Chapter Text
Fleur Delacour had been so close to winning. She hadn't thought she would, after placing last... But she had touched the Cup and now she was--
Je suis où?
She had no idea where she was. The Cup lay dejected next to her--no, between her and... Viktor Krum. So, she hadn't won. She would probably have to duel him. Just her luck.
They both sat up and looked at each other in confusion.
"It vos a Portkey," Krum muttered. "Did you know this?" he asked her.
"Non," she muttered. "No one told me. But we should 'ave our wands out. It feels... dangerous."
Krum grunted in response.
"Is zis part of ze Task?" she wondered aloud.
Again, Krum didn't answer. He was moving ahead, his wand in hand. She saw what he was after. A figure was walking towards them in the mist. It was carrying something.
"Krum!" she called. "Wait."
He froze, and turned to look at her curiously, but held back. "I don't think this is part of the Task," he whispered, taking a few steps back to stand next to her. "There is Dark magic here."
The figure they watched stopped by one of the headstones, and Fleur realized for the first time that they were in a graveyard. This did not make her feel any better.
"We need to go to back. Maybe ze cup will take us back." She turned around.
"No," Krum hissed, taking her wrist. "First, ve find out vot is going on."
Then, a voice cried out into the fog and the mist and the gravestones. It was high and sharp, and made Fleur's skin itch like nails on chalk board.
"Harry Potter!" it cried.
"He is not here," Krum called back. "Ve are the vinners."
The figure crept closer, and a different voice called out, and it was nearly as unpleasant. "Where is Harry Potter?"
Fleur saw what he was holding now. It looked like a baby wrapped in cloth. She wondered what a baby would be doing in a graveyard with... this unfortunate looking man.
She began to wonder if what everyone had said about Harry Potter was true. Perhaps someone was out to get him... And everything all led to this. Her breath quickened, and suddenly, she wished she had never touched the Cup.
"Krum," she breathed, pulling on his grip on her, pulling towards the cup.
"No!" he hissed, glaring at her. "Ve cannot run. Ve are not cowards."
The voice in the fog laughed. "No, you're not. Are you, Krum? You come from Durmstrang. I'm sure you know of many people who have followed me. Brave people, Krum."
"Who are you?" Fleur cried.
The voice laughed again, and everything inside of Fleur felt like it ached, and she began to tremble. It spoke again. "Harry Potter's worst enemy. And you're smart enough to know what that means."
Non... Ce n'est pas vrai... Voldemort....
The voice laughed, and the man drew his wand. "They are not Harry Potter, my Lord. They cannot help you Rise. What shall I do?" His voice quavered, and his wand hand shook. Fleur felt herself wishing that he would drop whatever was wrapped up and he was carrying.
"Don't kill them. Yet," the voice commanded. "They can help us."
"Vot do you vont?" Krum demanded, and Fleur saw fear in his eyes that she would never have expected.
"I need Harry Potter, of course," the voice--Voldemort--hissed. "I need him so I may come back. You could help, me Krum. You would be exalted in my ranks. A true follower, like Wormtail here."
"T-thank you, my Lord." The man--Wormtail--stuttered.
"Hush, rat," the voice snapped. "Now, Krum. Can you get Harry Potter for me?" he asked, apparently ignoring Fleur. Of course he was. Everyone ignored her. She was just the pretty girl from Beauxbatons. She was nothing to worry about, they thought. She would show them.
"I--I--" Krum stuttered, unable to make a decision. Fleur was quicker, already devising her plan in her head.
"I will," she announced. "I can bring you Potter. He will never suspect me," she added.
Krum spun on her, and she saw the betrayal in his eyes. She was surprised. She had thought he was some sort of coward; she didn't know he had morals.
She smirked as Voldemort above her spoke. He was like a god. He want her to bow. He wanted to rule.
"Good. I will need you to--"
She did not listen, and instead she ran towards Wormtail. He screeched, and dropped the thing in his arms. Voldemort in the air wailed. She cast a Stunning spell at Wormtail, and he crumpled to the ground. Krum cast an extra spell at him, and she thought it might have killed him. She hoped so.
Then, the screech turned louder. She felt something descend upon her--a sickliness, a griminess, a pain... It writhed within her like a parasite, and she felt herself falling to the ground.
It was Dark magic.
She felt strong arms on her shoulders, dragging her to the Cup. She felt the hand lift, and another curse was cast, and then they were touching the Cup.
There was a deafening screech and the familiar tug of a Portkey, and she was free from the graveyard.
Cedric felt several healing spells on him, and warm hands touching his body. He heard a buzzing sound, and was vaguely aware that the world was still in motion. He was not dead.
And then, he felt his side knit back together, and it felt as though something grimy and fluid was being pulled from him. Once it was gone, his eyes snapped open, and he could hear chaos erupting around him.
"Cedric!" Several people were crying. His parents, Dumbledore, Alfred, Harry....
"Harry," Cedric whispered, his voice a croak. "Did you win?"
Harry's face was above his, looking down into his eyes. "No." Harry choked, but it wasn't from regret. "Fleur and Krum reached it at the same time, and it was a Portkey. We don't know where they went."
Cedric's eyes widened, and he tried to sit up, but a churning, stitching pain prevented him from doing so on his own. Harry helped him up, using a hand to support him by the small of his back. "Was it the Dark Lord? Was it for you?"
"Perhaps," Dumbledore's deep, calm voice boomed next to him. "We are about to find out. It appears as though our Champions have returned."
Cedric turned his head, and he saw Fleur on the ground, clutching her head and screaming. Krum was standing next to her, holding her up. A wild fear danced in his eyes.
Dumbledore drifted away to help, and so did several other people that had crowded around him. In a moment, it was just him and Harry, and his parents, and Ronald.
And Professor Moody. "Harry. You must come with me," the wild old man urged him. "If the Dark Lord is risen, we must get you somewhere safe." He hissed, his eye spinning around.
Cedric was grateful when Harry didn't move. Instead, he gripped Cedric tighter. "I'm safe here. Everyone else is here, and the Dark Lord won't come after me as long as I'm at Hogwarts."
Cedric closed his eyes, because his head throbbed terribly, but Mad-Eye Moody kept on talking.
"Harry! Don't be a fool. This is the Dark Lord we're talking about. We need to get you somewhere, away from this school, so that He--"
Cedric heard his father interrupt him. "What are you talking about?" he cried. "The Dark Lord has not risen. Leave my son and Harry alone."
Moody made a hissing sound, and he was probably about to say something. But then Dumbledore's voice filled the air under a Sonorous charm.
"Everyone must remain calm. No one is to leave the school grounds. Your Heads of House will escort you back to your dormitories," the Headmaster announced. The charm dropped, and Cedric chose to open his eyes again.
"I'm not leaving you," Harry assured him. "Let's go figure out what's going on. Can you get up?"
Cedric groaned. He didn't think he could. "No. Just hold me up like this," he requested. He felt Harry wrap himself around Cedric completely from behind, and he was now sitting in the smaller boy's lap, being held up.
Cedric's father was still arguing with Moody. They were shouting over something, and Moody was gradually beginning to sound less and less stable.
"I need Potter to come with me!" he screeched. "He wasn't the one who touched the Cup! He's still here!"
Dumbledore strode over to confront them now, and Cedric felt as though he were watching from very far away. Harry was stiff beside him, evaluating the situation before him.
"We should be grateful that Harry did not touch the Cup. Fleur and Viktor have just informed me that Voldemort was there, claiming that he needed Harry to resurrect him," Dumbledore explained calmly.
Amos Diggory rounded on Moody. "And how did you know that beforehand?" he demanded, referring to Moody's prior drivel.
Harry stiffened around Cedric. "They saw Voldemort," he gasped. Cedric was worried he might dash away, so he grabbed his boyfriend's wrists to keep him in place.
"That's what this has been all about, then," Cedric whispered.
Harry nodded, pulling Cedric closer. "I wonder what's the matter with Moody..."
Crouch was upset. Very, very, very upset.
His Dark Lord had not risen, and Harry Potter was not dead. Neither were the scummy spares who went to replace Potter. They had seen his Lord, and they had lived to tell the tale.
He blamed Wormtail's incompetence. He was the only other follower who knew his Lord was trying to rise, the only other one he could speak to. And if Wormtail had failed, it was Crouch's responsibility to warn the others. He had to get them out of Azkaban, the ones who were loyal enough to still stand for his Lord. The rest were cowards.
Perhaps it was better this way. Those cowards would not have the right to meet his Lord newly risen.
But for now, he had to get away. Away from Hogwarts, away from Dumbledore, and out of Moody's body. And he needed Potter to come with him.
Dumbledore had come over now, too, and Crouch was being assaulted on all sides. Why wouldn't they just listen?
"Give me Potter," he seethed, "and no one gets hurt." He whipped out his wand. He was still Moody, people still feared him, no one suspected who he was yet....
He was about to cast a spell towards the Diggory boy that Potter was so enraptured with. If he didn't have to cling all over Diggory, then Potter would just come with him... And he could lead him to his Lord....
He screamed. There was a spell being cast on him, dammit, and he hadn't even heard it. It must have been Dumbledore. He was the only one powerful enough to cast something wandless like that.
He was now in a full body bind, and all he could do was scream.
And then, unable to reach his flask, he felt the Polyjuice fade out of effect as he morphed to become Crouch again. He tried to shut the world out, to will himself out of existence, but three drops of liquid hit his tongue. The body bind was released, and it was replaced with ropes. He felt his body slump into submission as they asked him questions, and he had no choice to but to betray his Lord.
Yes, he had put Potter's name into the Cup.
Yes, he was trying to resurrect the Dark Lord.
No, he was not the only one doing it.
There was only one other. Wormtail. Oh, they killed him?
Yes, he had rigged the Tasks.
Yes, he had tried to kill Diggory. Many times. He sabotaged him often.
Yes, he had killed his father.
No, Alastor Moody was not dead. He was in a trunk in his quarters. Dying, but not dead.
No, there were no plans to free the loyal Death Eaters.
No. He did not think his Lord could rise now.
Not for a while. We must inspire the cowards.
My Lord cannot be killed easily.
Ludo had failed.
Not only had he failed to win over Trelawney, but he had also not paid off a single one of his debts. There were goblins after him still, he knew, and they would probably want him dead.
He could have dealt with all that before, of course. But today, it was too much, because Ludo had failed in an even greater manner than he had ever anticipated.
He had let Moody--who turned out to be Grouch's Death Eater son Barty Crouch Jr.--manipulate him. He had let a Death Eater make him fail, make him put his Champions into mortal danger.
No. He could not live with himself. He had to go. To run. To hide.
I have failed.
Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or utterly terrified.
Mad Eye Moody had never actually been Moody, but a Death Eater. But the Death Eater had been apprehended by Dumbledore before his plan could fall through.
However, his plan had been to resurrect Voldemort. And if that wasn't terrifying, he didn't know what was. Krum and Fleur were safe, though, and even though Crouch Jr.'s attempts to kill Cedric had been horrible, he was still alive and in his arms.
He winced as he heard Crouch's last words.
"I hate you, Potter!"
Then, the Dementors had come in all their chill and gloom, and gave Crouch The Kiss. While they were there, Harry wrapped himself around Cedric even harder and sobbed. Visions of Cedric dying at the hands of Voldemort flashed before his eyes, of Voldemort rising, of his world falling apart...
And then they were gone. The world was bright and clear again, and Cedric was breathing in his arms.
"We didn't die." Cedric reminded him.
Viktor watched the Dementors leave. He felt little effect once they were gone--despair and fear still clutched his heart. He had seen the heart of Darkness. He thought he had almost seen innocent Fleur succumb to it, but she had been a hero.
But Viktor? He had almost given in to the Dark Lord. Beneath his booming voice were whispers of promises of fame and glory and greatness. Of power, and protection for those he loved.
He was back now, and Hermione was with him, and her eyes shone bright as always. The light within her made him question why he could have been so weak. How could he have possibly given into the Dark when it would have destroyed this beautiful Light before him?
Hermione held him in an embrace. "I'm glad he didn't kill you. Or kill Harry. I hope he never Rises." She breathed into his ear, and he felt a chill go down his spine.
He never wanted Voldemort--IT--to rise. He wanted IT gone from this earth. He felt so much power when he had resisted it, he saw the pain Fleur was experiencing, as if she had been under the Cruciatus curse. He felt the rage IT had given him, telling him to kill Fleur, which he had used to kill 'Wormtail' instead.
Oh, he was glad he had killed him.
But I have killed.
"Hermione," he choked. "Vill you ever forgive me?"
Of course she would. She was his Light.
The Dark Lord had almost risen. He had almost come back to power.
Draco felt a shiver go down his spine. He would never tell his father, but he was glad it was not so. His father was already a cruel man; he didn't need a cruel king commanding him.
As long as the Dark Lord never rose, Draco still had freedom. He still had hope that he would not become his father, that his father would not force him to follow that path. There was still hope he could be happy, that his mother could be safe--
And that Potter can live.
Oh, Draco knew the Dark Lord would rise, eventually. His father had whispered to him of prophecies, of Potter's power, of the Dark Lord's vengeance. And until Potter and Voldemort faced each other, he could never rest.
But he could hope that Potter would win out in the end, even if he could never tell anyone.
He choked back the urge to kill something when he looked over and saw that Potter was still wrapped around Diggory. His father must have felt it, because he placed a hand of his shoulder.
"I am enraged, too, Draco," he whispered. "We were so close. He could have risen. I hate Potter just as much as you do. Our Lord will kill him in due time."
Draco bit his lip to fight back a bark of laughter. You have no idea who I hate.
"I will write my contacts. We will see what we can do about helping our Lord." His father laughed deeply. "And we will hurt Potter. You can help me with that, I know."
No.
No.
NO!
Cedric was in the hospital wing. Harry was beside him, awake but breathing softly. Cedric himself had just woken up.
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked him.
"Better. Still shitty, though." Cedric laughed, and he blissfully stared into those green eyes.
"Hermione and Ron and Krum just left. Fleur is still basically in comatose, though," Harry murmured. "That could have been one of us," he whispered.
"But it wasn't," Cedric reminded him. "We're alive, and everything is okay."
Harry laughed wryly. "Yeah. It's a good thing we didn't win, huh?"
Cedric laughed too. "It is," he agreed. "And thanks for not trying. Otherwise you'd be dead, and we'd have a Dark Lord on our hands."
Harry groaned. "I don't even want to imagine. I did enough of that already," he confessed.
Cedric frowned. "I did, too," he muttered. He tried to sit up, and found that he could this time. He looked Harry in the eyes. "Will you come stay with me this summer?" he asked. "I don't want you going back to the Dursleys."
Harry frowned. "I have to," he muttered. "Their blood magic protects me."
Cedric scoffed. "And a fat lot of good it's done every year since you came here. It wasn't blood magic that protected you today, either. In fact, if I had anything to say in the matter, I'd call it on our love."
Harry blushed. "They say that's what did it the first time."
"Then come stay with me," Cedric urged him. "You'll be safe."
Harry flashed him a corny smile. "Well, I can't exactly say no to that, can I?"
~fin~