A/N: okay this is kind of a filler chapter also the next 2 chapters might also be a bit of fillers. I need some background info to set up the scene and I need to put some of harry' thoughts leading up to the moment so this is kind of necessary. This is mostly from the book. But I did change a few bits and add some. next chappie might be uploaded soon. reviews and suggestions are appreciated.
Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head. He had a bad feeling. Somehow, he knew that his life would be completely altered after this. For the good or the bad he didn't know. Neither did he know the how or the why. All he knew was that something was going to happen and he had a feeling that one way or another, he wouldn't be the same after this

"Where are we?" he said.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around. They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they were perhaps hundreds of miles away from the castle 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. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside. Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" he asked

"Nope," said Harry.

He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie.

"Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous.

"Wands out, d'you reckon?"

"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him. They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched

"Someone's coming," he said suddenly

Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. 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 the time — Harry saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby . . . or was it merely a bundle of robes? Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure. It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Harry and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at one another. And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open. From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say,

"Kill the spare."

A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night

"Avada Kedavra!"

A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes. Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him.

He was dead.

For a second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before Harry's mind had accepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet.
The bundle in the man's hand was put down, his wand lit, he dragged harry to a gravestone bearing the name, TOM RIDDLE

He was forced around and slammed against it. The next second, he was tied securely to the ropes He saw the hand of the person, missing a finger and he knew who it was. Peter Pettigrew. Now he was sure of what was happening. The moment he had been thinking of ever since the last task. The moment he dreaded and anticipated at the same time. Voldemort was going to be resurrected.

It was time to decide where he wanted to be.

Whether he wanted to be alive or dead.

He was prepared for it.