Hey guys! The wait was a bit longer than I wanted for this update, but this scene was a lot harder to write out than I anticipated. Sorry about that!
This chapter is, however, pretty long compared to most of the others, and I actually have almost 1,000 words of the next chapter written already. I was going to include the whole graveyard scene in one chapter, but it ended up way too long and I wanted to get this up for you. SO, the next part of this scene will be in the next chapter, part of which is already written. So stay tuned for that. :)
Otherwise, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to let me know your thoughts!
James and Lily knew the Cup was a Portkey long before Harry and Cedric limped together toward it. The knowledge only served to make watching it happen scarier.
"On three, right?" Harry asked his older companion.
Lily could only stare on in horror. "No," James moaned, "Don't do it." Lily's breath hitched at the boys reached together toward the cup, but there was no stopping what was about to happen and the two watched in terrified fascination as the Triwizard Cup grew suddenly bright and vanished, taking both boys with it.
In death, Lily and James had the ability to go with them, which might have been a curse just as much as it was a blessing. Still, they went and saw, an instant later, both boys make impact with the solid ground of the graveyard. As one, they lost their footing at the violent arrival.
They got up quickly, confused at the unexpected change in their surroundings. Cedric suggested they take their wands out. It was a stellar idea and Harry looked relieved he'd suggested it. James and Lily were as well.
Peter Pettigrew made his way toward them, through the graveyard and its throng of headstones, carrying the abomination in his arms. James ground his teeth at the sight, outraged, and yet beneath the overwhelming anger he still harbored hurt. This was Peter Pettigrew, the clumsy boy who'd idolized James and his friends and had been with them so faithfully for years. Right up until he wasn't.
Harry saw him first and both boys stayed where they were, watching the cloaked figure approach. Pettigrew was still a good distance away from them when, without warning, Harry bent double and was suddenly on the ground, his hands to his face, cradling his head in a fetal position upon the hard ground.
This was likely a small mercy, even with the incredible amount of pain he was clearly in, because in the next second, the thing that was Voldemort had thrown back the cloak that wrapped him and killed Cedric Diggory with a wave of his wand.
"No!" Lily gasped in shock and outrage, and then proceeded to send an array of colorful language at the evil wizard. And James made no move to stop her, as he could only stare at body of the boy who'd been so good to Harry in the tournament. A young man, barely more than a child; gone, just like that. Another life ended too soon at the hand of Voldemort. The rage that had filled him at the sight of Peter was nothing compared to what he felt now. He was seeing red.
Harry vomited a split second after Cedric's body hit the ground, though whether it was from the pain in his head or the body of his ally hitting the ground beside him, Lily wasn't sure.
Propped feebly on his hands and knees, Harry did not move when he finished, but seemed to brace himself. Slowly he opened his eyes, tear-filled and anguished, and stared into Cedric's newly dead ones. He stayed that way only so long as it took Pettigrew to set Voldemort down and cross to him before he was being yanked brutally up and backward, led to the gravestone of Tom Riddle.
Harry struggled as Pettigrew bound him to the stone. Pettigrew hit him. Lily gasped in outrage. Harry did too, having realized finally just who he was dealing with. "You!" he cried in indignation.
Pettigrew ignored him, finished his work, and then gagged Harry. If James' body had worked the same way in death as it had in life, he would have been trembling in rage by now. Not to mention fear.
Because he knew what was happening, and it wasn't looking like Harry would make it out this time.
Harry gave up struggling; it was a lost cause, and instead settled to looking around while Pettigrew moved out of his sight, preparing further for the event. Harry's eyes fell on Cedric's body and rested the for a second before he looked beyond him, at the Triwizard Cup still lying on the ground where they'd dropped it upon arrival. Lily could see the gears turning behind her son's eyes and she knew he knew the cup could get him out of there.
It was a great idea except for that fact that he was inescapably bound.
She didn't know how she was still watching.
But watch she did. She and James saw all of it. The cauldron, Voldemort, the open grave, Pettigrew's hand—Harry, thank Merlin, had had the sense not to watch that happen, though it was of little comfort in the grand scheme of things.
They watched Pettigrew, panting still in his own pain, draw the dagger and drive the blade into Harry's arm. Watched as he collected the blood that dripped down their son's arm. Watched as he then poured it into the cauldron and watched as the potion turned a brilliant white.
Watched as Voldemort rose again.
Lily burst into tears. James wrapped her tightly in his arms and she clung to him desperately, likely unaware in that moment just how desperately he held her back. "No," she sobbed into him, the fabric covering his back gripped firmly in her fist "Not again. He can't… Harry—He'll—He's not safe now. All we did… Everything he's—Harry!"
"I know," James murmured, fighting against the tears of anguish threatening to spill from his own eyes. And he did know.
All they'd done. All they'd died for. Everything Harry had suffered. It was all for nothing now. Voldemort was back and he'd used Harry's blood to do it. He wasn't safe anymore. Voldemort could touch him, could do whatever he wanted to him. He'd surely kill him before the night was through.
It was all for nothing.
They were vaguely aware of Voldemort's following words as he beckoned Peter to him. The appearance of the Dark Mark in the sky helped bring James violently back to reality as it send painful shivers down his spine. Lily had yet to look up from his shoulder and he was grateful. She didn't need to feel this too.
He focused instead on Harry. Harry, who had been through so much and had done the unthinkable, who, even at just fourteen was wise and good beyond his years; Harry, who knew exactly what Voldemort's return meant, was looking grimly at his enemy, terrified.
Voldemort was talking now, taunting him. Speaking about his family, entertaining himself at Harry's expense. James was almost thankful when the Death Eaters arrived and he all but forgot about Harry. For a while at least.
Then came time for Voldemort to demonstrate his newfound power. He crossed lazily to Harry's side and, with all eyes one him, explained about the Boy Who Lived. About Lily's sacrifice, and the ramifications of that sacrifice. The closer he grew to Harry, the more their son's pain obviously intensified. He looked to be trying hard not to cry out. Voldemort was unfazed, pleased even. "His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice," he continued, "This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it… But no matter. I can touch him now." And touch him he did, pressing a finger right to Harry's face, which crumbled under the agony of it. Voldemort laughed.
Lily had stopped crying now and watched again with James, feeling as hopeless as he looked. "This is really it," she whispered in dismay. James' arm, still on her waist, tightened around her. The thought broke her heart into infinitely small pieces.
It would have been one thing for Harry to die tonight. It would have destroyed her, yes, but she would have seen her baby again and selfishly she knew it wouldn't have been all bad. But if Voldemort was alive again, it cancelled out everything she, James, and the rest of the Order had done before their death. It nullified everything Dumbledore had done in the time since. It discounted all of Harry's efforts. It destroyed everything.
Now, not only would Harry die far too young, but Voldemort was free to wreck havoc upon the world she loved all over again. It was all for nothing.
She didn't listen to Voldemort's account. She didn't want to. But when he cast the Cruciatus on Harry, it was almost too much to bear. A shattered squeak sounded from her throat and tears again flowed free from her eyes, but she didn't look away. James grabbed her hand and held tight, and she knew in that moment that he needed her support just as much as she needed his.
It killed her that this was how Harry was to die; in excruciating pain as the plaything of his enemies, the victim of the war he'd been dragged into and the scapegoat for the actions of his parents even before his birth. How could she ever have let this happen to her boy? What kind of mother was she? It was her fault Voldemort was so interested in him and her fault that he was back now. If and when Harry died tonight, how could she ever face him knowing she did this to him, to all of them?
James knew she was struggling but he could do nothing to help her. The despair he felt in watching Voldemort's interactions with Harry was too much. It couldn't end like this.
He was, however, brought up short when Harry's wand was returned to him. It was the last thing he'd expected.
Pettigrew untied Harry and for a split second, James saw in his eyes the idea of running. Beautiful as the option was, it was impossible and Harry knew that as well. He was forced to comply.
Voldemort mocked him as he instructed him to duel. It was obviously the last thing Harry wanted to do, but he had no choice as the dark wizard imposed his will on him with magic and literally bent him to his will.
"Very good," Voldemort said softly, raising his wand and releasing Harry from his power, "And now you face me, like a man… straight-backed and proud, the way your father died." James scowled at the words. "And now—we duel."
Voldemort had only just raised his wand when Harry was already on the ground, writing in pain under the Cruciatus once more. James felt sick. The dark wizard grinned maniacally at his torturous game for a few moments before lowering his wand. Harry's body relaxed and he got quickly but shakily to his feet. He staggered into the nearby throng of watching Death Eaters, who pushed him brutally back toward Voldemort, who spoke now, excited.
"A little break, a little pause… That hurt, didn't it, Harry?" he mocked patronizingly, "You don't want me to do that again, do you? Harry glared, weak but defiant, and said nothing. The action filled James both with pride and fear. Voldemort, his voice still soft but growing in force, continued, "I asked whether you want me to do that again. Answer me! Imperio!"
Lily sighed helplessly. Voldemort was apparently running through the Unforgivables one by one; she had no doubt he was saving the best for last. At least the Imperious curse caused Harry no physical pain. She wasn't sure how much more of the Cruciatus she could take.
Harry struggled visibly against the powerful magic, which alone was impressive. Very few people could resist a well-cast Imperious curse at all. So it was even more impressive when, after a long few seconds of internal battle, Harry yelled, "I WON'T!" His words echoed through the graveyard and the Death Eaters, who had been laughing and enjoying themselves a great deal up until this point, grew abruptly silent.
"You won't?" Voldemort asked now, his voice still even, "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die… Perhaps another dose of pain?" Lily groaned in horror as he again moved to lift his wand toward her son, but this time Harry was ready. He dove out of the way and rolled behind Tom Riddle's gravestone a millisecond before the curse hit. The granite cracked on impact as it missed him.
"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," Voldemort drawled coldly, drawing closer to his father's grave. The Death Eaters laughed pathetically. "You cannot hide from me," he went on, "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 even be painless…I would not know…I have never died…" James could not withhold the profanity that escaped from his mouth at this. How dare he. How dare that monster mock Harry that way, his son. How dare he. It absolutely enraged him.
Harry crouched down behind the stone as Voldemort grew nearer still. His expression was one of defeat. He knew the end had come. "Don't you dare, Harry," Lily said firmly, watching even while tears streamed down her face. "Don't you dare give up. Not like this."
"He won't," James said, his teeth clenched, "He would never let Voldemort win that easily. He'll get up. He'll want to die on his feet."
"He shouldn't be dying at all," she said softly, even while she knew they were well beyond that. Harry was fourteen; he should have had a long life ahead of him, but if he didn't, and he clearly did not, she wanted it to be quick and painless. She didn't want him to make the situation any worse. But she agreed with James. Voldemort could not win so easily. Harry couldn't give him the satisfaction of dying on the ground like that.
And James was right. A mere second before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the gravestone, Harry stood up, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, and threw himself out from behind the stone, before Voldemort with his wand outstretched, and even in death, the world stopped.
Thanks for reading!