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The Most Beautiful Witch Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2024-03-12 15:59:01 +0000 UTCAN: This is a commissioned work for an anonymous user.
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The roar of the crowd dimmed in Harry’s mind as he met Astoria’s worried gaze up in the stands. Despite how hard they’d trained together, he knew that it was never going to be enough to completely reassure her that he’d be totally fine. After all, the Triwizard Tournament was shut down before because its participants were killed in one of the tasks.
But Harry wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d already made it past the Hungarian Horntail and delved to the bottom of the Black Lake with only a few burns and scrapes to his name; this third and final task wasn’t going to be any different.
Besides, he had more incentive on the line now.
Daphne was sitting right next to Astoria, and while she did a much better job hiding her worries and anxiety, Harry had gotten much better at reading her emotions and how they subtly played out across her expression. For instance, her eyes tended to flicker around a lot more when she was concerned about something, and Harry could see her now scanning every inch of the staging area outside of the maze like she was searching for any danger before the task had even begun.
Her searching only stalled when she realised that Harry was looking up at her now. The intensity of his gaze brought a faint blush to her cheeks, and he knew that they were both thinking the same thing: Daphne had promised to further their relationship if he won the tournament. He knew it probably wasn’t actually contingent on that, but they both pretended like it was. Even Astoria had gotten in on the joking, saying that Harry would never have a chance to take Daphne’s virginity if he didn’t win the tournament.
Well, even though Harry wanted to win the tournament for his own sake, he still wanted to put on a good show for his girls. And if they were going to reward him after the fact, then all the better. He’d use it as additional motivation to help him win this thing.
The crowd’s roars reached a fevered pitch as the other champions stepped out onto the small stage that had been erected in front of the stands.
Viktor was looking as tall and intimidating as ever as he stared out into the crowds. Although he was normally friendly and pleasant enough, although quite reserved, he didn’t spare the other champions so much as a single glance. Perhaps he was too nervous to, or maybe he was just too focused on the task ahead of them.
Cedric was next, and any former anger Harry had harboured to the handsome man was long since gone now. It still amazed him to think that just a few months ago, he’d been so hung up on Cho Chang that he’d called his godfather through the floo, looking for emotional support. Cho and Cedric had continued to date since the Yule Ball, and both of them had practically left Harry’s mind completely ever since he met Astoria.
“Alright, Harry?” Cedric asked with a friendly smile as he came to a stop on Harry’s left.
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks,” Harry replied easily. “You alright?”
“Feeling pretty chuffed to have made it here in the first place,” Cedric laughed quietly. “My dad’s in the stands; I bet we’ll hear him cheering even from inside of the maze.”
“I’m glad he’s here for you,” Harry told him sincerely.
Suddenly, a sorrowful look crossed Cedric’s face. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean anything by—”
“You’re fine,” Harry waved him off. It wasn’t like not having his parents around needed to stop other people from being happy that theirs were. “Besides, I’ve sort of got my own family here too.”
Cedric followed Harry’s gaze into the stands where Astoria and Daphne were sitting and smiled.
Finally, Fleur climbed the steps to the stage and settled into place on Harry’s right. The beautiful Veela had mostly avoided Harry ever since that incident where Astoria blew up on and then kissed her in the Great Hall, having clearly understood the boundaries that Astoria had established.
With all of the champions assembled, Ludo Bagman began his speech to the crowd, reminding them of the current standings and the objective of the Third Task: to navigate the maze and reach the Triwizard Cup at its centre. Harry already knew it all though, and so he spent his last moments staring back at Astoria and Daphne, thinking of how beautiful they looked today.
The looming hedges behind the stage rustled as a cold wind rushed through the field. Even though it was only the late afternoon, dark storm clouds were drifting in and darkening the maze and the lands around Hogwarts.
A hand clasped Harry’s shoulder, surprising him.
“You’re up first,” Bagman said with a bright smile on his face. “Get ready for my whistle.”
Harry nodded, feeling his heart begin to race in excitement. Now was finally the time for him to show off everything he’d learnt over the past year and to win this bloody tournament once and for all.
He walked off the stage down to the wide entrance into the maze. Dark shadows crisscrossed from the uneven, towering hedges, but Harry brushed away whatever minuscule amount of fear had tried to creep into him.
The whistle sounded, and Harry crossed the threshold into the maze.
As soon as he was completely within the maze, all of the sounds behind him became muted. It sounded more like a distant, muffled cheer than the roar he’d heard moments ago. He glanced over his shoulder back at everyone, and they seemed to be cheering just as loudly as before. There must be wards placed over the maze, he realised.
Harry quickly turned back towards the path ahead and started jogging forward. He quickly reached a crossroads and veered left. The second he rounded the corner, he heard another shrill whistle sound overhead. By the time he reached the next junction, the next whistle sounded.
The final whistle came just as Harry was halfway towards the next fork up ahead. He knew the layout of the Quidditch Pitch well from his time spent flying around it, so even though the tall hedges were messing with his perception of it, he knew the general path he needed to take to reach the centre of the maze. Each time he came upon a fork or a crossroads, he mentally tracked the change in his direction and focused on marking down his current location in the imaginary map he was keeping in his mind.
It took six junctions before Harry encountered the first difficulty within the maze. The hedges were beginning to narrow, leaving him with only a little bit more space than he’d practised with, and a massive stretch of swamp lay before him. Disgusting brown water covered with floating leaves and scum stretched from hedge to hedge for at least a good thirty metres. Dead branches were sticking up out of the water, and a Giant Purple Toad stood at the opposite end of the swamp from Harry.
As the Giant Purple Toad locked eyes with Harry, it suddenly leapt into the water, revealing it to be far deeper than Harry had anticipated.
Well, there was no way that he was going to go swimming through that water. Giant Purple Toads weren’t known to be particularly aggressive, but Harry was sure that whoever designed this maze must have a few tricks up their sleeve.
“Accio,” Harry called out as he flicked his wand towards one of the larger branches sticking out of the water.
The branch shot towards him, and Harry stepped out of its path and snatched it from the air with his free hand. The branch was a bit bigger than a broomstick, but he figured it’d fit his purpose just as well.
After a quick cleaning charm, Harry mounted the branch like he would his broom. Then, he cast the levitation charm on it.
“Hell!” Harry shouted as he fell forward and nearly slid off the branch entirely. He’d thought his idea was especially clever, but it turned out that controlling charms while balancing atop a branch was far harder than expected.
He forced his feet back to the ground and focused on making sure that his balance was just right before he took to the air again. The branch wobbled violently, but it never tilted too far in any one direction to send Harry flying off of it.
“Easy does it,” he murmured as he focused his intent through his charm.
The branch jolted forward a few centimetres before coming to a sharp stop. Harry cursed, gritted his teeth, and tried again. This time, he managed to force his makeshift broom forward a metre before it stopped on him again.
He only got the hang of it once he was halfway across the swamp. While the branch was still shaking as he rode it, his control over his charm was much more stable than before.
As he neared the far shore, there was a disturbance in the water below him. Thankfully, he’d been keeping an eye on the water ever since the Giant Purple Toad hid in it. He forced extra power into his charm, propelling him forward uncontrollably just as the Giant Purple Toad’s tongue shot out from underneath it. It grasped nothing but air as Harry zoomed past it.
Unfortunately, as effective as his dodge was, it sent him careening right towards a hedge in front of him. Harry mentally screamed at his charm to slow down, and it did. Only, it did it too well.
Harry flipped forwards off of his makeshift broomstick as it slowed to a crawl. He hit the ground hard, groaning from the impact.
“Great,” Harry muttered to himself as he got back to his feet. “One trap and I’ve already fallen flat on my face.”
If Astoria and Daphne could see him now, he was sure that they’d be trying not to laugh at him.
But just as he was about to count his losses and cancel his charm, Harry’s makeshift broomstick slowly bumped into the hedge ahead of him and was promptly incinerated by a fireball thrown from the right.
Harry spun, his wand at the ready, and spotted a Fire Crab scuttling around the corner towards him. Its mottled shell was muted under the cover of shadows from the hedges, but the creature itself was animated and deadly as it unleashed another gout of flame towards the already burning branch.
Strangely enough, the Fire Crab was scuttling backwards towards the branch, and that was when Harry spotted the circular gap in between its body and shell. He remembered Hagrid talking about these creatures once and his interest in them. They had the ability to shoot out fire from behind them, and Harry had clearly found the source of where those flames came from.
Even though the beast hadn’t spotted Harry yet, he acted before he could get attacked by it.
“Bombarda!” Harry shouted, pointing his wand towards the ground near the Fire Crab.
The spell struck the ground and sent the Fire Crab reeling away from him as it tried to recover from the shock of the explosion, and dirt and grass rained down around the small crater that Harry had created.
Harry twisted his wand then in a wide spiral, focusing his intent on the clumps of dirt that laid around the Fire Crab. It took a lot of concentration, but he managed to lift them all up at once and combine them together into a massive clump.
“Depulso!” Harry cried out as he jabbed his wand towards the Fire Crab.
The huge clump of dirt fired right at the gap that allowed the flames to expel out of the Fire Crab. The dirt fired into the hole, clogging up the free area between the Fire Crab’s shell and its body, and Harry kept on applying the pressure until the dirt had formed a tight seal.
The Fire Crab was stunned by what had just happened, but the moment it laid its eyes on Harry, instinct took over. It tried to unleash its flames on Harry, but the fire never came. The creature tried harder and harder to expel the flames from its body, and Harry started to see flames leaking out from other sections under the Fire Crab’s shell.
“Confringo!” Harry jabbed his wand towards the creature again. Although the blast wasn’t enough to really injure the Fire Crab yet due to its magically-protected shell, it was powerful enough to scare the creature enough that it started running away from the fight.
Harry considered pursuing it for a moment but quickly realised that it would be a fruitless endeavour. His goal was the cup at the centre of the maze, not defeating a Fire Crab in combat.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how many more Blasting Curses it would have taken to breach the Fire Crab’s defences. Their shells were legendary for their value, toughness, and usability as a cauldron, and it took a competent wizard to actually destroy one. His first spell hadn’t been enough to really hurt it, but a few more…
Harry shook the thought from his head. There’d be time to think about such things later. For now, he needed to get to the centre of the maze.
Harry continued on his search, delving deeper and deeper into the winding, confusing mess of hedges. Between the shadows and overcast skies, it would have been easy for him to lose his bearings if he wasn’t keeping focused on that exact thing. The Point Me spell would only show him where north was but not his relation to the centre of the maze, so he couldn’t rely on it entirely; he needed to keep his mental map in top condition.
And it was upon examining that mental map that Harry realised that he was getting closer to the centre of the maze. It had almost felt too easy to reach this point with only a couple of complications in his way, but he trusted in his knowledge of the layout of the Quidditch Pitch to guide him.
He kept moving forward through the maze, pushing towards the centre to the best of his ability. The skies continued to darken overhead, forcing him to eventually illuminate the tip of his wand to ward off the shadows at his feet. He didn’t want to be caught off by some unexpected surprise when he was so close to the end.
Suddenly, lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the roar of thunder.
The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. He’d seen something in that flash of lightning. There’d been a pair of eyes lurking in the darkness ahead, peering out from around a corner. Whatever was around the eyes was obscured by a thick, black cloak.
Despite his reticence, Harry extinguished the light on his wand and pressed his back to the hedge on his left. Whatever was ahead wasn’t likely to be a friend to him, and he needed to be cautious. He would have gone around whatever was ahead if it was possible, but he was so close to the centre of the maze now that he didn’t have much of a choice.
Harry crept forward in the shadows, his wand at the ready, along the hedge opposite the one he’d seen the eyes peering out from around. He moved as silently as he could, keeping his back from brushing along the hedge itself and ensuring that his steps were soft on the ground below.
“Where’d he go?” A voice mumbled ahead.
Harry froze. He recognised that voice: it was Viktor’s.
“Capture him, take the cup, get reward,” Viktor mumbled again. His voice sounded dazed, like he was lost in a dream. He didn’t seem to be talking to anyone but himself. “Capture him, take the cup, get reward.”
Harry stayed just a few metres away from the corner, listening as Viktor repeated his words again and again. Technically, the Champions weren’t prohibited from interfering with each other during the tasks, but the judges might deduct points for it. Was that Viktor’s game? Was he trying to take everyone else out and then claim the cup for himself? He’d get full points for being the one to grab the cup, and the judges would probably only award half as much, if even that, to the rest of them. Viktor would win the tournament if that happened.
But something still irked Harry. Taking out the competition like this didn’t seem like Viktor’s style, and he was acting far too strangely compared to normal. He’d been acting oddly too when he arrived at the stage earlier; normally, he at least said hello or nodded to the rest of them, but he didn’t so much as look at them today.
What if he was cursed? Or under some sort of compulsion?
It seemed more logical than Viktor’s personality changing so drastically out of sheer desire to win the tournament.
“Capture him, take the cup, get reward,” Viktor continued to say. He poked his head out around the corner of the hedge again, and this time, Harry was close enough to get a good look at him. Viktor looked pale, was dripping with sweat, and had a manic look in his eyes.
Harry made his decision then.
His silent casting wasn’t perfect yet, but it was good enough to let him get off a couple of spells.
With a simple flick of his wand, Harry silently sent a stunner Viktor’s way. The bolt of red light illuminated the area suddenly, and Viktor spun quickly to face it, but he couldn’t bring up his shield in time. He crumpled to the ground as he fell unconscious.
As much as he wanted to check out Viktor and make sure that he was okay, Harry still had a tournament to win. He pointed his wand into the sky and fired up red sparks to get the observers to come collect Viktor and then hurried on his way through the maze.
Past Viktor, Harry saw several dark shapes on the ground. They appeared to be various beasts and creatures that he’d had to fight along the way, but thankfully Cedric and Fleur’s bodies didn’t seem to be present. Still, the blood-soaked ground chilled Harry and reaffirmed his belief that he’d done the right thing by stunning Viktor.
Harry rounded a corner and then another before he ended up spotting the Triwizard Cup. It was gleaming under magical light atop a white plinth in the middle of a circular clearing. There were three other entrances into the clearing, and all appeared to be abandoned. There was no sign of anything living or dead, magical or non-magical other than the Triwizard Cup.
Harry didn’t hesitate. He dashed forward, sprinting with all of his might to the cup that would secure him his victory. After just a few steps, a winged-creature dropped out of the sky and dove towards him. It was small but incredibly fast. Even still, Harry didn’t hesitate. He knew he could handle anything that came his way now.
With a wave of his wand, he battered the beast away. It was knocked to the ground nearby just as two more arrived within his line of sight. They flew at him, screeching loudly, and Harry batted them away with ease. They were mere bumps on his path to his true goal: the Triwizard Cup.
As he got close to the cup, he heard two identical shouts. His eyes snapped back and forth, seeing Cedric and Fleur both come rushing into view down two different pathways. They were too far away to stop him though, and all they could do was watch as Harry grabbed onto the Triwizard Cup and promptly disappeared from sight.
When Harry felt the pull behind his naval, he instantly realised that he was taking a portkey. Although he’d only experienced it once before, the sensation was unmistakable. In his mind, he logically deduced that the cup was probably taking him back to the stage in front of the crowds, who would all be celebrating his victory.
Instead, he was dumped onto the dirt in an old, misty graveyard.
Harry turned around on his unsteady legs, scanning the world around him.
“Where—”
He never got his sentence out. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted a bolt of red light flying right towards him. Like Viktor, he hadn’t been expecting it, and although he managed to get his wand in place to defend himself, his shield was too slow to form.
The bolt of red light struck him, and he fell unconscious.
A black, inky void surrounded Harry’s consciousness. It was magic, and although he couldn’t act or consciously perceive what was occurring in his mind, his subconscious understood it completely. The tang of magic was almost visceral, and his subconscious recognised the maliciousness of it.
For minutes, this dark magic continued to swirl mysteriously around Harry, and his subconscious kept note of it all. It was aware of the moment the magic flared the first time, and again when the magic flared a second time moments later. Then, it sensed the magic’s intent, and his subconscious screamed to Harry that he was in danger.
Suddenly, Harry jolted awake. The magic subduing him shattered as his innate magic overrode it, driven by the fear his subconscious felt.
A short, hunched-over man leapt back in surprise. He had a silver dagger, shining in the torchlight in this otherwise desolate and bleak graveyard, in his right hand. He looked like he’d been poised to strike away, but the surprise of him awakening halted his actions for a moment.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” the man whimpered.
Harry tried to lunge forward, only to snap back in place as the bonds holding him refused to let go. He glanced down at himself, realising that he was tied to a marble headstone. Both his arms and legs were bound tightly to it, and he couldn’t see his wand anywhere nearby either.
Then, as he looked back up at his assailant, the torchlight flickered and illuminated the man’s face.
“Wormtail,” Harry hissed.
Wormtail cringed backwards, folding into himself. Harry couldn’t tell if it was out of embarrassment, shame, or some other emotion that this twisted man claimed to experience. He reached up to wipe away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks, and Harry gaped in horror as he saw the still bleeding stump just below the wrist on Wormtail’s left arm. Wormtail let out a sob before lowering his stump and then wiping away the tears with the back of his remaining hand.
Behind Wormtail, a massive, bubbling cauldron demanded attention. The simmering liquid was growing more violent by the second, and Wormtail looked back at it in terror.
“Yes, I’m hurrying,” he said pathetically, trying to appease the cauldron. “Just a moment longer.”
“Who are you talking to?” Harry frowned.
“Our Lord,” Wormtail said quickly as he stepped back towards Harry. He still had that same look as before when he approached Harry with that silver dagger, but there was a sense of resolve in his expression too. “I’m sorry, Harry. Truly, I am. Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe.”
Wormtail plunged the dagger into Harry’s arm, and Harry screamed. It felt like hot coals were being driven beneath his skin, and the searing pain seemed to shoot out along his veins, leaving his entire arm feeling awful.
“I’m sorry,” Wormtail whimpered as he scurried back to the cauldron.
Through the pain, Harry watched as Wormtail banged the dagger against the rim of the cauldron, spilling a single drop of Harry’s crimson blood into the cauldron.
“What are you doing?” Harry demanded, shouting at Wormtail as fear and worry filled his mind. When Wormtail had said ‘Our Lord,’ did he mean Voldemort?
Who else could it be?
Sparks of light fired out of the cauldron, and it hissed terribly as white steam and vapour leaked out past the rim of the cauldron. More and more came until Harry couldn’t see more than a few centimetres in front of his own face.
“Robe me,” a high-pitched, cold voice said from the mists, and a sharp chill went down Harry’s spine.
There was some shuffling, and then a massive gust of wind washed through the graveyard, wiping away the mists.
The cauldron was knocked over on the ground, and two men stood beside it: a whimpering Wormtail and a triumphant Voldemort.
The scarlet, snake-like eyes of Voldemort landed on Harry instantly. Whatever Harry had expected Voldemort to look like, it wasn’t this. The man was pale beyond pale with a flat nose and slits for nostrils, no hair on his head whatsoever, and had an intimidating aura that felt like it was sucking the air out of Harry’s lungs.
“Harry Potter,” Voldemort breathed out slowly. “I’ll get to you later.”
“Your wand, Master,” Wormtail whimpered, offering a bone white wand to Voldemort.
With an almost loving touch, Voldemort accepted his wand back. “How I’ve missed this,” he breathed in deeply.
Suddenly, Voldemort spun in place and unleashed a brilliant blaze in the sky. A massive serpent of fire erupted from the tip of his wand and slithered across the sky. Even though Harry was quite a distance away from the flame, it felt like the fire was right in front of his face. He felt himself start to sweat and his skin blister before the fire mercifully ended.
Voldemort let out a cold laugh. “My old friend, I’m back,” he said to his wand.
“My Lord?” Wormtail spoke up tentatively. His face was contorted in pain, but he still managed to hold up his stump for Voldemort. “You… promised…”
Voldemort looked down on Wormtail like one would an insect they were about to crush. “Give me your other arm, Wormtail.”
Wormtail cried but did as he was commanded.
Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand firmly against Wormtail’s exposed arm, right atop the faded Dark Mark inked in his flesh. Wormtail’s cries grew uncontrollable as he sobbed openly, but he did nothing to stop the resurgence of the Dark Mark on his arm.
Once the inky blackness had been restored to the mark, Voldemort pressed his finger to it. Harry’s scar burned as terribly as his arm did as Voldemort relished in the moment.
“They will come,” Voldemort said confidently to himself.
Finally, with his orders delivered, Voldemort turned back to Harry.
“It’s been quite a few years since I’ve seen you last, Harry Potter,” Voldemort’s cold voice seemed to roll across the ground and fill the graveyard. “How much you’ve grown, but not grown enough to stop an incompetent worm from stunning you and taking your wand.”
Harry gritted his teeth and tugged at the bonds again. “He ambushed me as soon as I landed from the Portkey,” Harry spat in the dirt. “He’s a coward.”
“Yes, he is,” Voldemort laughed like they were sharing a joke. “Wormtail? Where is his wand?”
“Ri—Right here, my lord,” Wormtail said quietly as he pulled out Harry’s wand from within his robes and handed it over.
Voldemort took Harry’s wand and brought it close to his face to examine. “Holly,” he murmured to himself. “And a Phoenix Feather.”
His gaze snapped sharply over towards Harry, who stared back defiantly at the man who’d murdered his parents. They kept up their staring contest for a moment before a small smile crept across Voldemort’s face, making him look surprisingly human and yet completely unnatural at the same time. He lowered Harry’s wand and instead pointed his own back at Harry.
With a simple twirl, the bonds released Harry from the headstone, and another slice through the air sealed the bleeding cut on his arm. Harry grimaced as he felt his flesh stitch back together, but it was better than leaving the wound open.
Harry waited for a moment, expecting Voldemort to curse him or torture him in some way, but the man just stared Harry down until he slowly got to his feet. As soon as he was standing, Voldemort started to stride over towards Harry.
Another chill ran down Harry’s spine as the taller man approached. He walked with a confidence and ease that betrayed his feelings on the situation. He was happy to release Harry and even give him back his wand because he believed that he was in complete control over the situation. There was nothing in his imagination that suggested that Harry could even be a threat to him.
Well, Harry was going to prove him wrong.
Voldemort came to a stop just a few feet away from Harry and held out his wand for him. It was just out of reach, and Harry would need to take a couple steps forward to take it from him.
It was a power play, and Voldemort’s small, taunting smile remained on his lips. He was goading Harry into taking his wand back.
Well, Harry wasn’t going to disappoint the man.
Harry took a couple steps forward and took his wand back from Voldemort. The man handed it over to Harry easily and stared down at him with undisguised interest on his face.
“Now that you have your wand back, what are you going to do with it?” Voldemort asked him. “I wonder.”
Wormtail sobbed again and started staggering over towards them while he clutched at his stump. “Master, please, you promised.”
“The coward arrives,” Voldemort laughed quietly. “The man who betrayed your parents.”
Harry tightened his grip on his wand. Voldemort was goading him again. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he was trying to get Harry to do, but a part of him wanted to give in and do it. He wanted to kill Wormtail, partially avenging his parents murder and Sirius’ incarceration in Azkaban.
Before he realised he was doing it, Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Wormtail. He had a curse ready on his lips when Voldemort’s high-pitched laugh rang out again.
Suddenly, Harry turned his wand on Voldemort.
There were countless spells he could have used, but he was acting on instinct now, and he cast the first spell that came to his mind.
“Confringo!”
The Blasting Curse fired right out of Harry’s wand towards Voldemort’s face. However, to Harry’s shock, Voldemort reacted faster than he imagined to be possible. His wand came up and brought a hastily-casted shield to life almost instantly. It was a feat that Harry knew he was incapable of, and he didn’t know of anyone else save for perhaps Dumbledore who could have recreated such a feat.
Still, due to the close proximity, the shield Voldemort had brought up was half formed and weaker than it normally would have been. The fiery explosion that came from the Blasting Curse shattered Voldemort’s shield. Harry was knocked off of his feet from the explosion, and the dying fireball engulfed Voldemort’s face.
Harry rolled backwards instinctively as a Killing Curse struck the ground right where he’d been. The explosion faded, and Harry saw the scorch mark covering the left side of Voldemort’s face. He looked positively furious with Harry as his blood-red eyes narrowed. He raised his wand again to cast another spell, but a popping sound nearby paused his movements.
Dark cloaked figures wearing bone-white masks began appearing all around the clearing in the middle of the graveyard. There were dozens of them, all nearly identical other than the different designs on their masks. Wormtail dropped to his knees in agony as his stump continued to bleed, and Voldemort looked around at all of them with a mixture of rage and fury on his face.
Voldemort gave Harry a cold look before he walked away towards his followers, leaving Harry lying on the ground.
Harry raised his wand, and Voldemort whirled around, his black cloak swirling around him. Before Harry could even begin casting a spell, Voldemort had disarmed him without uttering a word. His eyes seemed to flare with a dangerous aura as he stared Harry down. Harry felt the implied threat in his look if he tried that again, and to his surprise, Harry froze up. He could sense the sincerity behind Voldemort’s look, the promise that he would cut Harry down without a second thought if he didn’t play his part according to Voldemort’s exacting instructions.
Even when he faced off against the Basilisk and the Dementors last year, Harry wasn’t sure if he truly understood his mortality until now. He’d come to terms with what dying would be like for him: it would be the end of everything. But Harry hadn’t quite understood the impact his death would have on his loved ones.
Harry closed his eyes, and in his mind, he could see Astoria and Daphne’s smiling faces looking at him. Then, they shifted into looks of pure despair and grief.
He couldn’t let that come to pass, but how?
“Welcome, Death Eaters,” Voldemort said quietly as he swept around the clearing, looking at each Death Eater in turn. Harry’s eyes snapped open and he watched the man as he stalked around like a predator, looking for his next victim. The Death Eaters had clearly sensed the energy as well, and none of them dared speak a single word, not even to question the scorch mark across the side of his face. “It’s been years since we last met, and yet you’ve all returned to my side dutifully. But I can’t help but notice that we’re missing some of our dear friends.”
Voldemort stopped in front of one man and grabbed the mask on his face. He ripped it off violently, and the man dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.
“Lucius,” Voldemort hissed. “Where is Bellatrix?”
“Azkaban, my Lord,” Lucius answered quickly. “She was captured after you…”
Lucius didn’t seem to know the right way to phrase Voldemort’s demise all those years ago, and no one came to his aid.
“Is that where the rest are?” Voldemort questioned.
Lucius gave a wordless nod.
Voldemort sneered down at him. “It should be you in there and her here in your place. I’ve heard whispers, Lucius, that you claimed to be enchanted into following my orders.”
“My Lord,” Lucius gasped, looking up into his master’s eyes. “I did it so that I could continue to serve you! If I was locked away then I wouldn’t have been able to help lay the path for your return.”
“My return?” Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, what exactly have you done to do this?”
Lucius gained a bit of confidence the more he spoke. “I’ve left the Ministry in a weak state since your… disappearance. Minister Fudge is my pawn, my puppet. I’ve ensured that our political agenda has remained intact within the Wizengamot.”
“These are all proper steps to take, but what have you done to actually prepare for my return?” Voldemort asked coldly.
“My Lord?” Lucius looked confused.
“There were whispers, hints at my return,” Voldemort hissed. “The Dark Mark in the sky last summer? The rumours out of Albania? You never sought me out, not once!”
For a moment, Harry thought that Voldemort was about to kill Lucius. Doubtless, many of the Death Eaters thought so as well. Everyone waited with baited breaths as Voldemort glared at Lucius.
“But… I am a merciful Lord,” Voldemort said softly. “You have disappointed me, Lucius. I trust that you will not disappoint me again.”
“Never, my Lord,” Lucius murmured.
Voldemort turned away from him then and returned his patrol around the clearing. When he had his back to Harry, Harry subtly crawled just a few metres over towards his wand. No one had spotted him. At least, that’s what he thought.
“Ah yes, our special guest for the evening,” Voldemort suddenly turned around to lock eyes with Harry. “The Boy-Who-Lived. You all know him. He survived me once thanks to his mother’s magic, but he will not survive tonight.”
Dozens of heads turned Harry’s way. Excitement crept into the air as they awaited their master’s vengeance.
“Stand up, Harry Potter,” Voldemort said dangerously as he flourished his wand in front of him. “You’ve been taught how to duel, yes?”
So, he still wanted to make a show out of all of this. Harry stood up slowly as his mind raced to come up with a way that he could win this fight, but nothing worked. He’d seen how fast Voldemort could react to a spell cast at point-blank range, and Voldemort had years of experience on Harry. His practice for the Triwizard Tournament put him above anyone in his year or even the years ahead of him at Hogwarts, but it was nothing compared to a fully-trained wizard.
No, Harry couldn’t beat Voldemort. He felt sure of that, and it was a sobering thought to recognise. If he duelled Voldemort one on one in a straight up fight like this, he would lose, and losing meant his death.
He needed another way to get out of this.
As panic began to set into Harry’s mind, his thoughts instinctively drifted back to Astoria and Daphne. If they were here now, he knew that Daphne would be screaming at him to fight and do whatever he needed to in order to escape safely, and Astoria would be pleading with him to give it his all. They both knew how strong he was, and even if it paled in comparison to what Voldemort was capable of, he didn’t need to beat Voldemort. He only needed to escape.
“First, we bow,” Voldemort said with almost a taunting tone. “Bow to death, Harry.”
As the Death Eaters laughed, Harry did exactly as Voldemort said, but he took his time doing it. Harry bowed low and used the time to scan the area around him. Voldemort was standing in the middle of the clearing with his Death Eaters all around him. They’d cleared a gap in between Voldemort and Harry, giving him a clean shot at the evil wizard. While Voldemort didn’t have much cover, Harry was in the midst of the headstones that littered the graveyard. If he ducked behind them, they could each withstand a spell or two. The graveyard’s fence was behind him, but as Harry glanced at it, he saw an almost ethereal barrier around it that hadn’t been there before. It was some type of ward, clearly, but he didn’t know what. Maybe it was a privacy ward, maybe it prevented anyone from entering or leaving. Harry didn’t know.
Harry straightened his back and stared down Voldemort. Voldemort was basking in the moment with a twisted smile on his lips.
“And now, we duel,” he declared.
Harry leapt aside instinctively. Even though he hadn’t even seen Voldemort’s wand begin to move, he was sure that a curse was coming his way. As his shoulder hit the ground, he saw a jet of red light pass overhead.
“Reducto!” Harry cried out as he returned fire.
In between the headstones, Harry saw Voldemort bat his spell away like it was nothing more than an annoying mosquito.
Harry scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t stay in one place for too long lest Voldemort pin him down. But the moment that Harry got to his feet, he saw a trio of spells soaring right towards him. They were slightly spread out, so any way he dodged would put him in the path of at least one of them.
Harry acted instinctively then. Instead of dodging, he brought up his shield to block the white spell that was headed right for his chest. He gritted his teeth the moment before the spell hit, but his jaw opened up wide a second later when his shield shattered and the spell battered him.
Harry flipped end over end, crashing into a headstone and demolishing it. It felt like he’d just been struck by a sledgehammer, and he’d suffered enough Quidditch injuries to know that he had more than a few cracked or broken ribs. He sucked in a deep breath and wheezed at the pain that flared through his chest. Yep, his ribs were definitely broken.
Strangely enough, Voldemort didn’t cast a single curse as Harry got to his feet. He was savouring the moment, Harry realised. Voldemort knew just how much more powerful and advanced as he was to Harry, and so he could just toy with him, assured of his inevitable victory.
“Is that all you’re capable of, Harry?” Voldemort taunted him. “If you don’t try harder, you’re going to die tonight.”
Harry gritted his teeth and glanced down around his feet. The ruined remains of the headstone surrounded him, broken up into small chunks.
“Let’s not waste anymore time, Harry,” Voldemort gave a cold laugh. “Crucio!”
Harry twisted his wand and jabbed it downward at the broken stone around him, trying to make it look like he’d just panicked. His transfiguration hit the stone just as the Cruciatus Curse struck him.
Everything faded from Harry’s mind as the sensation of white-hot knives piercing his skin overrode everything else. The pain from Wormtail cutting his arm earlier paled in comparison to what he was experiencing now. Every inch of his body was on fire, and he was screaming as he thrashed about on the ground, hurting his broken ribs even further.
Then, suddenly, the spell faded as Voldemort let out a loud curse.
Harry cracked his eyes open as he fought to catch his breath and saw a transfigured rat hanging from Voldemort’s raised ankle. It had bit deeply into his flesh, and the pain had been enough to cancel Voldemort’s Cruciatus Curse.
Explosions rocked the ground as Voldemort killed off the rats, but it gave Harry the chance he needed to skirt along the ground. He crawled a decent distance away until he reached an especially large headstone, which he hid behind. His body was still shaking from the Cruciatus and the pain remained at the forefront of his mind, but it was lessening with each passing second. He needed as much time as he could to recover and hide. With any luck, he could manage something to allow him to escape.
“Hiding like a coward, Harry?” Voldemort shouted after the explosions stopped. His voice echoed around the graveyard. “What would your dear dead father or mudblood mother say about this?”
A bubble of anger rose up in Harry’s chest, but he wasn’t going to let Voldemort get to him. He just needed another minute to recover, and then he could find some way of escaping.
But how? A small part of him wondered. How could he escape from death?
Harry peered out around the headstone, and he could see Voldemort slowly walking around the clearing as he searched the graveyard for Harry. The Death Eaters were more focused on getting out of Voldemort’s way rather than aiding in the search, but a few of them were looking around curiously too.
“Do you remember how your mudblood mother begged for your life?” Voldemort continued to taunt him. “How she sobbed? I still remember the terror in her eyes when I cut her down.”
Although he was recovering his breath and his composure, Harry’s anger only continued to grow. Nothing he did helped to lessen it, and Voldemort’s words only made it grow exponentially.
“Come now, Harry,” Voldemort called out. “Die like a man like your father did! I’ll even make it quick! Just think, the sooner you die, the sooner you can be reunited with your pathetic father and mudblood—”
Something inside of Harry snapped. The pain didn’t go away, but it faded from the forefront of his mind. All he felt was rage and a burning desire within him to avenge his parents and to get back to Astoria and Daphne.
Harry stood up from behind the headstone, and Voldemort turned to face him, but Harry already had his wand drawn.
Although he didn’t know the incantation or the wand movements, Harry still remembered the visceral sensation of Voldemort’s magic earlier. He remembered the serpent-like shape of the flames, the incredible heat, and the raw power that filled the air.
Harry screamed as he funnelled all of his anger and magical power through his wand. A feeling not unlike when he performed the Patronus radiated within him, but this one was darker. It consumed him, and it sprung forth from his wand with a destructive force that forced him to take a couple of steps backwards.
The Death Eaters collectively sucked in their breaths as they saw a massive, fiery stag charge towards them. The flames licked at the ground, turning the grass into ash and leaving scorch marks wherever the stag’s hooves touched. There was a mad scramble as they all tried to save themselves, running away from Voldemort, who was holding his ground.
Voldemort looked stunned at the feat of magic Harry had managed to produce, but it didn’t last for more than a tenth of a second. With years of practice, Voldemort brought forth a shield so powerful that it looked like he had created a cloudy glass dome around himself. It formed a second before the flames washed over him, and then Harry lost sight of the man completely as the stag broke apart in a fiery inferno.
In the light of the fire, Harry saw something glint in the grass nearby.
It was the Triwizard Cup.
The fire continued to rage, swirling around Voldemort’s protective shield. It continuously exploded outwards, like waves crashing upon a seawall, before trying to break through the shield again. A few Death Eaters were caught by the flames. Most managed to strip off their outer robes in time, but others tried to put out the flames with magic. To their and Harry’s surprise though, the fire refused to fade, even against powerful water-conjuring charms.
A man screamed as the flames climbed up his damp robes. He tried to tear off his clothes, but it was too late. The flames engulfed him.
“Yaxley!” A nearby man shouted as he rushed to the burning man’s side, but there was nothing he could do to aid his comrade. The fire continued to burn and torch his flesh long after the man’s screams ended.
The pain began to return to Harry as the spell sapped all of his energy. Weariness set in, followed by exhaustion. He felt himself struggling to remain standing, and his arms started to slacken. The flames danced dangerously around, and for a second, Harry felt the flames try to turn around back towards him.
It was a sign that he needed to end the spell, and it took nearly as much mental effort to end the spell as it did to start it. Harry physically had to wrench his arms to the side to break off the connection between the flames and his wand.
He expected the flames to die out soon after as they had with Voldemort, but to his shock, the flames continued to ravage the graveyard. The only difference now was that they were uncontrolled. As they bounced off of Voldemort’s shield, they no longer kept trying to break through. Instead, they chose the path of least resistance and sought out new things to burn.
The Death Eaters who’d thought that they’d gotten enough distance away from the flames now had to face the flames racing towards them. It was pure pandemonium as they fought to flee, and Harry couldn’t believe that he’d caused all of this. It was a mixture of awe and horror that filled him, but he couldn’t think about those feelings right now. He needed to get out of here.
Harry staggered over towards the Triwizard Cup, feeling more tired than he ever had in his life. His body was sluggish in its movements, and he felt ready to collapse at any second.
Harry reached out for the cup, stretching his arm to the maximum it could, only to find his vision suddenly filled with blood. His arm wasn’t responding, and he looked down to see bone and flesh where his left shoulder was supposed to be. His arm hung limply, soaked through with blood and gore.
“Potter!” Voldemort’s cold voice screeched.
Lost in a haze of pain and exhaustion, Harry slowly turned his head to see Voldemort carving a path through the remaining flames with his wand. There was nothing but hate in Voldemort’s eyes as he jabbed his wand towards Harry again, and all Harry could do was crumple up in a ball as a cutting curse carved into his back.
Harry didn’t remember screaming, but his throat felt hoarse, so he must have. He could hear his blood pumping in his ear as he crawled that last little bit forward.
Voldemort’s eyes widened when he saw what Harry was going for.
“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort shouted.
Harry grabbed the cup, and the green killing curse struck the ground where he’d laid only a second ago.
The world spun again, making Harry’s blurry vision worse than it already was. He nearly vomited, but luckily the trip was a short one.
He was spat out onto the wooden stage in front of the maze back at Hogwarts. A brief cheer went up before everyone saw his state and panic erupted. People were screaming and crying out, professors rushed to Harry’s side, and Harry couldn’t move a single muscle. He was stuck in place, staring up into the crowd, trying his best to memorise Astoria and Daphne’s faces before blackness overtook everything.
Comments
Joe Uchiha
Well, that was uncharacteristically brutal. Having Harry unknowingly cast Feindfyre was new but great. Though it looks like Harry isn't in good shape. Sounds as if Harry's arm is either completely or partially severed. Great chapter though. Cant wait to see what's next
