Chapter 23- Flesh, Blood, Bone, and the Death Eaters
Haiden felt his feet slam into the ground and fell forward, his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.
"Where are we?" He asked. Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Haiden and Harry to their feet, and they looked around.
They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously traveled miles - perhaps hundreds of miles - for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and over grown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yet tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Haiden 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 Haiden.
"Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" He asked.
"Nope." Haiden said looking over at Harry who had begun to walk around looking at everything he could. "Harry?"
"No." Harry said. Haiden also began to look around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie.
"Is this supposed to be part of the task?" Haiden asked.
"I dunno." Cedric said, sounding slightly nervous.
"I don't think so." Harry said, sounding guarded and that sent Haiden on edge. It was obvious that Harry was feeling danger.
"Wands out, d'you reckon?" Cedric asked.
"Yeah." Haiden said, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than Harry, because if Harry had told him to be ready, then he knew something bad was going to happen. Him and Cedric pulled out their wands, Haiden thankful of the show Harry had put on earlier that left Cedric not even questioning why Harry hadn't pulled his wand out (Haiden wondered if Harry had even brought his wand). Haiden had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
"Someone's coming." Harry whispered suddenly. Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Haiden 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 - Haiden saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby . . . or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Haiden lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric, and noticed that Harry had moved so that he was positioned behind Cedric (and still in his defensive position). 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, Haiden and Cedric and the short figure (Harry's line of sight being blocked by Cedric's body) simply looked at one another.
And then, without warning, Haiden'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 scar; his knees buckled as he glared at the person.
"Kill the spare." Haiden heard the raspy voice of Voldemort that he had heard in his vision. The person held up a wand.
"Avada Kedavra!" The person screeched. Haiden watched with horror as a blast of green light flew straight at Cedric (and Harry). It was all happening so fast and yet he watched in slow motion as Cedric's limp body flew through the air, taking what appeared to be the unconscious body of Harry with him. The hard thud of Cedric and Harry's bodies landing on the ground just slightly behind him.
"HARRY! CEDRIC! NO!" Haiden cried in shock. He had just witnessed the death of his brother and school mate. This was his fault, had he not insisted that Cedric also take the cup along side him and Harry then Cedric would still be alive. Cedric had been the 'spare' he was sure of it, had Cedric not been here then, both him and Harry would still be alive.
For a second that contained an eternity, Haiden stared at Harry and Cedric's limp and unmoving bodies. And then, before Haiden'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 short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Haiden toward the marble headstone. Haiden saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Haiden, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Haiden 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 missing finger. It was then that Haiden realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail. Anger flared up inside him.
"You!" He growled out.
But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Haiden was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Haiden's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Haiden and hurried away. Haiden couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.
Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away (something was wrong, something was missing but what?) Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. The bundle of robes that Haiden had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Haiden watched it, and his scar seared with pain again . . . and he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes . . . he didn't want that bundle opened. . .
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied (if only Harry were still here, he would be able to talk with it and have it leave him alone). Wormtail's fast wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Haiden's range of vision, and Haiden saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water -Haiden could hear it slopping around - and it was larger than any cauldron Haiden had ever used (Severus would love to use this one, he was sure); a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there was crackling flames beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness, something having caught its attention. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thicken, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movement beneath the robes became more agitated. And Haiden heard Voldemort's high, cold voice again.
"Hurry!" The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
"It is ready, Master."
"Now . . ." Voldemort said. Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground revealing what was inside them, and Haiden let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind - but worst, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, expect that Haiden had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face - no child alive ever had a face like that - flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Haiden saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Haiden saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Haiden heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Let it drown, Haiden thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, please . . . let it drown. . . .
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" The surface of the grave at Haiden's feet cracked. Horrified, Haiden watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs. "Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master." He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
Haiden realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened - he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, part of his mind was happy when he didn't hear Wormtail's scream (if he had screamed at all), the other part was impressed that Wormtail had been able to hold in his scream. Haiden opened his eyes to see that Wormtail was screaming, only silently, it took his mind a couple of minutes to realize that everything was silent. Had he put up a barrier around him to block out the scream unknowingly? And then the sound returned as the hand landed in the potion. The potion turned a burning red.
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony while shuffling over to him. "B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken . . . you will . . . resurrect your foe."
Haiden could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly . . . . Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm (was that a hiss of pain from behind him, or had his mind ticked him into thinking his hiss of pain had come from behind him?) a cut appeared where Wormtail cut, but no blood, and yet the dagger was now covered in blood. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Haiden's bloodless cut for a minute before maneuvering himself to be able to catch the dripping blood from the dagger into the vial.
Wormtail staggered back to the cauldron with the blood as Haiden's cut magically healed itself. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened. . . .
Let it have drowned, Haiden thought angrily, let it have gone wrong. . . .
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Haiden, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air (something slid into his robe where he usually kept his wand). . . . It's gone wrong, he thought happily . . . it's drowned . . . please . . . please let it be dead. . . .
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from the inside of the cauldron.
"Robe me." The high, cold voice of Voldemort said from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robe from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Haiden . . . and Haiden stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slit for nostrils. . .
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
Voldemort looked away from Haiden and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground. nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Haiden, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-figured hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; then he raised it, pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Haiden was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Haiden, laughing a high, cold mirthless laugh.
Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them. "My Lord . . ." he choked, "my Lord . . . you promised . . . you did promise . . ."
"Hold out your arm." Voldemort said lazily.
"Oh Master . . . thank you, Master . . ." He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, please . . . please . . ." Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Haiden saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth - the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.
"It's back," he said softly, "They will all have it . . . and now, we shall see . . . now we shall know . . ." He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm. The scar on Haiden's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Haiden saw that it had turned jet black. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, through back his head, and stared around the dark grave yard.
"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" He whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?" He began to pace up and down before Haiden and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Haiden again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face
"You stand, Haiden Potter, upon the remains of my late father." He hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool . . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you and your brother as children . . . and I killed my father, and see how useful he had proved himself, in death. . . ." Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle the grass. "You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. . . . He didn't like magic, my father . . .
"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage . . . but I vowed to fine him . . . I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name . . . Tom Riddle. . . ."
Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave.
"Listen to me, reliving my family history . . ." he said quietly, "why, I am growing quite sentimental. . . . But look, Haiden! My true family returns. . . ."
The air was suddenly full of swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward . . . slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.
"Master . . . Master . . ." He murmured.
The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Haiden, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said quietly. "Thirteen years . . . thirteen yeas since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. . . . We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening. "I smell guilt." He said. "There is a stench of guilt upon the air."
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back away form him.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself . . . why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?" No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.
"An I answer myself," Voldemort whispered, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. . . .
"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?
"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist," (at this point Haiden's mind flew over to thoughts of Harry, wishing that he were still here.) "one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort . . .perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"
At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.
"It is a disappointment to me . . . I confess my disappointment. . . ."
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.
"Master!" He shrieked. "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!" Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Haiden was sure the sound must carry to the houses around. . . . Let the police come, he thought desperately . . . anyone . . . anything . . .
Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.
"Get up, Avery." Voldemort said softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years . . . I want thirteen years of repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?" He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob. "You have returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends, and of one Harry Potter. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that don't you?"
"Yes, Master." Wormtail moaned, "Please, Master . . . please . . ."
"Yet you helped return me to my body." Voldemort said coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me . . . and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers. . . ." Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist.
Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.
"My lord," he whispered. "Master . . . it is beautiful . . . thank you . . . thank you. . . ." He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail." Voldemort said.
"No, my Lord . . . never, my Lord . . ." Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right.
"Lucius," Haiden's eyes widened as he sucked in a shocked breath, "my slippery friend." Voldemort whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius . . . Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay . . . but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master? Though, I do applaud you, Severus, and your son for getting close to Harry Potter."
"Thank you, my Lord. And I assure you, my Lord, that I was constantly on the alert." Lucius Malfoy's voice came swiftly from beneath the hood, Haiden glared at him. He had trusted him! Harry trusted him! They both trusted Draco and Severus! But it was all just a trick to get close to him? No! No it couldn't be true! He wouldn't believe it! "Had there been any sign from you, and whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -"
"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" Voldemort said lazily, and Lucius stopped talking abruptly. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. . . . You have disappointed me. . . . I expect more faithful service in the future."
"I apologize my Lord . . . I saw a chance to gain more of Harry Potter's trust . . . You are merciful, thank you. . . ." Voldemort moved on, (was Lucius distracted by something behind the gravestone?) staring at the space - large enough for two people - that separated Lucius and the next man.
"The Lestranges should be standing here," Voldemort said quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us . . . they are our natural allies . . . we will recall the banished giants . . . I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear. . . ."
He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence but he paused before others and spoke to them. "Macnair . . . destroying dangerous beast for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide. . . ."
"Thank you, Master . . . thank you." Macnair murmured.
"And here" - Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures - "we have Crabbe . . . you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"
"Yes, Master . . ."
"We will, Master. . . ."
"The same goes for you, Nott," Voldemort said quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Mr. Goyle's shadow.
"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful-"
"That will do." Voldemort said. He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.
"And here we have six missing Death Eaters . . . three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return . . . he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever . . . he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service." The Death Eaters stirred, and Haiden saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks. "He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young guests arrived here tonight. . . .
"Yes." Voldemort said, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Haiden's direction. "Haiden Potter, and his brother (who unfortunately was knocked unconscious)" (Haiden was sure he saw Lucius's eyes flash to something behind the headstone before returning to looking at Voldemort) "have kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call Haiden my guest of honor." There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius's voice spoke from under the mask.
"Master, we crave to know . . . we beg you to tell us . . . how you have achieved this . . . this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us. . . ."
"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius." Voldemort said. "And it begins - and ends - with my young friend here." He walked lazily over to stand next to Haiden, so that they eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle.
"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Haiden, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him and his brother. Their mother died in the attempt to save them - and unwittingly provided Haiden with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. . . . I could not touch the boy." Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Haiden's cheek. "His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. . . . This is old magic I should have remembered it, I was foolish and overlooked it . . . but not matter. I can touch him now." Haiden felt the cold tip of the long white finger for half a second before Voldemort pulled it away with a painful hiss.
"And you'll continue to not touch him." Harry's voice called from behind the headstone. Voldemort was flung away from Haiden and the headstone as Harry walked into Haiden's field of view.
"How!" Voldemort hissed.
"Old magic. The blood Wormtail used for your spell was mine, not Haiden's." Harry said. "You underestimated me because of my age, I took advantage of that."
"I assure you, that won't happen again." Voldemort said glaring at Harry as the ropes tying Haiden to the headstone loosened before falling to the ground. Haiden, not expecting that, fell to his knees. He quickly pulled out the material from his mouth.
"Harry! You're alive!" Haiden cried out, smiling.
"Of course I am, the spell didn't hit me. The spell is only used to kill one living thing." Harry told Haiden as he slipped into a defensive stance. Haiden's smile slowly slipped from his face as what Harry told him registered in his mind as he remembered Harry slipping behind Cedric before Wormtail shot the Killing Curse at them.
"You . . . Don't tell me you used Cedric as a body shield!" Haiden cried out in shocked horror. Was Ron right? Was his brother a murderer?
"Do you honestly believe I would do that?" Harry asked after a moment of silence. Haiden didn't answer right away, and looked over to where Cedric's body was; only to find it gone. "That hurts." Harry told him.
"Crucio!" Voldemort shouted, a beam of red light hit Harry square in the chest causing Voldemort to laugh. He stopped laughing when he noticed that Harry had neither fell to the ground nor started screaming. Voldemort stopped the spell as Haiden caught sight of Cedric creeping around the headstone towards him.
"Nothing can hurt worst than your twin brother believing you would use and innocent bystander as a human shield." Cedric grabbed Haiden and pulled him back.
"I've got him, Harry, lets go!" Cedric called to him as he continued to pull Haiden backwards, but Harry didn't move from his position.
"I'll hold them off." Harry told Cedric.
"Harry! This wasn't the plan! You can't take them all! You'll die!" Cedric told him.
"Voldemort doesn't want me dead, he believes he needs me and my power, he won't let his Death Eaters kill me." Harry told them calmly.
"Kill you? Never. Break you. Yes." Voldemort said before motioning to his Death Eaters to attack (did Harry nod his head to someone?).
"Harry!" Haiden yelled a second before he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey began once more - it was speeding him away from his brother in a whirl of wind and color, and Cedric along with him. . . . They were going back without his brother.
