So, I haven't written anything in a very long time, and I figure now's a good time to change that. I have been facing a ridiculous bout of writer's block, and as I'm a Creative Writing major and a dramatic writing minor, this poses something of a problem, and I realized that I really need to write something, anything. So while looking around the internet for ideas, I stumbled on that first paragraph after the newspaper articles, and this idea popped into my head. Not sure how long it will last, but I will try my best to finish this one. Reviews always help! Hopefully my writing has improved from the last train-wrecks I've written for ffn (dot) net. I don't have a beta, so sorry for any mistakes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the other characters. I would not be a broke college student if I did.

With that said, enjoy! (And please, please, pleeeeease review!)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Tragedy at Triwizard-Potter and Diggory still Missing!

It's been two weeks since Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory vanished from the third task in the Triwizard Tournament. The event was supposed to wrap up the international tournament, finishing that night with the final award ceremony and a grand feast. However, these planned celebrations never took place. More and more we are drawn into the mystery surrounding the fateful third task.

The triwizard cup placed at the center of the maze should have been a portkey that would bring the triumphant champion back to the edge of the maze. It was a portkey alright, though where it disappeared to, officials are still working to discover. It is little consolation that in order for both Potter and Diggory to disappear, they must have reached the cup at the same time; earning a tie and a victory for Hogwarts. Unfortunately, neither boy has returned to celebrate his victory, and authorities are working diligently to bring them home.

A shocking discovery has come to the Prophet's attention just this morning; it was discovered that the Durmstrang champion, Victor Krum himself, had been held under the imperius curse during the third task. While under the curse he attacked the Beauxbatons champion, Fleur Delacour. As if that were not enough, it was found that he cast the cruciatus curse—a torture curse that can land the caster a life-time imprisonment in Azkaban prison—at another champion. As Delacour showed no signs of suffering under the curse, we are forced to speculate; who was Krum forced to torture? Who cast the imperius on him? And what else has the ministry discovered that they have not told us?

But the most pressing question remains: where are Harry and Cedric?

-Penny McCann, Daily Prophet"

~*~*~*~*~

"Body of Missing Champion is Found

Over three weeks after the tragic third task of the Triwizard Tournament, the body of Cedric Diggory was found outside the Ministry of Magic early this morning. There was evidence found that he had been killed only a week or so after his disappearance.

"This is a terrible tragedy." Commented Minister Fudge. "We send our condolences to the Diggory family. I am truly sorry that we could not do more."

I wonder what the ministry could have done to prevent this, and what they are doing now to search for Harry Potter, who still remains missing. We can only imagine the horrors he must have faced, or still is facing. The minister, as well as Albus Dumbledore have assured the public that they still continue to hold hope that Potter will be found, and we continue to hold out hope for his return.

-Penny McCann, Daily Prophet"

~*~*~*~*~

It was just the driving rain and the liquidity of the mud that made them look like child's footprints.

Ron had no idea how long he had been following them, or even why. He wondered if he was simply keeping himself busy, distracting himself from the squealing in his ears, the festering wound in his thigh, the cold numbing his face and fingers, the knowledge that everyone in his squad was dead, that he was alone and lost in this cemetery, this sewer, this labyrinth. This fucking forest.

It had been twelve years since Harry had disappeared.

Almost twelve years since Voldemort launched a surprise attack from out of nowhere. He had widely been believed to be dead, defeated. He wasn't, and Dumbledore could only guess at what had happened to Harry for Voldemort to get a body back. None of his ideas involved Harry living, and after several months, everyone seemed to agree that he was dead; his body lost, or hidden, or whatever. Not even Dumbledore could figure that one out; he had suspected that Voldemort would want the trophy, that he would make even a grander presentation of sending his mutilated remains back to the public than he had of poor Cedric. But it never happened.

Voldemort's assault had been quick, and it had been devastating. The ministry had fallen within a week of the assault, and Britain's wizarding world had split up into several factions: those who resisted Voldemort, those who stayed in hiding, and those who did what they were told and tried to stay alive in an occupied world. Many good people had died in a short time.

It was all Dumbledore could do to lock off the castle to any outsiders and to find a way to protect the students within, but somehow, he did. He held them out for nearly three years, while hosting the students and several of their families and locals from Hogsmeade. When Voldemort had finally broken in, Dumbledore had managed to evacuate almost the entire Howarts population. He had barely escaped with his life, and it had taken the better part of a month for him to recover from that latest battle.

Ron reached up with a shaking hand and wiped the rain water dripping into his eyes. Mud was plastered across his face, and he tried scraping it away, letting the pounding rain wipe it down his skin. All around him were trees, dark and imposing, leering down at him from hidden heights. Still his eyes followed the ground at his feet, and the occasional soft water-filled mark. They really did look like footprints. Maybe someone else had escaped the slaughter.

And it was a slaughter. After the fall of Hogwarts, Dumbledore gathered as many resistors as he could in a series of secure locations. They would go out guerilla-style, attacking groups of death eaters or stealing needed supplies from death eater stores. They would receive tip-offs from anonymous sources that Dumbledore would confirm, then they would go to strike hard and fast against the enemy.

This last tip-off had sounded like the perfect opportunity to destroy a series of greenhouses being hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest next to the shelled-out remains of the once great Hogwarts castle. These greenhouses supplied Voldemort's troops with the necessary materials to experiment with any number of foul potions, as well as providing for all the healing potions they needed. The mission had a two-part purpose: gather necessary ingredients for medicinal potions, and destroy the greenhouses.

It had been a trap.

As soon as Ron and his fighters had arrived with his squad, they had been under attack from a force far greater than his own. Retreating deeper into the forest had led to confusion and chaos, men dropping left and right. Ron had only survived on a lucky happenstance. He had taken a hit to his leg that had dropped him out of the way of a follow-up AK. He had fallen backwards, tripping over a log, the green haze of the killing curse passing so close over his head he'd felt it singing his skin. Landing awkwardly on his back, he'd found himself sliding down an embankment away from the battle, a boulder waiting for him at the bottom. He'd been knocked out, and had woken up to nothing but the silence and the rain and the stench that always followed battles: the smoke and burned flesh, the coppery tang of blood. He doubted he'd be able to smell anything else for a long time.

So now here he was, stumbling like a drunk through the dark forest, his mind a haze of pain and exhaustion, his leg throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He was unwilling to test if the apparition wards covering most of the forest were still active; usually anti-apparition wards would simply stop a wizard from trying to escape. These wards wouldn't stop anyone, but as soon as they tried apparating, it would splinch them into so many pieces it would take years to find every missing part.

The pseudo-prints he'd been following cut out, and Ron staggered to a halt, looking around. The trees here looked just the same as every other tree he'd been walking past; dark, tall, and imposing. They were grouped together tightly so he had to weave around and through them to get by. Sighing, he turned around in a circle, his numb fingers tracing the patterns on the ring Dumbledore had given all his fighters. It was supposed to be an emergency portkey, but somehow it had been neutralized by the wards surrounding the greenhouses. Picking a couple trees at random, he swiped away the spider web connecting them squeezed through, starting to walk again.

Now he was looking around, he noticed that there seemed to be quite a few spider webs holding up under the onslaught of rain, proving they had to be heavy duty to last under this deluge. He used to be deathly afraid of spiders when he'd been at school, but somehow, after everything else he'd seen, he just couldn't muster the terror anymore. Something tickled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger to it. Pushing aside more webs, he carefully traced his way across the forest floor.

A scratching noise sounded up ahead, and Ron froze, raising his wand in a numb grasp, listening. It sounded like something scraping a piece of wood, a tree probably, up ahead and to his left. Cautiously, trying to focus his hazy and wandering mind on the task at hand, he made his way towards the noise. There was a stand of trees to his left, four or five of them grouped tightly together. The scratching seemed to be emanating from just on the other side. Gripping his wand tighter, he limped forward towards a small gap between the trunks of two of the trees. It would be a tight fit, but he could slip through. Get a stunner off before anyone realized he was there.

He took a deep breath, gripping the two trees and stepping forward, noticing the acrid smell of the battle still clung to him like a blanket, and stepped through the gap.

A giant tree had fallen on the other side, the trunk wider than Ron was tall. His little grove of trees closed in to his right, and to his left there was a small hole that someone could slip through to escape this little clearing. Ron didn't see it. He was staring straight ahead at the freshly carved words in the side of the log, looking like they'd been dug out of the wood with a sharp rock or knife.

'Don't follow the spiders, Ron'