Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This is for entertainment purposes only. Fair Use and all that. I love Harry, Cedric, and Viktor.
Author's Notes: In this fanfic, we will follow the films' idea of Durmstrang being an 'all boys' school. I'm not sure if I should even mention Beauxbatons, but it will come when it comes. The Brotherhood of the Vulchanovi is based on Durmstrang's founder, Nerida Vulchanova. The unfamiliar spells are made-up. Just let me be creative lmao. свещени кодове means 'sacred codes'. So does hellige koder, in Norwegian this time.
Chapter VI: Brotherhood
o.o.o
Viktor moved instinctively. For an instant, one of the cardinal teachings in his brotherhood's Sveshteni Kodove came to him. The best countercurse is avoidance.
He leaped.
Soaring above Harry's prone form, he collided hard with Cedric, right as the Avada Kedavra erupted from the figure's wand, and he had jumped with such great force that they flew out of the way, crashing to the ground. The curse hit a gravestone far behind them, petering out into nothingness. And then, a few things happened at once.
Briefly, Viktor saw the hooded figure raise his wand to cast a spell once again, and by the eerie green glow of his wandtip, he knew which curse it was. But everything around him and Cedric started to whiz around, like a tornado had sprung in the middle of the graveyard and picked them up. A tug behind his navel caught him unawares, pulling him up into an all-too-familiar flying sensation.
Portkey. They were being transported by Portkey. Viktor's thoughts were a blur, as he scrambled to hold onto the teen under him. Cedric clung to him for dear life, while Harry's cries died as the air was ripped asunder. They blinked out of existence, soaring through a long distance before being deposited back onto the ground. A grassy, less barren ground.
He had ended up pinning Cedric down onto the surface with his body, their chests heaving from being transported and crashing against one another so forcefully not a moment before. The both of them were completely disoriented.
Cheers erupted all around them, a blast of sound so wild and manic that Viktor's heart pumped in his ears. His head was swimming and he was bewildered by the cacophony. Pushing himself up on his arms and looking down at the teen before him, he saw that Cedric's grey eyes were widened, and he was breathing heavily through parted lips.
The trembling dread in those eyes was all that Viktor needed to understand. His eyes trailed down the length of Cedric's arm, and when he reached the blond's wrist, he stared, comprehension dawning alongside cold fear.
Cedric had the Triwizard Cup in his hand. The realization struck Viktor dumb.
Footsteps thundered and the ground shook, the cheers closing in on them, like walls of sound pushing through their consciousness. They were too stunned to move. Too shaken to acknowledge that they were back.
"Cedric's won! MY BOY'S WON!" he could hear the loud declaration through a piercing cry of girls screaming in delight, through the booming sound of howls that resounded as the mass of spectators heard of the news. Cedric was holding the Cup. But they didn't understand what it meant, what had happened.
Cedric gaped at him, and Viktor didn't know what do do, what to think. He blinked furiously. All manner of communication left the stunned Bulgarian. They were still in their own little bubble of growing fearfulness, unable to disassociate from the cold, dark scene only moments before. What were they doing back at the edge of the maze? How did they escape? They were there, in the graveyard ...
But Viktor knew, it was all disturbingly clear: Cedric ... he had gone down, and his hand had fallen on the Cup's handle, the Portkey that brought them to the graveyard in the first place.
"Harry," Cedric choked, as if breaking the surface of a pool of water, and Viktor's eyes, which had been flitting about in confusion, snapped back to the blond's stricken face. Harry. He was still in the graveyard.
"No," Viktor breathed, and then he scrambled upright, swaying to his feet and looking around desperately. The judges closed in on them along with the rest of the excited crowd. Albus Dumbledore was ahead of them, swooping in like some great eagle, eyes and expression focused. He got to them before the others did, mere moments before they were swamped by spectators, and Viktor clutched at the old wizard's robes, looking at him pleadingly.
"Professor," he swallowed. "The Cup's a Portkey-Harry, he's-ve grabbed it together, he's still in that place, ve almost died," he said, unable to string two words together without being choked by the reality of it all.
The wizened old wizard's eyes trained on him with such intensity that it almost scared him. "What place? Where's Harry?" he asked in a quiet but commanding voice.
"In a graveyard. Somevhere, I don't know-but ve three, ve took the Cup together, and ve vere brought there by Portkey, and I-I pushed Cedric out of the vay of a Killing Curse, he landed on the Cup-"he couldn't breathe, and everything was suddenly turning into a nightmare around him. The cheering crowd had already started circling Cedric's prone form, who was sitting there, completely catatonic and unable to move with his foot injured. "He got left behind! Professor, ve haff to save him!"
Dumbledore looked grim for a moment, and Viktor saw the age in those wizened old eyes as they darkened. In an instant, Viktor's mind was rewinding the events in startling clarity. Viktor staggered yet he was unable to keep his eyes away from the wizard. It all replayed in his head: their conversation near the Cup pedestal, their arrival at the graveyard, the hooded figure ...
And then Viktor zipped back into reality, as if his mind had been spat back into his cranium, and he stared, addled with what the wizard had done.
"Come with me," Dumbledore said gravely, and with a surprising amount of strength for a man so old and thin, he herded Viktor away from the crowd, past some of the more astonished spectators who looked at the Bulgarian like he had sprouted another head.
He didn't think of them, blocked everyone from his thoughts as Dumbledore pulled him along, out of sight, towards a tent behind the stands, and Viktor didn't know what was happening until they were inside, and heads swiveled in unison.
The first person he noticed was Madame Maxine, the Beauxbatons headmistress, towering over all the rest. Her face was a picture of distress and worry. Viktor's eyes continued to scan the rest of the faces-Professor McGonagall and her stern face, Professor Snape, who had accommodated them in the dungeons, looking displeased, Levi Georgov and Yana Stoyanova, Viktor's Martial Magic and Charms tutors respectively, and Fleur's parents. Soon enough he realized why they were there. Fleur was on a gurney, unconscious but breathing. Her once immaculate hair was in complete disarray.
"You've found her," said Viktor. "Harry and Cedric said she had been Imperius'ed."
"Sŭzhalyavam, Viktor," Professor Georgov said curtly, before quickly pointing his wand at the younger male's hand and disarming him. Viktor gaped at him, stunned, as his wand flew directly into his tutor's hand. His Charms tutor then moved with practiced grace, pointing her own wand at Viktor's. "Prior Incantato," she said, accent thick.
His spells began to echo back in their ears: Reductor curses from when he blasted those vines into smithereens, Lacarnum Inflamarae to repel some Wights, some repeated uses of Lumos, different charms and jinxes.
"It vos not him," Professor Stoyanova said decidedly. She turned to Viktor and threw him his wand back, which he caught deftly. "Sŭzhalyavam, deteto mi, but they vill not stand down until veev proven your innocence," she explained sheepishly. Viktor's jaw tightened, but he nodded all the same.
"Severus, Minerva, the Cup was a Portkey," Dumbledore interrupted, stepping past Viktor, who stood by the flap of the tent. The wizard continued despite the collective sound of dissent, his expression a gathering storm cloud. "Minerva, I need you to contact the Order. Severus, come with me. Only one person could have tampered with the Cup this close to the Final Task. I will need some answers."
Professor McGonagall blinked, distraught, while Professor Snape's face darkened, hooked nose becoming more pronounced as he tilted his head up. His hands slipped into his robes as he made to follow Dumbledore outside. The old wizard had almost gone out, but Viktor's hand darted and grabbed the Headmaster's arm instinctively, surprising even himself. The wizard turned to him, calm yet thrumming with magic.
"Vot about Harry?" Viktor nearly pleaded. Dumbledore's clear blue eyes had gone soft for a moment, before transferring to his tutors.
"Professor Georgov, if you could please take care of Viktor," said Dumbledore, before turning back to him. Viktor experienced waves of calming energy, which forced him into a more emotionally relaxed state. Dumbledore eyed him in a very grandfatherly way.
"We are following a lead, Viktor. Do not fret. We've still got time." Dumbledore said before ducking out of the tent. Professor Georgov approached him, while Professor Stoyanova threw diagnostic spells his way, making him itch and feel uncomfortable. He narrowed his eyes at the both of them.
"Harry could be dead by now," he said brusquely, seething where he was standing. He knew what Dumbledore meant when he asked Viktor's tutors to 'take care' of their student. He gripped his wand tighter in his curled fist, while the Bulgarian woman assessed him for damage. The older man, burly and large, completely dwarfing Viktor, bore into him a quelling, no-nonsense look.
The larger man's thick eyebrows and downturned mouth set in a neutral expression. "You vill tell me vot happened."
Viktor huffed in annoyance. They shouldn't be standing there doing nothing. They should be out there, using tracking spells, divining objects,anything.
Instead, Levi stood sentinel, blocking his path and stopping him. Viktor stood his ground, but hesitated. Levi always angered him, because the man, like a solid boulder, never budged an inch, whatever Viktor did. "Ve got the Cup together, all three of us, but ... it vos a Portkey, and it brought us to a graveyard. Ve met a figure, and it cast the Killing Curse. I had to push Cedric avay-but ve landed on the Cup and ve got transported back."
"And those people in your 've'," Levi said, raising his eyebrow. "They're your friends?" Over Viktor's shoulder, Yana narrowed her eyes, and she stepped to the side and regarded the both of them.
His tutors weren't much older then Viktor, only by five years or so, but they were mature for their age, and very talented magical practitioners. Viktor didn't think he could distract them long enough to make a quick getaway. He was truly trapped, and he felt worthless, while Harry was in a cemetery with hooded figures who threw around Unforgivables without a thought.
"Da," Viktor replied resolutely. Yes, they are.
"Then ve should go," Levi answered simply, stepping aside.. Yana threw him a disbelieving look, while respect and gratitude swelled in Viktor as he smiled.
Levi Borisov Georgov was an alum of the Vulchanovi, one of the brotherhoods in Durmstrang. Viktor also belonged to that brotherhood, and they shared a common Sveshteni Kodove or rather Hellige Koder, in the more appropriate Norwegian setting. Fraternal bonds are sacred. One's brother is a brother to all Vulchanovi.
Levi pushed the flap of the tent's entrance open, and Viktor nodded in thanks, before dashing out into the cool late afternoon air. He could hear Levi hot on his trail behind him, with Yana close by, mouthing off disapprovingly.
"You are disobeying the old vizard's orders, Levi! He is supposed to stay in vone place!" she said, huffing as she jogged alongside them.
"Ah, but Yana. You vouldn't know what it is like, to be compelled by code," Levi said, brushing her off. Viktor threw him a glance, to which the bigger man responded with a sly wink.
He didn't have a plan, not yet, but he only needed to realize what his goal was, and work from there. He went around the Pitch, avoiding the crowd which was still celebrating, blissfully ignorant of the crisis under their nose/
Harry needed to be rescued. Who knew what was happening to the boy right at that moment? For that very reason, they had to be quick. The boy was in a graveyard, somewhere in Europe because Portkeys didn't work across vast distances, and there was no immediate way of getting to him. Viktor became agitated, closing off any unnecessary information. He walked briskly, breathing hard, and strained to come up with something, anything.
He tried to relive the events in his head, how they came to the graveyard, any landmarks that could have been distinct enough. He could remember a yew tree, a church and houses in the distance, but nothing that could be considered a landmark, only sprawling hills and thick fog. The ground had been barren, and he could recall how they arrived, how his two companions landed ungracefully, and how he had to help them up.
He could remember the figure that drew near, the impending sort of dread it brought with it, and he remembered Harry's piercing cry, clutching at his forehead as he dropped to his knees in agony-
His stopped in his tracks. Harry got headaches from his scar, his lightningbolt scar that was so iconic, yet so trivial now that Viktor's gotten to know him. It suddenly made all the difference. Why did his scar give him pain at that exact moment? His scar hurting meant something-the papers didn't quite get it right but there was something there.
Cedric said he didn't know that Harry experienced that kind of suffering, but someone had to know. Someone like one of his friends. He stopped by the edge of a crowd of students, with Levi and Yana skidding to a stop behind him.
"Vot is it? Have you thought of something?" Levi asked, and Yana shot him another irritated look.
"Ve should go back to the tent, Viktor. Dumbledore said he vould handle it," she implored him to reconsider, but Viktor ignored her, and scanned the crowd. He could recall how Harry oftentimes sat with a bushy-haired girl. He had overheard one of their conversations about House Elves, and heard how intelligent she sounded.
"Look for a girl with very bushy hair," he instructed them as he dodged and weaved around students, walking fast into the crowd as his eyes darted. She would probably be around people of the same house as Harry's, the red and gold of Gryffindor, and he ignored all other washes and hues of color in his vision, eyes training, as they would when they were in the Pitch, seeking the Snitch.
The students were very raucous and loud after the events, and they seemed pretty jubilant, or at least, the students from Hogwarts seemed just so, and Viktor was put off by the celebratory air, not because he was bitter, but because it was very distracting. They didn't know that Harry was in danger, and they didn't even need to, because it would only cause panic. No doubt some would even think that it would kill the mood. But he knew who would care, and he had to find her, if only everyone in his direct vicinity would stop moving and get out of the way-
It had only been in his periphery, but he caught it, the mass of wavy, messy brown hair that could only belong to one person in the entirety of the Hogwarts student body. Viktor squeezed his way to the crowd, jostling people without a hint of apology (Levi and Yana apologized for him), and as he approached, he realized that she was in conversation with a redheaded boy. He only caught the tail end of her statement.
"-out of the maze yet?" she said worriedly. The boy noticed him, gaping openly, and then crooked his head to tell the girl. She turned to look at him, and Viktor froze. Her eyes blazed, and she approached almost immediately, stalking intently.
"What happened in there? Where's Harry?" she demanded, stepping into Viktor's personal space. He almost stepped back, stunned.
"He's vith Dumbledore," he lied, and he could tell by the warm presence by his shoulder that Levi had heard it. "But his scar vos hurting. I need to ask why."
Her eyes widened for a second at what he had said. She then regarded him coolly, eyes entirely too knowing, and Viktor almost fidgeted in impatience. Beside her, the redhead was still dumbstruck.
"Why do you need to know?" she asked warily.
"Because Dumbledore von't tell me. And ... he's my friend."
She glanced at her friend, and Viktor could see the way she debated giving him an answer as her eyes flit about in thought.
"His scar hurts whenever ... whenever Voldemort-"she said it in a hushed whisper, "was affecting him. It kind of works as a signal for when things are about to go bad."
Viktor paled. Suddenly, the image of the hooded figure in his head formed, and he could not anymore disassociate it with You-Know-Who. The cold hiss in the air, the command to kill Cedric, it all made a startling amount of sense.
The Cup had been tampered with, presumably by his followers, and Harry was supposed to win, he was supposed to be sent to the graveyard. And the Imperius Curse-it all seemed connected, if he thought about it-Fleur was supposed to dispose of him and Cedric, so that Harry had no other competition for the Cup ...
He turned swiftly to Levi and conveyed everything with his grim expression. Levi nodded. With Durmstrang Institute teeming with supporters of the Dark, the Dark Lord had to relegate someone to do his bidding, and they knew who it was. It was common knowledge, whispered in the shadows, talked over in the common rooms at night. And he hadn't been in Fleur's tent. If he really was a Death Eater, he was sure to know what was going on.
"How are ve going to find him?" Viktor asked urgently, glancing between him and Yana. Levi fished out his wand.
"What's going on?" the bushy-haired girl piped behind them, but Viktor didn't listen, watching his Martial Magic tutor as he performed a complicated spell.
Viktor furrowed his eyebrows, turning to Yana. "It's a tracking spell that uses ones memories," she said.
Levi's eyes flew open, his gaze landing on the Durmstrang champion. "He's in the dungeons. Loading a boat. I think he's trying to escape."
"Escape? Vhy?" Yana asked in astonishment, but once again, Viktor had gone ahead of them without listening and full-on sprinted. They had no time to waste. Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute, was fleeing. It was known by everyone who had ever picked up a newspaper that he was a Death Eater. He would know what was happening, but if he escaped, VIktor would never get that chance he needed.
He clung to the amulet around his neck for luck, wishing fervently that Harry was still alive. He weaved around the crowd and soared out of the Pitch at top speed, leaving his tutors behind and barreling through the grounds.
Once at the front of the castle, he burst through the Entrance Hall, looking around for a moment before continuing on. He passed the house point hourglasses and the Great Hall, going around the side of the grand staircase and into the hall that led to the dungeons, where he knew a pathway led to the underground docks of the Great Lake.
He saw the back of a retreating figure, clad in a dark cloak and heading for the docks. Viktor whipped his wand out in a slashing motion and cast an Incarceous non-verbally. The heavy ropes shot out. It whipped around the person's feet, and the man made a sound of alarm as they fell to the ground. Viktor saw the glimmer of Karkaroff's embellished aspen wand and knew right away that he found the Headmaster. He smirked triumphantly.
"Expelliarmus!" The spell fired, and Karkaroff's wand snapped out of his wrist, flying towards Viktor. He caught it gingerly within his fingers. Now the man was defenseless.
"What is the meaning of this? Krum!" the grisly old man said in indignation, and Viktor descended upon him. He had no allegiance with the Headmaster, who promoted Dark Arts in the school and fanned the flames of animosity between brotherhoods. He had no qualms being rough, especially since he knew the man to be tied to the Dark Lord.
He jammed his wand over the skin Karkaroff's throat, glaring fiercely. Viktor rarely wore such vehement expressions, but he employed them now, to intimidate.
"Headmaster," he muttered, a low, terrifying sound in his throat. "Going somevhere, are we? Are ve, perhaps, escaping the authorities?"
"Wh-what are you saying!? Unbind me this instant!" he said reproachfully. There was fear in his eyes, and he flinched away from Viktor's hawk-like gaze.
"You're going to bring me to the Dark Lord, else you vill die, slowly, agonizingly," Viktor told him so quietly that it sounded ominous. He knew how to browbeat. He knew how to scare someone with the consequences they would face if they didn't do as they were told. Karkaroff fidgeted in his binds and looked like a caged rat.
"You know nothing, you ingrate. I have been nothing but generous to you. Do not seek to understand what is above and beyond your place," Karkaroff spat. "Now, release me!"
"Pneuma Talonis," Viktor uttered, running his wand down Karkaroff's chest. Viktor's eyes hardened. The older wizard began to sputter and cough.
"What-kof-did you do!?" the man demanded, coughing violently. He was wracked with pain, and began coughing blood onto his shirt. Viktor's steely gaze didn't falter.
"Bring me to the Dark Lord, and I vill end the curse. If you value your life, Headmaster, you vill comply. This spell is untraceable," he warned with a disturbing calmness. Karkaroff coughed again, and he seemed to be choking, suffocating on his own blood. When the suffering became too much, he nodded fearfully, and Viktor muttered the countercurse. It didn't heal the internal damage, but it ended the scratching in his windpipe.
The wizard, shivering and gasping, gathered his bearings for a moment, before sending a vehement glare Viktor's way. He ripped open his sleeve, revealing what Viktor knew to be the Dark Mark. He was shocked to see that it was writhing under Karkaroff's skin.
"Grab hold of me," Karkaroff spat through bloodstained teeth. Before he did, Viktor cast another spell on himself.
"Sanctuera Potens," he cast, tapping the top of his head. The improved Disillusionment Charm wrapped around his form like a thin veil, settling onto his skin with a light thrum. Karkaroff started when Viktor gripped his other wrist firmly, and before he knew it, they blinked out of existence, Apparating.
oOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOoo
They appeared in a clearing, with Viktor stumbling a few ways from Karkaroff's form. He fired stunning spells almost immediately at the man and subdued him, before shoving him behind a large tree.
He was standing at the edge of the graveyard. He remembered the scenery, the stale, cold air, the curling hand of death and decay, but it felt worse. The area was thrumming with Dark magic. Viktor's many years in Durmstrang made him particularly sensitive to high concentrations of it, and it made him heady and dazed for a moment, bracing against a cold boulder as he rode out the thick magic and got used to the cloying atmosphere.
He had to find Harry fast. He didn't like the Darkness that spiraled the area. It felt unnatural and tainted, unlike the wild Dark that surrounded Durmstrang or his ancestral home in Sofia. He needed to get out of there before it consumed him.
He set off. He trudged through a rough path, making doubly sure to keep silent in case anyone was in the area. The wispy, translucent coating against his arms indicated that the Disillusionment Charm was still in place, but it could only hold for so long before it left him exhausted magically.
He carefully avoided the litter that was scattered along the vast expanse of the graveyard, eyes flitting, but not really staying long enough to look at the headstones that were in disarray. The place was creepy and desolate, with fog that looked like tattered pieces of thin cloth floating in the air, and dark, spindly branches of what used to be living trees. The anticipation of what was in the middle of the graveyard chilled Viktor, and he grew more terrified with each step.
Voices. He heard them from a distance after going over a hill, murmurings in the night that were out of place in an abandoned cemetery but made it all the more disquieting. Viktor followed the sounds with painful trepidation, looking at his feet to make sure that his movements didn't reveal his position.
He crept over to a near headstone, a few meters away from another clearing, and crouched down, wiping at his sweaty brow with his sleeve and peeking around the side of the stone.
His eyes widened when he saw Harry. He was standing in the middle of a circle of statues, looking headstrong and defiant. He had his wand in his hand, Viktor noticed, and he looked as ragged and worn as when he had when they inadvertently left him.
And then Viktor saw another figure step into his line of sight, out from behind one of the statues around Harry, and he felt another chill, much more electrifying, run down his spine. It was almost like seeing a story come to life, except it felt like the stuff of his deepest, darkest nightmares. The man-if one could even call it that, wore black, billowing robes, and his skin was ghastly pale and clammy-looking. He looked like Death personified.
This figure could only be the Dark Lord Voldemort, and Harry just stood there, facing him, without a shred of fear in his eyes. Viktor was stunned silent.
"We bow to each other, Harry," the Dark Lord's voice carried all the way to Viktor, like it seemed he was magically enhancing his voice. Viktor saw him bow low, sneering at Harry viciously. "Come, the niceties must be observed ... Dumbledore would like you to show manners ... Bow to death, Harry ..."
Viktor heard a cacophony of dark laughs, and some of the statues moved. His blood pumped harder in his veins. Those weren't statues. They were wizards. Death Eaters, he thought despairingly. How was he supposed to subdue a dozen Death Eaters, hoodwink the Dark Lord, and grab Harry for an escape? The odds of pulling something spectacular like that off without a hitch became slimmer and slimmer as the cold settled further into Viktor. His muscles spasmed as he tried hard not to make any more unnecessary movements.
"I said-bow," the Dark Lord hissed, raising his wand and angling it downwards forcefully. Viktor saw Harry cry out as his body was forced to bend forward, shaking with tension. Viktor gripped his wand harder.
"Very good," Voldemort continued quietly, letting Harry go. Viktor saw the boy wobble on his feet, staggering, before pulling himself up and standing again, glaring. Harry had so much fight in him, and he was looking so determined in spite of the most powerful Dark Lord to have come into existence standing in front of him with the intent to kill him.
Viktor felt a surge of protectiveness go through him then, hardening his resolve. Harry was a fighter. He was a survivor. He did not deserve to die by the vile, wretched wizard's hand.
"And now you face me, like a man ... straight-backed and proud, the way your father died ... and now-we duel."
Quicker then the eye could see, Voldemort had flicked his wand forwards, and Viktor gaped, heart beating wildly in his chest as Harry doubled over and crashed to the floor, thrashing on the ground like he was being electrocuted.
He was being tortured, by the Cruciatus Curse, no doubt. Viktor's mouth went terribly dry, yet he couldn't look away. The Institute used the particular Unforgivable to prevent major offenses from being committed in school, and only to those who were repeat offenders. He had not once been at the end of a wand that cast it.
Harry's frightening scream filled the air, and the Death Eaters laughed and laughed. Viktor ached with every fiber of his being to jump from out of the headstone and run to Harry, but he couldn't. He was frozen in place, feet nailed to the ground by his fear and terror. He could be facing death that very night. He could fail, and end up being tortured until he no longer had any sense of pain and sanity.
But Harry held on. He screamed, and screamed, until Viktor was sure the boy's throat was hoarse, and then the spell lifted, and Voldemort chortled. Harry coughed violently onto the ground beneath him. Viktor held his breath. "A little break,' the Dark Lord said in a disturbingly teasing manner. "A little pause. That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"
No response came. For one, fleeting moment, Viktor thought he had failed Harry, and the slight boy's body had given up, but a little jerk, a convulsion, confirmed Harry's state. Harry was fighting. He was fighting. The thought of the fourteen year old struggling against all odds to survive gave Viktor strength. He shuffled, moving his legs to make sure blood flowed in them, before creeping close, to a nearer headstone.
"I asked you whether you want me to do that again," the Dark Lord said. "Answer me! Imperio!" he bellowed.
Harry's body twisted, and Viktor felt an urgent need to approach even faster. He was jumping from stone to stone now, making doubly sure not to make a sound as he tiptoed to the next gravestone, and to the next, eyes never leaving Harry's prone form, which had gone still.
"Just say no, Harry ..." the Dark Lord said smoothly. "Just say no." Viktor nearly clambered into a rusty old chamberpot in his haste to go down the hill, but thankfully he had avoided it just in time, and dodged into another headstone.
He nearly jumped when Harry screamed. "I WON'T!" and collapsed to the ground again, heaving, leaving Viktor flummoxed once again. That was an Imperius Curse from the Dark Lord that Harry had just broken through. How powerful was he, exactly?
"You won't? You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die. Perhaps another little dose of pain?" Voldemort raised his wand, and Viktor slid ever closer, almost near the circle of Death Eaters now, past the ring of the last headstones and into the clearing. He had gone unnoticed by the dark wizards, due largely in part to the show unfolding in front of them.
Harry had leaped, despite his prone and exhausted form, behind the largest headstone of them all, the place where Cedric's Killing Curse hit as it missed him by an inch of his life. Viktor scrambled to circle around, to reach that place where Harry was, side-stepping, his thighs straining as he walked on all fours.
"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort with a colder voice than before, and Viktor knew that he wasn't toying with Harry this time, that death was imminent, that he had to do something before it all ended in Harry's demise.
"You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry ... come out and play, then ... it will be quick ... it might be even painless ... I would not know ... I have never died ..."
Viktor finally saw Harry crouched behind the headstone a few feet from where he was invisible. Harry looked so weak and feeble, and Viktor struggled to draw closer, closer, inching forward without alerting the Death Eaters that have him in their line of sight, still ...
But Harry ... Viktor saw his face turn into the face of grim determination, and before he could get to him, just mere feet from the boy, Harry had ducked out, and cast Expelliarmus, just as Voldemort shouted the Killing Curse with absolute vehemence. He screamed soundlessly.
A surge exploded, the shockwave spanning out and hitting everyone who wasn't Harry or Voldemort as the two spells collided. Their magic erupted continuously from their wands, like unending jets of electricity and light, and Viktor squinted at the harsh vibrating air between the two wizards, shaking in their stance and battling for supremacy.
Viktor couldn't believe it; Harry was holding his own against Voldemort, was actually fending off the Killing Curse with his own spell! He saw a bright, gold band shoot from both wands and connect, like a ray of light from the sun. Viktor was astonished. He gazed on, frozen on the ground as the spells ignited the once desolate night.
Viktor was further stupefied when Harry and the Dark Lord rose from the ground, their wands still connected by the shimmering pillar of light. The Death Eaters began to shout as they floated off, and Viktor saw his chance. If he was going to have any chance at saving Harry, he was going to have to subjugate all of those Death Eaters.
He ran forward, shoulder colliding painfully against the marble headstone where not so long ago Harry was, and racked his brain for a perfect spell. He remembered the one Fleur used on her dragon during the First Task, a spell he had not encountered before, but had studied laboriously during their down time before the Final Task. It came with a more powerful, spreading spell, and he had to get the wrist work just right ...
He jumped out, facing the stunned Death Eaters, and said, loudly, Hypnos Maxima!, and with a complicated brandish, he gathered enough magic in his wand to throw towards the center of the area where the dark wizards were.
One by one they fell to the ground, asleep, and Viktor disarmed them, one after the other, going around and breaking wands left and right, giving some of them a right kick or two, all while the two wizards battled in midair. He could hear Voldemort's piercingly agonizing cry, feel it right down to his bones as he made sure each Death Eater was completely helpless, and he looked up in amazement.
The golden band of light between the two wands had become even more intense, that it almost like staring at the surface of the sun. Wisps of smoke where erupting from Voldemort's wand, shadows in the form of bodies, bursting limb by limb out of the Dark Lord's wand until the whole mass had escaped and flown outwards.
He saw that Harry was holding on for dear life. Viktor didn't know what to do to get him down from there without seriously injuring him or breaking the connection that seemed to be keeping Voldemort from delivering death.
More figures erupted from the wand, ghosts, it seemed, of people that had once lived, and Viktor watched in fascination as they drew close to Harry speaking to him. Viktor couldn't hear them over the torrent of magic and the bursting, flaring sounds that came forth from their wands, but they seemed to be on Harry's side, supporting him, keeping him strong ...
At the very climax of the connection, their magic coalesced into a stream of colors, and Harry gave in, the connection snapping like a taut wire. Before he realized it, Harry was plummeting to the ground, and Viktor ran after him, desperate to know if he was still alive. He saw the ghosts turn into clouds of dust and crash into Voldemort, engulfing him in smoke, but didn't look for any longer than he allowed himself, dropping down near Harry and skidding to a halt.
"STUN HIM," Voldemort screeched from behind the thick veil of ghosts, but Viktor had already subdued the Death Eaters, and he was cradling Harry's barely conscious form. He was still invisible, but about to be revealed, once he did what he had to do. He reached over to his chest and grabbed his amulet, hugging Harry close with his other hand. He kissed the surface of the gemstone, and muttered, "Antiochol," with a shaky breath.
They heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same time as Viktor felt the tug from behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked-it was speeding them away past sceneries and mountains and rivers ... away from the accursed graveyard where Voldemort had risen. They were gone from the place. He had saved Harry.