyed his orders, their faces etched with frustration and confusion.
Thus, suspended in the air, Harry and Voldemort found themselves in a delicate equilibrium. The golden thread of light connected them, a testament to their intertwined destinies, while the Death Eaters, like trapped predators, circled restlessly beyond the confines of the luminous dome.
And then, a supernatural and exquisite melody filled the air, emanating from every thread of the ethereal web pulsating around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound that Harry recognized, though he had only heard it once before in his life-it was the song of a phoenix.
To Harry, it was the sound of hope, the most beautiful and comforting thing he had ever experienced. He felt as though the melody resonated within him, not just surrounding him. It was the sound that reminded him of Dumbledore, as if a dear friend were whispering in his ear.
"Don't break the connection," the music seemed to communicate to Harry.
"I know," Harry whispered back to the enchanting melody. "I know I mustn't." But even as he affirmed his determination, the task became increasingly arduous. His wand trembled with a newfound intensity, and the beam of light connecting him and Voldemort underwent a transformation.
It appeared as if large luminous beads were gliding up and down the thread that linked their wands. Harry's wand quivered in his hand as these radiant spheres slowly but steadily moved in his direction.
The movement of the beam was now reversed, originating from Voldemort and directed towards Harry. In response, Harry felt his wand vibrate with anger and resistance.
As the nearest bead of light drew nearer to the tip of Harry's wand, the wood beneath his fingers grew unbearably hot, threatening to ignite. With each incremental approach, the intensity of the vibrations increased, reaching a point where Harry feared his wand would shatter in his grip.
Summoning every ounce of mental focus, Harry concentrated on compelling the bead to retreat back towards Voldemort.
The melody of the phoenix engulfed his ears, his eyes blazing with determination. Slowly, painstakingly, the radiant beads ceased their movement and began to shift in the opposite direction.
Now it was Voldemort's wand that trembled intensely, his expression morphing into astonishment and a hint of fear.
One of the shimmering beads of light hovered mere inches from the tip of Voldemort's wand. Harry didn't fully comprehend why he was doing it or what the outcome might be, but with an unparalleled concentration, he directed all his energy into compelling that bead of light to retreat back into Voldemort's wand. Slowly, agonizingly, the bead inched along the golden thread, quivering momentarily before making contact.
In an instant, Voldemort's wand emitted piercing screams of agony. His crimson eyes widened in shock as a dense, smoky hand burst forth from the wand's tip, only to vanish into thin air-the spectral manifestation of the hand Voldemort had created for Wormtail.
More cries of pain followed, and then something much larger began to materialize from Voldemort's wand-an immense, ashen figure composed of the thickest, most substantial smoke. It took the shape of a head, followed by a chest and arms-the torso of Cedric Diggory.
If Harry had ever been tempted to release his grip on his wand out of sheer astonishment, instinct compelled him to hold on tightly, ensuring the unbroken connection of the golden light thread.
The dense, gray apparition of Cedric Diggory (was it a ghost? It appeared so solid) fully emerged from the end of Voldemort's wand, as if squeezing through a narrow tunnel. The shade of Cedric stood upright, surveyed the golden thread of light, and uttered a few words.
"Hold on, Harry," it spoke, its voice distant and reverberating. Harry glanced at Voldemort, whose wide, red eyes mirrored his own shock.
Neither of them had expected this development. Dimly, Harry registered the panicked shouts of the Death Eaters lingering outside the perimeter of the golden dome.
More screams of anguish emanated from the wand, and then another figure emerged-a dark silhouette of a second head, swiftly followed by arms and a torso. It was an elderly man whom Harry had seen once before in a dream.
The figure struggled to extricate himself from the wand, just as Cedric had done. Eventually, he fell alongside Cedric's shade, observing Harry, Voldemort, the golden web, and the connected wands with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick.
"So, he was a real wizard, then?" the old man remarked, his gaze fixed on Voldemort. "He killed me, that one did... You must fight him, boy..."
However, another head began to emerge, this time belonging to a woman. Like a statue crafted from smoky gray, she dropped to the ground and stood up, just like the others, her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before her.
Bertha Jorkins' shadow surveyed the battle with wide eyes, her voice echoing from a distance as she cried out, "Don't let go, now!" Her words hissed inaudibly to Voldemort, conveying a warning to Harry.
Soon, yet another head emerged from the tip of Voldemort's wand, and Harry knew exactly who it would be.
He had anticipated it ever since Cedric appeared. The woman who materialized was the one he had thought of above all others on this fateful night.
The smoky silhouette of a young woman with long hair fell to the ground, mirroring Bertha's actions, and looked at Harry. Trembling uncontrollably now, Harry locked eyes with the ghostly visage of his mother.
"Your father's coming," she spoke softly. "He wants to see you. It will be all right. Hold on."
And then, he appeared-first his head, followed by his body. James Potter, tall and with untidy hair like Harry, blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, landed on the ground, and stood upright like his wife.
He walked closer to Harry, gazing down at him, and in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but softly, he uttered words that sent waves of fear coursing through Voldemort, his face now contorted with terror.
"Don't let go!"
Meanwhile, the three shadowy figures, including Lily, paced along the inner walls of the golden web, while the Death Eaters flitted about on the outside.
The whispered words of encouragement from Voldemort's deceased victims encircled the duelers, unheard by anyone except Harry.
"When the connection is severed, we will linger only briefly," they whispered, "but we will buy you time. You must reach the Portkey. It will return you to Hogwarts. Do you understand, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry gasped, fighting to maintain his grip on his wand, which threatened to slip through his trembling fingers.
"Harry..." Cedric's figure whispered, "please take my body back. Return my body to my parents..."
"I will," Harry affirmed, his face contorted with the strain of gripping the wand tightly.
"Do it now," whispered his father's voice. "Be ready to run... do it now..."
"NOW!" Harry shouted. He couldn't have held on any longer. With a mighty wrench, he pulled his wand upwards, breaking the golden thread.
The cage of light vanished, and the phoenix song ceased. However, the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims remained, closing in on him, shielding him from Voldemort's gaze.
Harry sprinted like never before, knocking aside two stunned Death Eaters as he raced. He zigzagged behind headstones, evading curses that followed him, their impacts reverberating against the graves. Pain in his leg forgotten, his entire focus was on what he had to do.
"Stun him!" Voldemort screamed.
Ten feet away from Cedric, Harry dove behind a marble angel, narrowly avoiding jets of red light that shattered the tip of the angel's wing. Holding his wand tightly, he emerged from behind the angel.
"Impedimenta!" he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the approaching Death Eaters.
Amidst a muffled yell, he believed he had halted at least one of them, but there was no time to turn and verify. He leaped over the Triwizard Cup and threw himself forward, hearing more spells being cast behind him. Jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab Cedric's arm.
"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" shrieked Voldemort.
Harry's hand closed around Cedric's wrist. Only one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric's weight made him too difficult to carry, and the Cup was just out of reach.
Voldemort's red eyes blazed in the darkness. Harry saw his mouth twist into a smile as he raised his wand.
"Accio!" Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup.
The Cup soared into the air and flew towards him. Harry caught it by the handle.
He heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment he felt the jerk behind his navel, signaling that the Portkey had worked. They were whisked away in a whirlwind of wind and color, Cedric alongside him. They were going back...
###
(Y/n) slowly opened her eyes, her body trembling uncontrollably, her face ashen and streaked with tears. She surveyed her surroundings, realizing she was still seated in the stands. "Finally, you're awake now, my shoulder's getting numb," Ron remarked. When (Y/n) didn't respond, Ron looked at her and noticed her distress. "Sabrina? Are you alright?"
That caught Hermione's and Mrs Weasley's attention.
"What happened, dear?"
(Y/n) remained silent, her mouth dry. Was it real? It felt all too vivid to be a mere figment of her imagination. But how could it possibly be real? She was here in the stands; she wasn't in that unfamiliar graveyard. And what had she witnessed? The level of detail was overwhelming, her heart pounding rapidly, struggling for breath, while her limbs felt numb and her insides hollow. It was as if she had experienced Harry's own thoughts, as if she had become Harry in her dream. And then her gaze fell upon the maze.
"Harry," she murmured. And in that instant, it all clicked into place - IT WAS REAL! What she had seen in her dream had become a chilling reality.
Rising from her seat, she could no longer contain herself. "HARRY!" she cried out, her voice echoing through the stands and fading into the night. All eyes turned towards her, a mixture of shock and confusion on their faces, but she paid them no heed. He was injured, tormented, in grave danger. She had to find Harry, had to ensure he was alright.
"Sabrina, what on earth are you doing?"
"Dear, please, calm down -"
And then they witnessed Albus Dumbledore make his way towards the edge of the maze, bending down near something. He spoke softly, his words barely audible.
"Dear, what's the matter? Is there -"
"Mum, H-Harry, he... he's..." Her voice choked with tears, unable to form the words. She embraced Mrs Weasley tightly, pouring out her emotions. She couldn't fully explain why, but an overwhelming wave of sympathy washed over her. She felt an intense sorrow for Harry, just fourteen years old, enduring such suffering and thrust into a perilous situation. He deserved better, so much better.
"I... I had a dream, Ha-Harry's..." she managed to stammer, her voice trembling.
"Hush, dear, Harry is alright. He will win." But her tears only intensified. She didn't want Harry to merely win; she wanted him to be safe, protected. "I'm sure it was simply a foolish dream." Deep down, (Y/n) knew otherwise, but she desperately clung to the hope that it was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
"Harry's there! Harry and Cedric have won," exclaimed Seamus.
The crowd erupted into cheers, their words unintelligible to (Y/n). She gazed at the labyrinth and spotted Harry, releasing his grip on the cup and clutching Cedric's lifeless form. Tears streamed down her face. It was true, undeniably real. Voldemort had returned. Hermione embraced her, while Ron watched her anxiously. They were both bewildered by her reaction.
"What's happening? What has occurred?" Cornelius Fudge, (Y/n) had learned his name during the incident involving Krum's attack, approached Harry and Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore... he's dead!"
(Y/n)'s body went cold.
The words reverberated, echoed by the professors and other witches and wizards who gathered around. Some gasped... and then others shouted it-screeched it-into the night:
"He's dead!"
"He's dead!"
"Cedric Diggory! Dead!"
The spectators gasped in unison. (Y/n)'s heart felt numb, her hands icy cold. It was undoubtedly real. But how... how had she witnessed it?
"He needs to be taken to the hospital wing!" Fudge declared loudly. "He's unwell, injured... Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, in the stands..."
"I'll escort Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him-"
"No, I would prefer-"
"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory is rushing over... shouldn't you inform him... before he sees-?"
"Harry, stay here-"
Girls screamed, sobbing hysterically... the scene before Harry's eyes flickered strangely... and then he spotted a familiar figure with fiery red hair tied up in a bun, wearing thick spectacles, running towards him-although he couldn't see her clearly, he knew it was his friend. Sabrina Weasley.
A silhouette obstructed his view.
"It's alright, son, I've got you... come on... let's get you to the hospital wing..."
"Dumbledore said to stay," Harry mumbled hoarsely, the throbbing in his scar causing waves of nausea, blurring his vision more than ever.
"You need to lie down... come on, now..."
A person of greater size and strength than Harry was began to guide him, partly pulling and partly carrying him through the terrified throng. Harry heard gasps, screams, and shouts as the man supporting him forged a path, leading him back to the castle.
###
Harry awoke, enveloped in warmth and drowsiness, resisting the urge to open his eyes and drift off again. The room remained dimly lit; he was certain it was still nighttime and suspected that he hadn't been asleep for long.
Then he heard whispers surrounding him.
"If they don't quiet down, they'll wake everyone up!"
"What are they yelling about? Has something else happened?"
Harry slowly blinked his bleary eyes open. Someone had removed his spectacles. He could make out the blurry forms of Mrs Weasley and Bill nearby. Mrs Weasley was standing up.
"That's Fudge's voice," she whispered. "And isn't that Minerva McGonagall's? But what are they arguing about?"
Now Harry could hear them too: people shouting and rushing toward the hospital wing.
"Regrettable, but nevertheless, Minerva," Cornelius Fudge said loudly.
"You should never have brought it into the castle!" Professor McGonagall yelled.
"When Dumbledore finds out-"
Harry heard the hospital doors burst open. Unnoticed by the individuals gathered around his bed, all of whom were fixated on the door, Harry sat up and put his glasses back on. He noticed the familiar figure standing close to his bed. It was Sabrina. She was still unconscious. Earlier, he had been surprised to see her lying on one of the beds when they entered the infirmary. According to Mrs Weasley, she had fainted while running to reach Harry. Madam Pomfrey had attributed her fainting spell to shock and exhaustion. Harry's thoughts were interrupted when Fudge strode up the ward. Professors McGonagall and Snape followed close behind.
"Where is Dumbledore?" Fudge demanded of Mrs Weasley.
"He's not here," Mrs Weasley replied angrily.
"This is a hospital wing, Minister. Don't you think it would be best to-"
But the door swung open, and Dumbledore entered the ward in a sweeping manner.
"What has happened?" Dumbledore asked sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall. "Why are you disturbing these individuals? Minerva, I'm surprised at you. I specifically asked you to keep watch over Barty Crouch."
"There is no longer a need to keep watch over him, Dumbledore!" she shrieked. "The Minister has taken care of that!"
Harry had never witnessed Professor McGonagall lose control in such a manner. Angry splotches of color adorned her cheeks, her hands clenched into fists, and she trembled with fury.
"When we informed Mr. Fudge that we had apprehended the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape spoke in a low voice, "he seemed to believe that his personal safety was at stake. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch-"
"I told him you would never agree, Dumbledore!" Professor McGonagall raged. "I informed him that you would never permit Dementors to step foot inside the castle, but-"
"My dear woman!" bellowed Fudge, his anger matching that of Harry's never before seen. "As the Minister for Magic, it is my decision whether or not I wish to bring protection with me when conducting an interview with a potentially dangerous-"
However, Professor McGonagall's voice drowned out Fudge's words.
"The moment that- that creature entered the room," she screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling with agitation, "it swooped down on Crouch and- and-"
Harry felt a chill creep through his stomach as Professor McGonagall struggled to find the words to describe what had occurred. He didn't need her to complete the sentence. He knew what the Dementor must have done. It had delivered its fatal kiss to Barty Crouch, sucking his soul out through his mouth. He was worse than dead.
"According to reports, he is no great loss!" Fudge blustered. "It appears he was responsible for multiple deaths!"
"But now he cannot testify, Cornelius," Dumbledore interjected. He stared intently at Fudge, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. "He cannot provide evidence as to why he committed those murders."
"Why he committed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" Fudge blustered. "He was a deranged lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have informed me, he seemed to believe he was carrying out You-Know-Who's instructions!"
"Lord Voldemort was issuing him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore stated.
"The deaths of those individuals were mere consequences of a plan to restore Voldemort to full power. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been resurrected, returned to his physical form."
Fudge's expression resembled that of someone struck in the face with a heavy blow. Dazed and blinking, he stared back at Dumbledore, seemingly unable to fully comprehend what he had just heard.
He began to splutter, still gawking at Dumbledore. "You-Know-Who... returned? Ludicrous. Surely, Dumbledore..."
"As Minerva and Severus have undoubtedly informed you," Dumbledore began, "we heard Barty Crouch's confession. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he revealed how he was smuggled out of Azkaban and how Voldemort-learning of his continued existence through Bertha Jorkins-sought to free him from his father's custody and employed him to capture Harry. The plan succeeded, I assure you. Crouch has aided Voldemort's resurgence."
"Listen here, Dumbledore," Fudge interjected, and Harry was taken aback to witness a faint smile forming on his face, "you cannot seriously believe that. You-Know-Who-back? Come now, come now... admittedly, Crouch may have deluded himself into thinking he was acting on You-Know-Who's orders, but to rely on the word of a madman like him, Dumbledore..."
"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was instantly transported to Voldemort," Dumbledore stated firmly. "He bore witness to Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I shall explain everything in detail if you join me in my office."
Dumbledore glanced around, noticing that Harry was awake, but he shook his head and added, "I regret to inform you that I cannot allow you to interrogate Harry tonight."
Fudge's peculiar smile lingered.
He briefly glanced at Harry, then returned his gaze to Dumbledore, and inquired, "You are-um-willing to trust Harry's account on this matter, are you, Dumbledore?"
A moment of silence ensued, broken by Sirius growling. His hackles were raised, and he bared his teeth at Fudge.
"Certainly, I believe Harry," declared Dumbledore, his eyes ablaze with determination. "I have heard Crouch's confession and listened to Harry's account of what transpired after he touched the Triwizard Cup. The two narratives align and provide a coherent explanation for all the events since Bertha Jorkins vanished last summer."
Fudge still wore that peculiar smile on his face. Once again, he stole a glance at Harry before responding. "You are willing to accept the return of Lord Voldemort based on the testimony of a deranged killer and a boy who... well..."
Fudge shot another glance at Harry, and in that instant, Harry understood.
"You've been indulging in Rita Skeeter's writings, Mr Fudge," he said softly.
Ron, Hermione, Mrs Weasley, and Bill all jumped in surprise. None of them had realized that Harry was awake.
Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate expression crossed his face.
"And if I have?" he retorted, his gaze fixed on Dumbledore. "What if I have discovered that you have been concealing certain facts about the boy? A Parselmouth, is he? And experiencing peculiar episodes at every turn-"
"I assume you are referring to the pains Harry has been enduring in his scar?" Dumbledore interjected calmly.
"You admit that he has been suffering from these pains, then?" Fudge interjected swiftly. "Headaches? Nightmares? Perhaps... hallucinations?"
"Listen to me, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, taking a step closer to Fudge. Once again, he seemed to emanate that indescribable sense of power that Harry had sensed when Dumbledore had Stunned young Crouch.
"Harry is as rational as you or I. The scar on his forehead has not impaired his faculties. I believe it throbs when Lord Voldemort is in close proximity or in a particularly murderous state."
Fudge took half a step back from Dumbledore, but his stubbornness did not waver.
"Excuse me, Dumbledore, but I have never encountered a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before..."
"It's either because you are unwilling to accept the fact that the Dark Lord has returned or you are simply a stubborn old fool," (Y/n) interjected, her irritation evident as she sat up in her bed. Everyone looked at her, taken aback. Harry observed her expression-she was glaring at the minister with a profound disdain in her eyes.
"Silence, you good-for-nothi-"
"Listen, I witnessed Voldemort's revival!" Harry exclaimed. He attempted to rise from his bed again, but Mrs Weasley gently pushed him back, glancing back at Sabrina. Bill went to her side. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can provide you with their names! Lucius Malfoy-"
Snape made a sudden movement, but as Harry's gaze landed on him, Snape's eyes darted back to Fudge.
"Malfoy was acquitted!" Fudge proclaimed, visibly affronted. "He hails from an ancient lineage and has made substantial contributions to worthy causes-"
"Macnair!" Harry persisted.
"Also cleared! Currently employed by the Ministry!"
"Avery-Nott-Crabbe-Goyle-"
"You are simply reiterating the names of individuals who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" Fudge exclaimed angrily. "You could find those names in old trial records! For heaven's sake, Dumbledore, the boy was spouting some outlandish tale at the end of last year as well-his stories are becoming increasingly fantastical, and yet you continue to believe him? The boy can communicate with snakes, Dumbledore, and you still consider him trustworthy?"
"You imbecile!" Professor McGonagall interjected.
"Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random acts of a madman!"
"I see no evidence to support that claim!" Fudge shouted, now matching her anger, his face turning red. "It appears to me that you are all intent on inciting panic that will disrupt everything we have worked for in the past thirteen years!"
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had always regarded Fudge as a benevolent figure, a bit blustery and pompous, but fundamentally well-intentioned. Yet now, a short-tempered and obstinate wizard stood before him, adamantly refusing to accept the possibility of upheaval in his comfortable and orderly world, rejecting the notion that Voldemort could have returned.
"Voldemort has come back," Dumbledore reiterated. "If you immediately acknowledge that fact, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we might still be able to salvage the situation. The first and most crucial step is to remove the Dementors' control over Azkaban-"
"Nonsense!" Fudge shouted once more.
"Remove the Dementors? I would be ousted from office if I even suggested it! Half of us only sleep soundly at night because we know the Dementors are guarding Azkaban!"
"The rest of us have restless nights, Cornelius, knowing that you have entrusted Lord Voldemort's most dangerous followers to creatures who would readily join him upon his request!" Dumbledore said.
"They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them far greater opportunities for their powers and pleasures than you can! With the Dementors on his side and his old supporters returning to him, you will find it exceedingly difficult to prevent him from regaining the level of power he had thirteen years ago!"
Fudge opened and closed his mouth as if words failed to express his outrage.
"The second step you must take-and do so immediately," Dumbledore pressed on, "is to send ambassadors to the giants."
"Ambassadors to the giants?" Fudge shrieked, finding his voice again. "What madness is this?"
"Extend them the hand of friendship now, before it's too late," said Dumbledore, "or Voldemort will convince them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will grant them their rights and freedom!"
"You-you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. "If news reached the magical community that I had approached the giants-people despise them, Dumbledore-my career would be over!"
"You are blinded," Dumbledore said, his voice rising, his power radiating around him, his eyes ablaze once again, "by your love for the position you hold, Cornelius! You have always placed excessive importance on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to realize that it matters not how someone is born, but what they become! Your Dementor has just destroyed the last surviving member of a pure-blood family as ancient as any-and look at what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now-if you take the steps I have suggested, you will be remembered, whether in office or not, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers for Magic we have ever known. Fail to act, and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"
"Insane," Fudge whispered, still retreating. "Mad..."
And then silence fell. Madam Pomfrey stood frozen at the foot of Harry's bed, her hands over her mouth. Mrs Weasley remained standing over Harry, her hand on his shoulder to prevent him from rising. Bill, Sabrina, Ron, and Hermione stared at Fudge.
"If your determination to remain blind carries you this far, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "we have reached a point of divergence. You must act as you see fit. And I-I shall act as I see fit." Dumbledore's voice held no trace of a threat; it sounded like a simple statement. But Fudge bristled as if Dumbledore were approaching him with a wand.
"Now, listen here, Dumbledore," Fudge said, waving a threatening finger. "I've given you free rein all this time. I have respected you greatly. I may not have agreed with all of your decisions, but I've remained silent. Not many would have allowed you to hire werewolves or keep Hagrid or decide what to teach your students without consulting the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me-"
"The only one I intend to work against," Dumbledore interrupted, "is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we, Cornelius, remain on the same side."
Fudge appeared to be at a loss for words. He rocked back and forth on his small feet for a moment and twirled his bowler hat in his hands.
Finally, with a touch of desperation in his voice, he said, "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he simply can't be..."
Snape strode forward, passing Dumbledore, and rolled up the left sleeve of his robes as he approached. He extended his forearm, showing it to Fudge, who recoiled.
"There," Snape said harshly. "There it is. The Dark Mark. It's not as clear as it was an hour ago when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater bears this mark, burned into their flesh by the Dark Lord. It served as a means of identification among us and as his way of summoning us. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate and Apparate instantly by his side. This Mark has been growing clearer throughout the year, as has Karkaroff's. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's retribution. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be certain of a warm welcome back into the fold."
Fudge stepped back from Snape, visibly shaken. He was shaking his head, seemingly unable to comprehend Snape's words. He stared in revulsion at the dark mark on Snape's arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, "I don't know what you and your staff are up to, Dumbledore, but I've heard enough. I have nothing more to say. I'll be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the management of this school. I must return to the Ministry."
He had nearly reached the door when he hesitated. Turning back, he walked down the dormitory and stopped at Harry's bed.
"Your winnings," he said curtly, pulling out a large bag of gold from his pocket and dropping it onto Harry's bedside table. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a ceremony to present it to you, but given the circumstances..."
He jammed his bowler hat on his head, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. As soon as Fudge disappeared, Dumbledore turned his attention to the group gathered around Harry's bed.
"There is work to be done," he stated. "Molly... can I count on you and Arthur?"
"Of course you can," Mrs Weasley replied. Her face was pale, but determination shone in her eyes. "He knows who Fudge is. It's Arthur's affinity for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge believes he lacks proper wizarding pride."
"Then I need to send a message to him," Dumbledore said. "We must inform all those we can convince of the truth immediately, and Arthur is well-positioned to reach those at the Ministry who are not as narrow-minded as Cornelius."
"I'll go to Dad," Bill offered. "I'll go right away."
"Excellent," Dumbledore responded. "Inform him about what has transpired. Let him know that I will be in direct contact with him soon. However, he will need to be discreet. If Fudge suspects my interference at the Ministry..."
"Leave it to me," Bill assured. He kissed Sabrina on her forehead, then walked to Harry's bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and swiftly left the room.
"Minerva," Dumbledore addressed Professor McGonagall, "I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. And if she is willing to come, Madame Maxime as well."
Professor McGonagall nodded silently and departed.
"Poppy," Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey, "would you be so kind as to go to Professor Moody's office? I believe you will find a distressed house-elf named Winky there. Provide any necessary care and take her back to the kitchens. I believe Dobby will look after her for us."
"Very well," Madam Pomfrey responded, looking startled, before leaving as well.
Dumbledore made sure the door was closed and waited for Madam Pomfrey's footsteps to fade before speaking again.
"And now," he said, "it is time for two of our members to recognize each other for who they truly are. Sirius... if you could revert to your usual form."
The large black dog glanced up at Dumbledore and, in an instant, transformed back into a man.
Mrs Weasley screamed and recoiled from the bed.
"Sirius Black!" she shrieked, pointing at him.
"Mum, Shut up!" Ron shouted. "It's alright!"
Snape hadn't yelled or moved back, but his expression was a mixture of fury and horror.
"Him!" he snarled, glaring at Sirius, who returned the dislike in his gaze. "What is he doing here?"
"He is here by my invitation," Dumbledore interjected, looking at both of them. "As are you, Severus. I trust both of you. It is time to put aside your old differences and trust each other."
Harry thought Dumbledore was asking for something nearly impossible. Sirius and Snape continued to eye each other with intense loathing.
"For now," Dumbledore continued, his voice tinged with impatience, "I will settle for a lack of open hostility. Shake hands. You are now on the same side. Time is short, and unless those of us who know the truth stand united, there is no hope for any of us."
Very slowly, though still glaring at each other as if they wished ill upon the other, Sirius and Snape reluctantly moved closer and shook hands. Their grip was brief, and they let go quickly.
"That will suffice for now," Dumbledore said, stepping between them again. "Now, I have tasks for each of you. Fudge's stance, while not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to leave immediately. Alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher-the old gang. Take refuge at Lupin's for a while. I will contact you there."
"But-" Harry began. He didn't want Sirius to leave so soon. He didn't want to say goodbye again.
"You'll see me very soon, Harry," Sirius assured him, turning toward him. "I promise. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "Yeah... of course I do."
Sirius briefly grasped Harry's hand, nodded to Dumbledore, transformed back into the black dog, and sprinted across the room to the door. With a paw, he turned the handle, and then he was gone.
"Severus," Dumbledore addressed Snape, turning to him, "you know what I must ask of you. If you are ready... if you are prepared..."
"I am," Snape replied. He appeared slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes shimmered with an unusual intensity.
"Then, good luck," Dumbledore said, watching Snape silently as he followed after Sirius.
Several minutes passed before Dumbledore spoke again.
"I must go downstairs," he finally said. "I need to see the Diggorys. Harry, finish the remainder of your potion. I will speak to all of you later."
Harry sank back against his pillows as Dumbledore disappeared from view. Hermione, Ron, and Mrs Weasley all focused their attention on him. Sabrina, however, didn't even spare him a glance. No one said a word for a long while.
"You must take the rest of your potion, Harry," Mrs Weasley eventually said. Her hand brushed against the sack of gold on his bedside table as she reached for the bottle and the goblet. "Have a good, long sleep. Try to think about something else for a while... think about what you'll buy with your winnings!"
"I don't want that gold," Harry replied in a voice devoid of emotion. "You can have it. Anyone can have it. I shouldn't have won it. It should have been Cedric's."
"It wasn't your fault, Harry," Mrs Weasley whispered.
Harry remained silent. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
"Mum," Sabrina spoke up. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. "I think Harry needs to be alone. And I-I think-"
A loud slamming noise interrupted her. Hermione was standing by the window, tightly gripping something in her hand.
"Sorry," she whispered, looking at Sabrina and mouthing something that only the two of them could understand. It brought a smile to Sabrina's face.
"I understand what you mean, dear," Mrs Weasley said. "Alright, Ron and Hermione, let's go now. Let the two of them rest... Harry, make sure you drink your potion, alright?"
Harry remained silent but nodded. Mrs Weasley gave Harry a hug, and then she went over to Sabrina's bed. "Get some rest, dear. Alright? And please don't overexert yourself," she said as she hugged her tightly.
"Alright, Mum. You too," Sabrina smiled warmly at Mrs Weasley.
"Goodnight, Harry," said Ron to Harry. To Sabrina's surprise, Ron hugged her.
"Night, Ronniekins," Sabrina responded.
"Goodnight, Harry. Goodnight, Sabrina," Hermione said.
After they left, silence engulfed the two of them.
Harry noticed Sabrina glance his way. "You should drink your potion now, Harry, and then get some sleep."
Harry didn't speak or move. He was too exhausted to do anything. Sabrina got up from her bed and went to his side. "If you feel like crying, let it out. Don't hold it in. Because it will weigh you down. The more you try to suppress it, the heavier it becomes. It's okay to cry. Crying isn't a sign of weakness. It means acknowledging the feelings you want to push away and it shows bravery," she said. Harry knew she was looking directly at his face. "But if you don't feel like crying, that's alright too." Harry didn't speak, but he looked at her.
"You know, Mrs Weasley-I mean, Mum-was right. It wasn't your fault," she said, the gentleness in her blue eyes and the comforting tone of her voice made Harry's numbness fade a little.
The thing that he had been fighting on and off since he emerged from the maze was threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel a burning, prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes. He blinked and stared up at the ceiling.
"I told him to take the Cup with me," Harry whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
The burning feeling spread to his throat, intensifying the weight of guilt within him. He wished Sabrina would avert her gaze, unable to bear her witnessing his anguish.
"It's not your fault, Harry. It will never be. You couldn't have known the Cup was a portkey or that Voldemort would return. You couldn't have predicted what would unfold," Sabrina reassured him gently.
He didn't want her to see him in such a vulnerable state, but he sensed that Sabrina understood his turmoil. Setting the potion down on the bedside cabinet, she settled herself on his bed. Turning her body to face him, she placed a comforting hand on the back of his head, guiding it gently to rest upon her shoulder. This way, his expression remained hidden from her, and he could allow himself to release the tears he had been holding back.
"Now, I can't see your face, nor do I possess ears to hear your cries or the words you speak," she murmured softly. "Imagine that I am your pillow, and that you are alone."
With those words, Harry felt the full weight of everything he had witnessed that night crash down upon him. His mother's face, his father's voice, and the haunting image of Cedric's lifeless body spun relentlessly in his mind, overwhelming him to the point of unbearable agony. He screwed up his face, attempting to stifle the howl of misery that fought to escape him.
Sabrina's hands soothingly rubbed circles on his back, providing a sense of solace. "You're incredibly brave, Harry. I am proud of you," she murmured. "Though I can't predict when things will get better, I know that you will find your way. Just remember, you are not alone in facing this. I am here. Ron and Hermione are here. Everyone is here for you."
Harry trembled, his body wracked with sobs, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.
"From now on, Harry, you can confide in me about everything. Whatever troubles you, no matter how small, I will - I will be here for you," she responded, her voice trembling, determined not to let it break.
Harry could hear sniffling, sensing that wetness had fallen upon the back of his head as Sabrina buried her face against him. And then, as if in an instant, their anguished cries intertwined, filling the entire room. Both shattered, both consumed by pain, both grappling with their own uncertainties. One yearned for the cessation of his own suffering, while the other sought to alleviate the torment of the other. Different, yet united by the same fervent longing.
In the depths of their shared sorrow, a profound connection sparked between them. It was a moment where time seemed to stand still, and the air crackled with an unspoken understanding. Their tears intertwined, weaving a tapestry of empathy and vulnerability. In that intimate embrace, a subtle magic danced between them, hinting at a future where their paths would converge in extraordinary ways. Their souls whispered of a connection beyond words, a destiny waiting to unfold. And as they clung to each other, they couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something enchanting, a story that would shape their lives in ways they couldn't yet fathom.
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Dearest Diary,
I'm at a loss for words as I recount the events that unfolded involving Harry and Cedric. How did I witness it all? How did I manage to delve into Harry's thoughts and experience his emotions in that moment? It's incredible and overwhelming to comprehend. What strikes me profoundly is the realization that even a fictional character can be subjected to such profound anguish. Oh, how I wish I could alleviate Harry's pain If only it were within my power to absorb it all, or better yet, pass it on to someone else who could bear the burden. Harry doesn't deserve this torment, Diary. None of it. He's just a fourteen-year-old, for heaven's sake! So young and vulnerable. I can't help but fret and ache alongside him, Diary. My heart yearns for tomorrow, desperately hoping that when he wakes, all this anguish will have dissipated into thin air. But deep down, I know it's an impossible wish to fulfill.
With deep concern and a heavy heart,
(Y/n) Wilkins