"You don't realize how much your life means to you until someone tries to take it away."
-Epitaph
Draco wakes up feeling anxious. Today is the day of the third task. And while Cedric's performed wonderfully in both of the two previous tasks, he can't help but worry. It doesn't even particularly matter to him who wins; he just wants Cedric ('and Harry too!' adds a little voice in his head) to be okay.
First, he has to force his breathing to regulate enough for him to feel comfortable getting out of bed and making himself visible to the other boys in his dormitory. (Draco can never stand to present a less-than-perfect image.) Then he struggles to still his trembling hands enough to actually get himself dressed and ready to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. When he finally gets there, he faces his most difficult challenge yet: forcing himself to stomach some food while Cedric sits right next to him.
Normally, the other boy's presence next to him is immensely reassuring. But today, it seems to have the opposite effect on Draco. As he thinks about the possibility of anything bad happening to Cedric, he feels constricted by the realization that he's come to rely so much on someone else. This was never meant to happen. Never getting too attached to anything always meant that he never had much to worry about losing. But now, he has everything to lose.
"Are you alright, Draco?" Cedric suddenly asks in concern.
Draco is pulled out of his thoughts and forces a smile on his face. "Yes, of course. I'm just so excited to see you win the Triwizard Tournament is all. My father will be thrilled to have you over for dinner after today, I'm sure."
Cedric laughs. "Well I'd love to go to Malfoy Manor. But I'd be there for you, not your father." He winks at Draco, making the boy's heart skip a beat.
Reaching out a hand, the Hufflepuff pulls him to his feet. It's time for everyone to start making their way to the location of the third task. Draco holds Cedric's hand the entire way there, trying his best to ensure that he doesn't clutch the other boy's hand too tightly for comfort. All too soon, they reach the Champions' Tent, where Cedric and Draco have to part ways.
Before Draco can say anything, Cedric gently places a hand on his cheek. "I know we're both young and it's soon for me to say this, but I can't help myself. I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy.." He presses their lips together for a short but passionate kiss then backs away from Draco with a blindingly brilliant smile.
It takes Draco until he's seated in the crowd with his father to realize that he never said the words back to Cedric.
Harry isn't particularly looking forward to the third task, but at the same time, he's relieved that all of this will finally be over.
Hermione and Ron had both fervently wished him good luck this morning, though they did it separately. All these friendship strains have been so frustrating lately. He just hopes that everything can go back to normal after the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students leave Hogwarts.
Soon the time comes for him to line up in front of the maze's entrance with Cedric, Victor, and Fleur. He's gotten to know them all much more than he ever thought he would. And he can't say that he has clear opinions of any of them. Cedric is the nicest but reminds him too much of Draco. Fleur and Victor both seemed like good partners for Ron and Hermione, but then all of that fell apart.
So he focuses instead on the task ahead. Rules and instructions are read aloud for what feels like ages. Then, finally, it's announced that he and Cedric are tied so far and therefore get to enter the maze first. When their cue goes off, they both run inside together.
Immediately, the path splits. Harry chooses to go left, while Cedric runs right. As he gets deeper into the hedged maze, it seems to get darker and more ominous. The triumphant music that was being played right outside the maze has been replaced with only the rustling wind and resulting crinkling of the hedges.
Harry only has a moment to wonder why the rustling seems to have suddenly gotten louder and louder before he finds himself abruptly falling face-down into the ground. He tries to haul himself back to his feet, but he feels himself get yanked back by something wrapped around his ankle. Twisting to look at it, he notices that it appears to be the hedge itself that's attacking him. He manages to cast a quick slicing spell that separates the vine wrapped around his ankle from the rest of the hedge. It gives him enough time to jump to his feet and hastily run forwards.
He keeps running as quickly as he can while still keeping an eye out for more vengeful vines. He's decided that his strategy is to follow the left wall of the maze. He's pretty sure that he heard somewhere that that's how you're supposed to solve a maze, and it's reassuring to have at least some kind of plan.
Harry just hopes that this maze hasn't hurt any of the other Champions.
Fleur was the last one to enter the maze, so she's not surprised that she hasn't seen any of the other Champions in it yet. She just hopes that none of them have gotten to the Cup already. She can only pray that if they do (which she's almost certain they will), the professors will get her out of here somehow. Fleur doesn't want to be stuck in this unsettling place for a moment longer than necessary. That's even more of a concern to her than losing the Triwizard Tournament, which is perhaps a little sad now that she thinks about it. Her attitude is certainly not the one Viktor would have. (But as she keeps reminding herself, Fleur isn't Viktor. She doesn't need to be fierce like him to be a person worth her own respect.)
Part of her wishes that she will be the one to win, of course. Ron hasn't been very happy with her ever since following along with her suggestion to seduce Viktor landed him in huge trouble with his friend Hermione. But Ron's a huge fan of the Triwizard Tournament, so winning it would ideally remind him of how much he admires her. The only problem with that plan is that Fleur is in last place. She's the least likely to win out of all of them. It'll probably be Viktor or Harry. She hopes it's Harry. Ron would probably be the least upset with that outcome.
But sometimes it seems like everything upsets him. She'd overheard a bit about how upset he'd been with Harry for no reason other than him being unwillingly selected to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. And of course, Ron had complained to her about Harry spending time with Draco Malfoy with a bitterness that she simply didn't understand. Fleur has plenty of friends at Beauxbatons, and none of them have ever been so jealous and petty and unpredictable. But they've also never excited her as much as this red-haired boy has and does.
After a few vines nearly kill her, she mentally curses herself for getting as caught up in her thoughts as she always does. This is why you'll never be the best, Fleur.
A few minutes later (or maybe a great many minutes later―she really has no idea), she stumbles upon Victor. She's about to either greet him politely or just take the opposite turn as him (she hasn't yet decided which), when suddenly a dementor races towards them. She feels her heart sink as she remembers that she's never successfully cast a Patronus before. She's still staring at it, frozen with fear, as yet another vine slams her hard against the ground. As she thrashes against it, she feels her head violently smash against the ground. Fleur vaguely hears Victor yell "Riddikulus!" at what must be a Boggart. Then he's at her side. But she can't help him free her. Everything's already started to turn black when she sees a flare shoot into the sky.
At the end of it all, it's Harry and Cedric, running side by side towards the Cup. Part of Harry wants to try to race ahead and take the victory for himself. But then he remembers all the Champions standing and holding hands before the second task began and how that camaraderie has never turned sour. He remembers how he and Cedric teamed up in the lake to both help Fleur and get Cho and Ron to the surface. He remembers the smile on Draco's face when Cedric was beside him during the past few weeks.
Cedric deserves to win. At the last moment, Harry holds back from grabbing the Cup. But Cedric says, "Harry, you deserve this too! Take it with me." With vines whipping all around them, Harry doesn't really have time to think about it. He just makes eye contact with Cedric and nods. They make contact with the Cup simultaneously and disappear.
Harry has just a split second to think to himself that the Cup being a portkey makes sense: it's an easy way to get the winner out of the maze and take them to where the eager crowd awaits. . . .
His thoughts trail off as he realizes that he and Victor have not been transported to that location. No celebratory music hails their arrival to this place. Instead, they're somewhere even darker and more ominous than the maze had been. Headstones surround them, so they must be in some sort of cemetery.
But why?
This place feels almost familiar, like he's been here before. Perhaps in a dream. . . . That's when his scar starts to throb. "Cedric," Harry starts to say, looking for where the Cup had rolled off to, hoping they could leave as easily as they'd arrived.
All of a sudden, he hears the pop of apparition. A cloaked figure appears a few feet away, and a giant black cauldron separates him from Cedric. The cloaked figure is holding something, but Harry can't tell what it is. Something deep within him tells him that he doesn't want to know.
"The Cup!" Harry screams at Cedric, panicked. They need to leave now.
Cedric just stares at him, probably in shock. "Harry, what's going-"
That's when the green light hits him. Harry hadn't seen it coming. He'd been too focused on Cedric, willing the other boy to grab the Cup Harry had just noticed behind him. A grave mistake on his part. He watches in horror as Cedric crumples to the ground, dead. Harry falls to his knees too, unable to focus on anything beyond the fact that his classmate is lying there dead. And Cedric is (was) good, so purely good, not at all someone who should be dead right now at only age 17.
"Hello, Harry. How nice of you to join us!" croons a voice then. It sends a chill down Harry's spine. He knows that voice belongs to Peter Pettigrew. The pain in his scar is rapidly increasing, which makes him think that the thing cradled in Wormtail's arms must be . . . Voldemort. He tries to sprint to Cedric and the Cup, but Voldemort's croony stops him by waving his wand and trapping Harry in the grip of a Grim Reaper statue.
Pettigrew carefully walks over and drops Voldemort's remains into the cauldron. "I will now give you all that you need to take a proper form again, Master," he whispers, just loudly enough for Harry to hear. His wand is lying on the ground and his arms are restrained so that all he can do is watch helplessly as the man adds a bone from Tom Riddle, Sr. into the cauldron, cuts off his own hand, and even cuts Harry's arm deeply. He collects a vial of blood, which he then drops into the cauldron as well. The whole time a sickly grin remains plastered on his face.
Harry wishes he could disappear as he sees Voldemort rise from the cauldron. His skin is white, his features unnervingly disfigured. Harry knows that when Voldemort had been Tom Riddle, his appearance had been deceptively attractive. But at least now this marred body now suits the mangled soul that resides within it.
He almost breathes a sigh of relief when Voldemort doesn't immediately turn to him. But he doesn't want to give Voldemort any further reason to pay him any attention, so he keeps absolutely still and quiet as the dark wizard presses the Dark Mark on Peter Pettigrew's arm. In just a few moments, dark swirls appear as Death Eaters arrive. Harry can't identify who any of them are, as they're all wearing their usual black cloaks and sinister masks.
But Voldemort doesn't leave him wondering at their identities for long. "My loyal followers," he sneers at them. "Where have you all been during these last 14 years? Your Master has returned, no thanks to any of you. Except one." With that, he turns to Wormtail. "Your loyalty will be repaid. Here is a new hand in honor of your service," Voldemort says as he brandishes his wand. A silvery substance appears in the air, which then forms itself into the shape of a hand. The hand attaches itself to Peter Pettigrew's stump. Harry hates to say anything nice about the guy who wants him dead, but his transfiguration skill is excellent to be able to so easily create such a perfect replacement.
After giving everyone a moment to admire his work, Voldemort turns back to his assembled Death Eaters. He viciously reaches out and snatches the mask away from the man nearest to him as he snarls, "Crabbe!" The man crumples to the ground. Voldemort goes down the line, calling out name after name, tearing masks away.
"Goyle!"
"Nott!"
"Malfoy!"
"Avery!"
"Rosier!"
"Macnair!"
"Lestrange!"
He pauses dramatically as they all quiver on the ground in a circle around him. "You all left me while the boy Harry Potter lived. I hope for your sake that such thoughts of abandonment never occur to any of you again."
Harry's heart sinks as Voldemort approaches him now. Blinding pain sears through him as the Dark Lord presses a long finger against his scar. "You may have bested me several times before, Potter. But you are a mere boy. And I have been restored to my former glory." He suddenly reaches out and tears aside the scythe that had been holding Harry in place. "You will duel me, Potter. And I will win, once and for all, as it has always been destined to be."
Falling to the ground, Harry scrambles to grab his wand. But before he can raise it to cast any sort of spell, Voldemort yells out, "Crucio!" Every nerve in Harry's body feels as if it's been set on fire. The pain is more intense than anything he's ever felt before. And he can't think about anything at all outside of the overwhelming misery he feels. His mind howls in agony, agony that he just wishes would end. Please, please, please make it stop. He can't bear a moment longer―
And then it stops. Harry collapses against the ground, too weak to do anything else. He feels as though his mind has fled his body. His awareness of the situation has absconded him to the point where he feels only half-present, still encased in lingering pain.
That's when Voldemort casts another spell. "Imperio!" And with that, he drags Harry to his feet, wand still in hand. Never in his life did Harry think someone would be this insane.
"Fight me, Potter." Voldemort grins maniacally, with the giddiness of someone prepared to eat their favorite meal. Harry can't think of anything he has less desire to participate in.
But regardless, he aims his wand and says, "Stupify!" It's not like he has a choice. The Imperius Curse is still influencing his actions. So as exhausted as he is, both mentally and physically, he fights his enemy.
Voldemort laughs and casually brushes the spell off to the side. Harry feels a glimmer of satisfaction as he sees it hit Lucius Malfoy, who had just risen to his feet to watch the duel. But Harry's distraction means that he barely has time to jump to the side as Voldemort throws a vicious slicing spell at him. Definitely Dark Magic.
Harry next casts a blinding spell, but Voldemort simply throws up a shield last minute. The spell hits it head-on and quickly fizzles out.
"Is this the best you can do, Potter?" he cackles. Then he suddenly sends a frenzy of spells Harry's way. He doesn't have time to contemplate what they are; he just conjures a shield of his own. Except the volume and strength of the spells slamming against it start to create cracks in the shield. It'll break momentarily, and Harry's dead if he loses this duel.
So right before the shield would've broken anyway, Harry purposefully dissolves it and sends the most powerful Confringo Curse he can muster. It's more violent than Harry would normally consider using, but it is Voldemort he's facing right now. And the Imperius Curse won't let him hold back much.
A split second after casting the spell, one of Voldemort's spells hits his stomach. It instantly causes a stabbing burning sensation to arise. But luckily he has enough adrenaline to fuel him to run past Voldemort towards Cedric's body and the Cup.
But the Confringo only seems to impress Voldemort, and a Death Eater unfamiliar to Harry grabs his arm and prevents him from getting far. The Death Eater backs away from him right as Voldemort starts to cast another spell. Harry can't explain how, but he knew exactly what spell it was going to be. So he simultaneously shouts "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort's green spell meets his red one, and then they're locked in a contest of wills, each trying to will their curse to overpower the other.
Harry doesn't particularly feel the need to stick this out. Not when he's surrounded by Death Eaters and already injured. So after a few moments of holding off the Killing Curse, he breaks off the connection and lunges to the side. The unfortunate Death Eater who'd been standing behind him receives the full force of the deadly spell. But Harry can't afford to spare a moment to regret that right now.
He dashes to Cedric's body. It feels wrong to leave him here. The Hufflepuff doesn't deserve to be dead, let alone abandoned to rest next to a Death Eater. So he pulls Cedric's body towards him in a sort of embrace and screams, "Accio Cup!"
The Cup flies to his hand, but it does so right as yet another spell hits him.
The crowd is beginning to grow restless, as they've all been sitting there over an hour with no updates on a winner. Draco is just about to lean over to ask his father what would happen if none of the Champions make it to the Cup, when suddenly, Harry Potter appears in the clearing in front of the maze's entrance. (And also Draco notices that his father doesn't appear to be sitting beside him anymore, which is odd.)
Harry's clutching, the Cup, Draco notes hollowly. But he can't really bring himself to care about that when he sees what else the boy is holding: Cedric.
Luckily for them, no one even tries to stop Draco from bolting towards the pair and tearing Cedric from Harry. His heart catches in his chest when he notices the absence of a heartbeat. "How could you let this happen?" he demands, staring at Harry with daggers in his eyes and sharp ice in his voice.
That's when he notices the terrible state Harry's in. He looks as though he's been in some sort of intense duel. And perhaps he has . . .
More gently this time, Draco asks "What happened, Harry?"
There's fear and sadness in Harry's eyes. His voice is shaky and hardly even a whisper as he replies, "Voldemort's back."
Draco's eyes widen in shock, but he says nothing.
Harry raises his voice so that the whole crowd can hear him. "Voldemort's back!" he cries. Then his eyes roll back in his head, as if summoning that much volume had taken the last of his strength, and Draco has just a moment to swoop an arm around the dark-haired boy's shoulders before he hits the ground.
Chaos erupts in the crowd. But Draco feels empty as he clutches two boys, one of whom will never awaken again, but both of whom he can't seem to let go of.
"I love you," he whispers. But it's too late. No one hears his confession. He's utterly alone.