Disclaimer.- I don´t own Harry Potter or its characters. Neither do I own Harry Potter: The Goblet of Fire, by , nor the Walkie Talkie copyright.
Chapter 10.- The third task: Afterwards
Life is unpredictable. You never know which path life will follow, there is no way to know how things will turn out.
There is no way to know if you are doing something right or something wrong when you are actually doing it. Its only later when you realise you made a mistake.
And then, once we made a mistake, how to be able to finally make it right? How to stay unbroken?
Life is unpredictable. Some people never have any horrible situations in their life, and they die bored, unimpressed. And then, there are those that had a life of problems, never getting to live alright.
Its it possible to be broken twice?
And most importantly, its it possible to learn to heal?
The girl hated hospitals. She hated them all; the white of their walls, the stiffness of their beds, the sickening odor of the healing potions – but what she hated more, was the person resting in one of their beds.
She sighed, shifting in her uncomfortable hospital chair. How had everything changed so drastically?
Everything had turned so wrong, and she, for once, didn´t know what to do anymore.
The girl placed her right arm in the occupied bed next to her, and closing her eyes tightly she let her head fall in top of it.
"I guess there is no change, then," a feminine voice said from behind her, where the door of the hospital was placed.
The girl lifted her head slowly, and looked into the eyes of her friend.
"No, there hasn´t been any change. He is still in that bloody coma," she told her, her voice tight with the frustration she had been felling since that terrible day everything had happened.
Her brown-haired friend moved one of the other chairs on the room, so she could also be next to the bed.
The girl placed her head back above her arm.
"I don´t know what to do, Wind." she whispered. She was quite angry to feel tears accumulating in her eyes. She felt Wind place a hand on top of hers.
"He will be alright, Flame. You will see," Wind said softly. "We will all be."
Flame lifted her head again, and desperate chocolate brown eyes met brown.
"How?" she whispered. "We are all fighting, and he is one step from death! We need him to stop this craziness that has begun around us!"
"We will manage it," Wind said calmly, her hand never wavering from her position above Flame´s.
"We don´t even know what Riddle did to him!" Flame finally exploded. "We asked Charles; you know he said he didn´t catch what the curse was! And then, all the Midnights are fighting between them – and don´t say they have been fighting for always!" she added when she saw Wind open her mouth. "This is different. We need Nightmare."
Wind smiled sadly at her, recognizing the truth in Flame´s words.
"I need him," Flame whispered softly, taking her hand from under her friend´s hand, and traced softly her boyfriend´s pale cheek, before taking his cold hand.
Flame never saw Wind stand up and walk towards the door; neither she saw her friend giving her and their leader a sad smile; she just closed her eyes, trying to gain the sleep that she knew would never arrive.
Bagman pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, "Sonorus," and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each - Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Charles Potter, both of Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "In second place, with eighty points - Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause. "And in third place – Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"
"So… on my whistle, Charles and Cedric!" said Bagman. "Three - two - one -"
He gave a short blast on his whistle, and both Charles and Cedric hurried forward into the maze.
The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, making the roaring sound from the audience stop very suddenly, as if Charles had dived into a pool.
"Lumos," he muttered, just as Nightmare had advised him to, and heard Cedric do the same just behind him.
After about fifty yards, the boys reached a fork. They looked at each other, and without a word, rushed into the solitude of choosing different paths.
Charles heard Bagman's whistle for the second time. Krum had entered the maze. Charles sped up. His chosen path seemed completely deserted. He turned right, and hurried on, holding his wand high over his head, trying to see as far ahead as possible. Still, there was nothing in sight.
Bagman's whistle blew in the distance for the third time. All of the champions were now inside.
"So," Blade started, once he saw Wind enter the room. "How are they?"
Wind sighed as she took a seat on the left side of her boyfriend. "Nightmare is still on coma – and you know Flame, she is..."
She didn´t need to finish her sentence, they all knew Flame had been heartbroken when she learnt her boyfriend had been injured.
Lost in thoughts, the group that called themselves as the Lightnings settled into silence.
After some minutes of the tense situation, Frosty opened her mouth.
"These headquarters are much strange," she said dreamily. "There are a few Wrackspurts in this building."
She was correct, the Midnights´ Headquarters had a thing about it that make everyone uneasy. Yes, the building itself was bigger than their own was; it had an auditorium, five entire floors of guestrooms, a hospital, playrooms, and a floor for training, with lots of areas and tools; but to them it felt empty, the homey feeling of their own headquarters lost in the extensive areas. It did make them remember, though, that their group was highly recognized – and given charity money by lots of influential people – for fighting death eaters.
"Probably because of all the tension and fighting." Echo said to Frosty, trying to excuse the Wrackspurts.
Rock opened his mouth to say something, probably to agree with Echo, when a beeping sound was heard. Wind´s hand traveled towards her handbag, pulling out a small device that everyone recognized as a WalkieTalkie. Ever since they got separated from Blade and Tornado, they had all agreed in having some communication method aside the owls – and so, every single one of them, the Lightnings, and the Midnights, had gotten one of the petite communicators.
Wind pressed one of the buttons, and brought the device more closer to her mouth.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice a bit frustrated. Then, she stopped pressing the button to allow the response to come.
"Wind of Lightning?" they heard Moon ask. "I need your group to come to the Auditorium, immediately. We have – er, things, to discuss."
Moon of Midnight was a boy that could control weather, or know the kind of day one would have. He could predict rain at least two weeks before it happened.
Every Lightning had power, and lots of it, but the ones in the Midnights; they were the best.
There was Nightmare, with his impressive control of elements. Few knew, though, that he had actually studied very hard to acquire them. Ivy, could control any kind of liquid; Light loved to blind her enemy; Shade could control darkness; and Eagle knew every kind of animal, and had the power to talk to and transform into them.
"What kind of 'things'?"asked Wind, between curious and exasperated. It was probably just another reason to fight.
"Well, you see," Moon continued nervously.
"Yes?" everyone asked impatiently.
"We found out what happened to Nightmare."
Charles 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.
"Where I am?" he said, shaking his head
He got up, and looked around. He was, apparently, not in Hogwarts grounds anymore; the Cup-Portkey had obviously traveled miles - perhaps hundreds of miles – as he couldn´t recognise his surroundings anymore.
He was 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. Charles could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
But there was something about this place that made him feel nauseated. He blinked as he got some sort of Deja-vu. Oh, no...
"No," Charles whispered, looking frantically around. This was the place of his dream, and that meant – Voldemort!
"Someone's coming," he whispered suddenly, feeling someone´s presence getting closer..
Squinting tensely through the darkness, he watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Charles 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 all the time - Charles saw that the thing in the persons arms looked like a baby… or was it merely a bundle of robes?
And then, he recognized him. It was Peter Pettegrew – the traitor.
"You!" Charles shouted angrily. "What are you doing here?"
But the rat-Animagus ignored him as he got even closer to Charles. And suddenly, Charles fell to the floor in pain – pain, like the one he felt in his first year, when fighting Voldemort. He was near.
"Whatever it is what you want, Pettegrew," Charles said, more brave than he felt, pointing his wand towards the small man. "I won´t help you!"
Someone laughed, and it was a terrible, frightening laugh, that made Charles´s stomach flip over.
"You really expect me not to have a plan, Charles Potter?" Voldemort´s horrible spirit-like voice reached his ears, and Charles nearly puked when he realized... the bundle of robes, was the one and only, Lord Voldemort.
"What do you mean?" Charles asked, trying to not let his voice waver; but he never got an answer.
Pettegrew lit his wand, and was suddenly dragging Charles towards the marble headstone. Charles saw the name upon it flickering in the wand light before he was forced around and slammed against it.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Charles, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Charles could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing.
"Stop bothering me, Voldemort!" he exclaimed, struggling in his bonds. "I. WILL. NOT. HELP. YOU!"
"W-we sh-shall s-see," Wormtail said. "Just... N-now!"
Charles stopped struggling and blinked in shock.
There, in the middle of the Cementery, was none other than Nightmare of Midnight.
Author note:
Hi, everyone! Sorry ´bout the lateness! I was trying to finish both part 1 and part 2 of this chapter, while I get ready for school, that starts next week.
You will all love the rest!
I want to say, too, that the parts that are in cursive, while they are Flashbacks, they have some word-to-word parts from GOF of lovely JKR. Don´t hate me! I needed some PRO help with that...
So, I will see you tomorrow! Please, feel free to tell me what you think, or what you want!
Lily