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TWENTY
——THE THIRD TASK
LUDO BAGMAN AND CORNELIUS HAD JOINED THE STAFF TABLE NOW. Eleazar sat between her and Pansy at the Slytherin table, pointedly ignoring the people gawking at him because he was a well-respected Head Healer and muggle doctor before he became a higher up French official, and sometimes, American envoy.
Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate. Hagrid kept glancing along the table at her.
That must be to do with the whole half-giant debacle that Rita Skeeter wrote, Effie thinks. After all, Fudge did accuse Madam Maxime about murdering Crouch Sr.
There were more courses than usual, but Effie, even if she was in a strangely calm state of mind and body, didn't eat much. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now."
"Oh lord," Effie mumbled. This was when all tribulation and anxiety hits. When she stood, the whole Slytherin table erupted in cheers, even banging their hands on table in solid support.
"Good luck," Eleazar grinned at her, raising his hands in the air for her to see him clapping. Ginny even cheered for her as Effie joined the other four champions.
"I probably shouldn't have binged on all the coffee," Effie says to Cedric, clasping her hands in front of her calmly. "But in my defense, it does cancel out the effects of asthma four hours from consumption."
"I'm sweating and it hasn't even begun yet," Cedric admits in a quiet whisper, consciously crossing his arms and hoped none could see the sweat stains under his armpits. "Merlin, how do you do it? So calm like that?"
"I can't let lose and let emotion take over, Cedric," Effie explained, eyes shining in amusement. "It's one of my asthma's triggers. And I suppose I have backup plans on top of backup plans. . . actually, I'm past being stressed. This is just. . . I don't know, autopilot?" He looked at her, confused.
They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.
Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill—the air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear.
Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.
"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," Professor McGonagall stated to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"
The champions nodded.
"Off you go, then!" Bagman said brightly to the four patrollers. "Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Right in first place is Miss Lillian Stark, with ninety-two points! Tied in second place, with eighty-five points each Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, all three of Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky.
"In third place, with eighty points—Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause. "And in fourth place—Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"
Effie didn't bother looking up at the stands. She'd probably lose her calm persona if she did. Smell the roses, blow the candles. Smell the roses, blow the candles. Smell the roses, blow the candles—
"So. . . on my whistle, Effie!" Bagman said. "Three—two—one—!"
Right at the end of his sentence, and the whistle starts to blow, Effie ran into the maze. It was dark and cold when she enters—there's no turning back. Effie practiced her rhythmic breathing, alright. She's competing against a damn Hufflepuff, a damn good finder at that, and the boy who's very experienced in danger.
The only leverage she has is the headstart. Everything felt muted around her as she walked further, with lumos maxima as her guide, even with the how bright it was, she could only see about thirty feet ahead of her.
Alright, Effie. Time to be a Slytherin, she thinks. Maybe this is where the red door comes in handy—this is the time to be cunning as hell.
The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. The path ahead of her was just straight ahead. Effie cursed, placing her wand on her top of her palm. "Point me."
Her wand spun around once, before it pointed to her left, right in a solid hedge. So here she was in the north, and needs to go northeast for this to work.
(If only she could climb the hedges.)
The lack of obstacles was unnerving her. She refused to fall into its lure of the false sense of security. She hurried on, actually falling into a pit of liquid sand when she turned left.
"Fucking—" Thankfully, it only went up to her knees and her hands met the solid asphalt of the left path. She doesn't have time for that. Effie pulled herself out with great difficulty and carried on running. . . when suddenly, there was a demented laugh ahead.
Emerging from the darkness was her mum, missing several patches of hair from her head. The hairs on the back of Effie's neck stood on its ends in fear—a boggart. She pointed her wand, refusing to be crippled by the fear. "Riddikulus!"
Effie continued on, trying to shiver away the fact that she felt like she was being watched.
"Crucio!"
A sharp scream shattered the silence around her as Effie fell to her knees, pain stabbing at her entire being. It's an illusion. Get up, Effie, GET UP!
"Not so powerful now, are you?" There, in all his mad glory, was Barty Crouch Jr. "Figuring out all my plans? I heard you were adept with psychology, is it?" He tsked, walking behind her, his wand still pointed. "Worked out how to get past all the Unforgivables."
"It's just an illusion," Effie says to herself with gritted teeth, spotting her wand a few feet from her. "It's not real—"
"Even if you believe it wasn't," Crouch Jr. came to a stop behind her as she slowly rose. "You're just a girl who knows too much. I've intended to let you live after evading my attempts to kill you, but—" A string suddenly wrapped around her throat. A garrote? Her hands grabbed at the string as another scream (which wasn't hers) interrupts them, but it's nearer, "—you're just a girl who knew too much."
"No, no!" She cried out, letting out another shriek. "Fleur! Stop with the maudlin theatrics, arsehole!"
"Stop fighting!" He barked. "Make this easier for you! You can't hurt me anymore—you're powerless without your wand!"
Effie's elbow collided with his knee in a last attempt to live as she suffocated for a second, hearing it crack. He let out a yelp, which turned into a groan as she fought back in a muggle combat way. "I DON'T NEED MAGIC TO HURT YOU, YOU BITCH! I'M A SLYTHERIN!"
Her fist collides with his eye socket painfully, her voice echoing through the night—she's positive she's never shouted that loud. Effie was always soft spoken.
She swiped up her wand as she spun away, whirling around and yelled, "Stupefy!" The force of the Stunning Spell was so strong he was sent a few feet back. Effie sent red sparks up in the air, turned around and ran without looking back.
Effie wiped a tear from her cheek, she nearly died from what she knew, free hand grabbing at the marks that the garrote left around her neck. Bruises, probably. Broken, choppy sobs spill from her lips as she ran, before she had to stop as Blast-Ended Skrewts blocked her way.
"Bombarda Maxima!" She snapped, wasting no time jumping over them. Somehow, she stabilizes her breathing. Smell the roses, blow the candles. Smell the roses, blow the candles. Smell the roses, blow the candles—her anxiety heightens when she hears footsteps slapping the pavement behind her.
"Point me!" She says harshly, and dashed in the open way it pointed. Effie was nearer now. The quicker I get the cup, the quicker I get out of here—glory be damned.
Effie was running, running until something hit her from the side, ramming her into two hedges (bloody hell, I should be dead now) and rolled onto an empty path. "Fucking hell," Effie gasped, gingerly grabbing onto her side. "What the hell was that. . . ?"
Her eyes stung—maybe she should send up red sparks—absolutely not! You made it this far, get up! Get up and fight!
With a wheeze, and a cough, Effie slowly rolled herself to her knees, dizzily and quite clumsily. Up ahead was an opening, something glimmering—it was the damn cup!
Effie, with the support of the hedge next to her, made her way as fast as possible. If she gave in to the false sense of security that point on, she would've banged up more badly than her condition right now.
She hears yells of pain, multiple spells (probably failed)—Effie can't help now, not in the state she's in. Rather painfully, she pointed her wand at her ribs. "Episkey!" Loud cracks signified her ribs were healing, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell as she yelped, hissing.
"Effie!" Two calls of her name across from her as she limped closer to the cup. She furrowed her brows at the strange sight in front of her. Cedric, standing next to Potter, who was on his back, his leg bleeding.
Besides that, they looked to be fine. Effie was another story. Compared to them, she was a bloody train wreck. "How on earth am I more banged up than both of you?"
"What on earth even happened to you?" Potter shot back. Her appearance must be horrendous by now—covered almost head to toe in her own blood.
"Not important," Effie waved off. "Just that I'm. . . mildly able," She glanced at the cup. Krum and Fleur weren't anywhere near. "I'm obviously the third one here, so if you could please—" She gestures to it. "—one of you get it and get it over with, I'd like to get out of here alive."
"He should take it," Cedric points at Potter with a frustrated note in his voice. Potter had stood up by then.
"All three of us then," Potter decided. "We all managed to get here, still a Hogwarts victory even then."
"A poetic ending, how cliche," Effie snorts weakly, wincing as she cracked her neck. "I'm all for it."
Cedric suddenly breaks into a grin, "Let's do this." He and Potter grabbed the handles—Effie grabbed the body of the Trophy.
Instantly, Effie felt a jerk somewhere behind her navel. Her feet had left the ground. She could not unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup—it was pulling her onward in a howl of wind and swirling color, along with Cedric and Potter.
As fast as it was there, Effie felt her feet slam on the ground, sending a wave of pain up her back. Potter's leg gave way, she and Cedric quickly grabbing him. "Where are we?" He questioned.
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. Effie could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
"What in fuck's name is this?" Effie hissed angrily, completely losing her tact now as blood dribbled down her temple from being blundered through the hedges.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Potter. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?"
"Nope," Potter answered. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
"I dunno," Cedric said. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"No shit," Effie answers the same time Potter says yeah. "If this happens to be a part of the task, I am calling a goddamn lawsuit. How in Merlin's name are we supposed to make it back?"
They start walking around, when suddenly, Potter whip his arm out to stop Effie from advancing further, earning a small ow from her. "Someone's coming," he said suddenly.
Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Effie 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.
She crept quietly towards Cedric for a better view, watching from his other side. Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And—several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time—Effie saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby... or was it merely a bundle of robes?
(If Effie wasn't a damn witch, this would've been a questionable sight.)
Suddenly, Potter dropped his wand, fell to his knees with his hands over his forehead—wait no, his scar! Effie had half the mind to curse him then and there—but then, from far away, she heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare."
Everything was too fast—one minute, Effie was in front of them, then Cedric was grabbing her arms, turning them around so he was in front instead, his back to the speaker, then a blast of green light—
It registered to her when Cedric's body fell forward into her arms, a loud whimper erupted from her mouth as she fell with his weight. Effie throws him off, and sobbed loudly as his body laid spread-eagled next to her, his eyes unseeing.
He saved her—but before she could focus on that, a large force hit the back of her head. The world went spinning, spinning until everything was sideways, and her back meets the uneven ground.
The last thing she sees is Cedric's wide, hollow eyes, and then her eyes slip shut, Potter's calls for her to stay awake was lost on dead ears.
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