I expected this to be much longer, but it's not. In my defense, I right virtually no Trio Era, so this was more of an exercise for me, really. I think it went alright. This was written for A Sirius Crush on Moony's If That Hadn't Happened challenge. I got if Voldemort didn't come back in GofF. Enjoy and review, please!
Harry's heart was pounding out of his chest as he squirmed against the bindings that held him to a grave stone. With every quivering step the traitor Wormtail took towards him, the desperation inside Harry grew tenfold. Wormtail stood directly in front of him now, and Harry almost screamed. Wormtail hesitated, no doubt seeing the look on Harry's face even in the near pitch black darkness, and it was possibly this moment of hesitation coupled with Harry's split second decision that what happened happened. Harry launched his foot upward into the stout mans stomach as hard as he possibly could. Wormtail doubled over in pain, allowing Harry to lash out again and hit him on the top of his head, pushing him backwards on the ground. The Death Eaters were frozen in shock for a moment before a voice rang out, hissing "Stop him!"
As if all connected to one mind, the Death Eaters made their way towards him, wands outstretched in his direction. Harry was now more desperate that ever. He dragged his fingers over the ropes tightly bounding his wrists behind him several times before they finally found purchase and he managed to drag them off his left wrist. After that, it was only a matter of seconds before he had freed himself and launched himself at his wand lying only feet away but seeming like miles, dodging spells of all sorts to get to it. He picked it up, turned, and bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" and managed to hit several Death Eaters, all whose wands flew off several meters behind the them all, causing them to have to fight there way through the crowd that had gathered not 2 feet away from the headstone, ensuing momentary chaos. The moment this happened, Harry plunged in too.
It went against all his natural instincts, diving head - first into a crowd of Death Eaters, all bent on having his head, but he had no choice. The body of fellow champion Cedric Diggory lay beyond them and he wasn't going to leave him here, wherever here was, to be found by Muggle authorities and therefore probably never returned to his parents. No, he had to bring him with him.
By the time the Death Eaters had managed to straighten themselves out, he was already half way to where Cedric lay. They shot furious curses and jinxes of all degrees of harmfulness at him, apparently no longer caring whether he lived or died, and Harry managed somehow to fend off the ones that would have hit him, which was only half; apparently Voldemort didn't choose his men based on their marksmen-ship.
Harry had gathered the already cooling body in his arms and touched the cup, but a Cutting spell still hit him, slashing open his arm and causing him to cry out in pain, but he was already on his way. The all too familiar jerk behind the nasal and unpleasant tube-squeezing sensations made themselves known before he was deposited in the soft grass, surrounded by large hedges that was the Tri-Wizard Tournament third task's arena, people rushing in on him from every side.
Harry couldn't remember the details too well upon waking in the hospital room the next morning. He had had a horrible dream in which Cedric Diggory's ghost stood over him, but with a leering, menacing face never attributed to him, and shouting about how he had not tried hard enough to save him. Then he had disappeared to be replaced by a cackling Voldemort rising out of the ground, his teeth glistening with blood-
But Harry stopped himself, reminded himself that Voldemort had not come back, he had stopped him, it was because he had attacked Wormtail that he had not come back and was still the weak, fragmented soul that he had been trapped as since the murder of his parents. Harry could not help feeling the tiniest spark of guilt at his attack on Wormtail, but he immediately stamped it out. It wasn't as though it was unprovoked, and this was the man who was directly responsible for his parents death! It was this man who had sold his parents out to Voldemort when he was supposed to be their friend, and he had tried to kill Harry too! There was no reason for him to feel sorry for him, but somehow he couldn't help it, even if he did hate himself for it.
Sometime around noon, Dumbledore had come to call on him, much to Madam Pomfrey's dismay. He congratulated him on stopping Voldemort from returning once again.
"You truly are a remarkable boy, Harry." he had said with a twinkle in his eye. "And you should know, Professor Moody was discovered to not really be Professor Moody at all." Harry's eyes had flown open in shock.
"What?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"Yes, he was actually Barty Crouch Jr. His disguise was quite clever really. He kept his Polyjuice Potion in his hip flask, and it's common knowledge Moody will only drink out of his hip flask, so it drew no suspicions. He kept the real Moody in his own magical trunk. He's recovering at St. Mungo's as we speak."
"But... But how did you find out it wasn't him, sir?"
"Crouch wasn't as clever as he thought. He tried to steal you away during the chaos, but wasn't very good about it. When I yelled out to him, he started and dropped you." Dumbledore frowned. "You remember nothing?" he asked. Harry swallowed and shook his head apologetically. Dumbledore studied him for a second and sighed.
"Yes, Poppy warned me this might happen... No matter though, perhaps it's for the best." Dumbledore did not answer Harry's questioning look, and before he had the chance to ask aloud, Dumbledore said, "Well, I'd better be off to meet the Minister; Fudge promised me a visit for these... unfortunate events - none of which were you're fault." he added more sternly at Harry's guilty look. "I must be going. Make sure to rest up, and do whatever Poppy tells you too." And with that, he turned and swept from the room.
Harry sat back into his pillows. Admittedly, his head did hurt, but he would never have connected it to anything doing with the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He wondered what exactly had happened. Had the fake Moody just grabbed him and ran? Had he asked Harry to follow him and Harry, having no reason to distrust him, went with him? Dumbledore never told him what he was thinking, what he meant by that it was for the better. He wished that, just once, he could get all the facts.
But he had delayed Voldemort, hadn't he? He had stopped him and probably seen to that most of the Death Eater there were killed or severely injured by him in his wrath, not that that really made him feel much better. He tried to dwell on the good that could come from this day.
Voldemort would have to come back at some point. Harry couldn't just keep putting him off forever. He knew that. But today, he didn't want to know that. All he wanted to think was what he had accomplished, not what was inevitable to come and destroy.