The day of the third task, Professor Moody emerged from his classroom as Harry and Ginny were passing and said, "A word?"

"What?" Harry asked. Ginny, puffy-eyed and pale, echoed him; they'd stayed up until half-past one going over the easiest methods for defeating various common magical creatures and boundaries, and then Harry, struck by an unusual pang of guilt, had spent the rest of the night helping Ginny revise for her Potions exam.

"I've had a bit of bad news," Moody said, looking both ways. "You were saying you thought they'd go for Krum, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. "Because they got Cedric in the first task and Fleur in the second … why, they aren't going to go for me, are they?"

Moody shook his head. "They're going to leave Krum. That sort of international incident … not good. They don't want that much controversy. They're going for Diggory again."

"Mr Diggory works at the Ministry," Ginny pointed out. "Cedric's really popular."

"Diggory isn't an international Quidditch star," said Moody gruffly. "If Cedric Diggory dies, everyone in Britain will be very sad. If Viktor Krum dies, the whole world will be very sad. They're going for Diggory, Potter, depend on it."

"Fine," Harry said. He'd been planning to use the same spell to find Krum as he'd used to find Ginny in the second task; it would work just as well with Cedric. "It'll take a bit longer to find him, but … don't worry, sir, he'll be fine."

Moody grinned. "Atta boy. Run along now – there's a nice surprise for you. Your family's invited to watch the final task, you know, and you get to meet them. See you at the task." He disappeared back into his classroom.

"Are your family really coming?" Ginny asked, as they headed downstairs. "Aren't they Muggles?"

"I don't think they will, no," Harry said. He wouldn't put it past the Dursleys to come, just to try and sabotage him, but he was pretty certain Hermione had once said Muggles couldn't see Hogwarts. "Too many magical people. They aren't really that fond of witches and wizards, to be honest … and I don't know what they'd think of Fleur's people. Foreign and technically not all human."

Ginny laughed. "I think Cedric's mum might be Muggle-born."

"That doesn't count as not magic," Harry pointed out. "My mum was Muggle-born, and Aunt Petunia hates her."

That morning, Rita Skeeter's barn owl and Harry's Daily Prophet arrived at the same time. He opened Rita's letter first.

Dear Harry, my editor insisted. Just between the two of us, it's not as if anyone who's been paying attention will believe it; Narcissa Malfoy told me last week that she thinks I live in your pocket. (I don't, before you start getting ideas.) Yours, Madam Armand Skeeter. PS: Michael Corner has somehow managed to start legal proceedings against the Quibbler. He is being advised by the Earl of Withington. Could you kindly keep your nose away from the one magazine which doesn't care about politics so long as I can convince the editor I'm telling the truth?

Harry stared. "Ginny, what's the headline in the Daily Prophet?"

"Harry Potter: Deranged or Dangerous," said Ginny glumly. "I hope you didn't put her up to it."

"I'm not an idiot," Harry said, stung. "Her editor insisted, apparently. She says nobody's going to believe it anyway; the Malfoys think she's my pet reporter."

Ginny rolled her eyes and took some more bacon. "Well, she is."

"No, she isn't," Harry snapped. "If she was, she'd have looked more into – more into the reason she went to Albania. Has Michael mentioned any legal proceedings lately?"

"Don't think so," said Ginny. "I don't see all that much of him, actually. I could ask Anthony and Terry next time I see them, if you like. Why?"

Harry handed her Rita Skeeter's letter.

"Oh," Ginny said, in a small voice. "I never knew he was that rich."

"Am I missing something?" Harry asked.

Ginny flushed. "Sorry. I forgot you weren't brought up – the Earl of Withington is some hoity-toity pureblood bloke who puts on airs. Their surname's Greengrass, really, and they're a bit, well, off. Some Lady Greengrass a few generations back slept with an incubus or something. The Earl's a solicitor by trade. He only does for purebloods or rich gits. Not that Michael's a git."

"He's a tradesman," Harry repeated, unable to believe his ears; he had long since decided that trying to convince Ginny of Michael Corner's inherent creepiness was a losing battle. "I never knew wizards had titles. Do they mean anything?"

"Nah," said Ginny. "I think you need to have a writ of royal summons for it to count, and obviously no wizard's had one since the Statute of Secrecy was passed – it's just a bunch of stuck-up pureblood gits who keep it alive. Dad's technically a viscount, you know. I think Dumbledore's got a title, too. Not that he needs one – morning, Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall glared down at them. "Good morning, Miss Weasley. Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry. "Professor Moody told me."

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Very well," she said, and stalked off towards Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum, who were sitting with Cedric Diggory at the Hufflepuff table.

"What's the betting they're plotting without you again?" Ginny asked.

"No bet," Harry said bitterly. "I bet Cedric doesn't even thank me. I've already saved his life once."

When the other three champions got up and headed out of the Great Hall, Harry said goodbye to Ginny and followed them. He knew it was stupid to hope he'd get any idea of what they were plotting; they never seemed very interested in letting him know what they were telling each other until they needed his assistance, at which point they always seemed to assume he ought to drop everything and muck in with the rest of them.

"Surprise, Harry!" Mrs Weasley said. She'd brought Bill. The Dursleys were nowhere in sight, for which Harry was eternally grateful. "We thought we might come and watch you."

"Hello, Harry," said Bill, whose hair had got longer since Harry had last seen him. "Is it true what the Quibbler's been saying about you?"

"No," Harry lied.

Bill grinned. "Thought not. Well, while we're here, you can give us a tour and tell us about your intentions with my sister."

Harry led them out onto the grounds. "I – I don't have any intentions with Ginny. She's dating that Michael Corner bloke, just like the Quibbler said. That's about the only thing they've got right all year."

"Oh, I do hope they've not been too troublesome," said Mrs Weasley solicitously. "They live near us, you know, it's only about an hour's walk, and I do wonder, sometimes, that poor little girl stuck in that ridiculous house of theirs, and her with a Selwyn for a mother …"

"I'm used to her," Harry said. Luna Lovegood was irritating, but she had a surprisingly small range of grievances, and once she'd expressed a grievance once she continued expressing it in the same manner, which made her easy to ignore. "I just try not to read her dad's paper, and when we pass in the corridors her mates get between us." He was privately certain that the Ravenclaw girls who went everywhere with Luna Lovegood these days were not, in fact, Luna's friends, but he was content to leave such matters to Michael Corner, who he was pretty certain understood, at least theoretically, that bullying was wrong.

"Good," Bill said, still grinning. "Now, what's this I heard from Ron about you putting your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry swallowed. "It's a lie." His stomach squirmed; he hadn't so much as spoken to Ron for six months now, and they'd been ignoring each other in the dormitory since November, but he still felt bad accusing Ron of telling a lie when he knew perfectly well it wasn't the case. "Sorry. How's Percy?"

Mrs Weasley spent the rest of their tour of the grounds wittering at length about how miserable Percy was these days, how much stress he was under, and how upset they all were to hear that Mr Crouch had allegedly gone missing (although how Percy had noticed any difference was beyond Harry). Harry would almost have preferred Percy himself to come and lecture him about cauldron bottoms.

Lunch was very awkward. Mrs Weasley cooed over Ginny and Ron in equal measure, interrogated Hermione at length about Viktor Krum, asked after the twins at least once every five minutes, and seemed utterly oblivious to the tension between Harry, Ron and Hermione. Bill spent the meal quizzing Harry in uncomfortable detail about how, exactly, he had come up with his tournament strategies, and what he was planning to do for the third task.

Afterwards, they wandered around the castle, and Mrs Weasley pointed out some of the more obvious changes. Then it was time for the feast. There were more courses than usual, and the two Ministry judges were sitting at the High Table, Ludo Bagman looking cheerful and Percy in desperate need of some sleep. Harry didn't eat much; Ginny's continual hissed reminders of useful spells didn't help.

At long last, Dumbledore rose. "Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch pitch for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman down to the stadium now."

Harry got up and followed Bagman down to the stadium. The other three were chattering away in agitated-sounding French; Harry ignored them, safe in the knowledge that tonight he would be saving Cedric's life. It was hard to imagine finding Cedric in the vast dark maze which the Quidditch pitch had turned into, but Harry knew his method of finding people, crude dog-Latin though it was, worked.

Five minute later, the stands were beginning to fill. It was dark. Hagrid, Moody, McGonagall and Flitwick spread themselves out around the edges of the maze; apparently, the champions were to send up red sparks if they got into difficulties. Harry wasn't sure this was a good idea himself, but he was hardly in any position to judge.

Bagman summed up the scores as they stood – Cedric's was high, Krum's lower, Harry's lower still, and Fleur Delacour's abysmal – and sent Cedric off into the maze. A minute later, Krum went after him. And then it was Harry's turn.

"Lumos," Harry whispered, hurrying along the path between the towering hedges. "Quaero Cedric Diggory." His wand spun and pointed him to the left. After about fifty yards, he reached a fork, and went left. His wand seemed pleased. "Nonvideo!" Harry added, and the trickling coldness of the invisibility charm Ginny had found in Simple Spells for the Suspicious-Minded went running down his neck. He risked a glance down at himself and saw nothing.

Heartened, Harry carried on, letting his wand lead the way. After about five minutes of walking, he began to hear movement; he doused the light of his wand and crept onwards, trying not to breathe too loudly.

"Calm," he heard from ahead. "Calm. Calm. I am calm. I am calm. Calm. I am calm."

He turned a corner and nearly bumped into Cedric, who was striding along, muttering away to himself, his lit wand held high over his head.

"Calm," Cedric continued; he didn't seem to have noticed that Harry was there. "Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm – what the fuck?"

Cho Chang had appeared in front of them. She was wearing a very nasty smile. "Hello, Cedric," she said, sweetly. "It was nice knowing you. Marietta never liked you, though, so I should've suspected …"

Cedric went white as a sheet. "Cho. Don't. Please – what?"

For Cho had shaken her head and turned into a Dementor.

"It's a Boggart," said Harry, relieved; surely Cedric knew how to deal with those.

"Finite incantatem!" Cedric said, pointing his wand over his shoulder. "Riddikulus!" The Boggart disappeared in a puff of smoke. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Harry stared; he'd never seen any Hufflepuff this angry. "I – I was following you."

"I knew that," said Cedric coldly. "Why? Can't stick it by yourself?"

"I'm not scared," Harry protested. "It's just – you know the person who tried to kill you in the first task and Fleur in the second? They're going after you again. I'm trying to keep you safe."

Cedric made a very rude noise. "And what, you honestly think you're a better wizard than me? Listen, Harry, you're in way over your head. Just send up red sparks and – was that Fleur?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't sound like Krum."

They headed towards the scream. A few minutes of brisk walking later, they came across Krum.

"Viktor," Cedric said, sagging with relief. "So it was Fleur. Have you seen her? Is she – "

"Crucio!" Krum said impassively, and Cedric collapsed with a bloodcurdling scream.

"Stupefy!" Harry snapped. Krum fell, and Cedric stopped screaming. "Are – are you alright, Cedric?"

Cedric, shaking, stumbled to his feet. "Yeah. I – you think he got Fleur?"

"Maybe," said Harry. "So now what?"

Cedric put up red sparks over Krum's motionless form and stalked off. Harry, for lack of any better ideas, followed him.

"Fuck off," Cedric said shortly. "If this is between you and me, I'm not going to have you following me every step of the way. You're not my shadow. And this murderer you're convinced is running around the place clearly isn't much good."

"No, they are good," said Harry. "If I hadn't been there during the first task, you would've burnt to death. And Fleur would've drowned if you and Krum hadn't been with her. And –"

"And then there were two," Cedric said bitterly. "Fine. But don't get in my way."

They walked in silence through the darkening maze. After a while, Harry chanced a look over his shoulder; the red sparks Cedric had put up had disappeared.

"So, when we find the Cup, who gets it?" Harry ventured.

Cedric gave a tight shrug. "I suppose we should take it together. Since you saved me from the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry stared. "What? Don't be ridiculous. We both know I didn't enter to win. You take it."

"You saved me," Cedric insisted. "The Cruciatus turns you mad if you're under it long enough. Just ask Neville Longbottom."

"Neville Longbottom?" Harry repeated, bewildered. What did Neville know about anything? And then, like a punch in the stomach, he knew. "Frank Longbottom and his wife were Neville's parents, right?"

Cedric nodded. "How come you don't know that? Don't you live with him nine months out of every twelve?"

"We aren't friends," Harry said guiltily. He'd been labouring for several months now under the delusion that, although Neville himself was so harmless as to be almost pathetic, Neville's parents – Neville's parents who he never mentioned, Neville's parents who nobody ever mentioned – had been Death Eaters.

"I thought you were," said Cedric. "Wasn't that how you won the Cup in your first year? It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but it takes even more to stand up to our friends."

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably; the bitterness in Cedric's voice could have melted steel. "But – but that was Dumbledore. He doesn't know much."

Cedric let out a startled laugh. "He discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, Harry. He worked with Nicolas Flamel. I'd hardly say he doesn't – wow."

The Triwizard Cup was gleaming at them from a plinth a few hundred yards away.

"Right," Harry said miserably. "Together. Fine. Whatever."

They marched up to the plinth.

"On three," said Cedric. "One, two, three –"

They both took a handle. Immediately, Harry felt a jerk behind his navel, and they were off – and then they were back on hard ground again.

"Where are we?" Cedric murmured.

Harry got up and looked around. They were in a dark and overgrown graveyard, and above them, on a hill, stood an old house. "I don't think we're in Hogwarts anymore."

Cedric shrugged, bent, and peered at the nearest gravestone. "I reckon we're in England. Did anyone tell you the Cup was a Portkey?"

"No," Harry said, drawing his wand. "I – someone's coming."

Cedric drew his wand too. "Is it your mysterious assassin?"

Harry took a step closer to Cedric; whoever the person was, he didn't want to face them alone. "I – maybe?" He squinted through the gloom. The person was coming towards them, something – a bundle of cloth, perhaps – in their arms. "I dunno."

And then his scar exploded with pain.

"Kill the spare," said a high, cold voice – Voldemort's voice.

"Avada kedavra!"

And, with a flash of green light, Cedric fell. Harry stared at the corpse with dull horror; he had been right after all. Cedric had been in mortal peril. And Harry had failed to save him.

"C'mon," said the short man in the cloak, dragging Harry towards one of the headstones, a tall marble confection. "Move, boy!"

Harry recognised the voice at once. It was Wormtail. Of course it was. Wormtail was with Voldemort, and Voldemort – Harry began to struggle in earnest. He caught a glimpse of the name on the gravestone in the flickering light of Wormtail's wand: TOM RIDDLE. But Voldemort wasn't dead, surely, or Harry's scar wouldn't be aching so badly. Wormtail was now tying Harry to the headstone with conjured cords.

"Let me go!" Harry insisted. "Didn't I save your life last year?"

Wormtail ignored him and stomped off. Harry looked helplessly around. Cedric's body lay a good twenty feet away, and the Triwizard Cup further still. Harry's wand was on the ground at his feet, and – and so was a snake. As if the situation couldn't have got any worse.

Now Wormtail was back again, with a cauldron so enormous Harry could probably have drowned in it. He lit a flame on the ground beneath the cauldron and stood back, obviously waiting for the water inside the cauldron to heat up. It was like the world's strangest Potions lesson.

All too soon, Wormtail bent and opened the pile of robes he had brought with him. Harry stared, slack-jawed; inside the robes was a horrible, reddish-black thing, scaly-looking and snake-faced with gleaming red eyes. Wormtail lowered the thing into the cauldron.

"Bit counter-productive, don't you think?" Harry asked.

Wormtail lowered his hood and glared. "Be quiet. Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

Harry watched, horrified, as a trickle of dust rose from the grave at his feet and fell into the cauldron. The surface of the water turned blue.

"Flesh – flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master," Wormtail continued, raising a dagger over his right wrist. Harry squeezed his eyes shut just in time; there was a sickening, slick sound, the same sort of sound that cutting up worms for Potions made, and a splash. Harry opened his eyes again and discovered that the potion was now red. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Harry clenched his fists and waited. He couldn't stop Wormtail cutting him, but he'd borne worse without screaming. Wormtail took blood from his arm and poured it into the cauldron. The mixture turned white. Wormtail collapsed, sobbing. Fumes came pouring from the cauldron.

Please be dead, Harry prayed. Please be dead. He'd managed to stop Voldemort's resurrection twice before. Surely he could do it a third time.

But the dark outline of a man was rising from the cauldron. "Robe me," said Voldemort's high, cold voice, and Wormtail raced forwards and pulled the robes one-handed over his master's head.

Fuck, Harry thought, stomach roiling. Fuck.

In front of him, Voldemort was caressing his own body and laughing his high laugh.

"My Lord," Wormtail choked, "you promised –"

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort.

Wormtail, sobbing, extended the bleeding stump.

"The other arm," Voldemort said, laughing again. He bent down, pulled up the sleeve of Wormtail's robes, and pressed his fingers to a vivid red tattoo on Wormtail's forearm. Harry recognised the tattoo as being of the Dark Mark. When Voldemort removed his fingers, the Mark had gone black.

"It's very ugly," Harry remarked.

Voldemort laughed more. "How many will be brave enough to return, do you think, Harry? How many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

"My bet's on none of them," said Harry, throwing caution to the wind; he knew, from experience, that Voldemort wanted to kill him no matter what he said. "That's the problem with recruiting from Slytherin. They're all rats."

Voldemort seemed to find this very amusing indeed. "And Wormtail is not?"

"He's pretty rubbish," Harry agreed.

Voldemort nodded and began to pace, up and down, backwards and forwards, round and round his father's grave.

"Why're you and your dad called the same?" Harry asked. "Didn't it get confusing?"

"I was brought up in a Muggle orphanage," said Voldemort shortly. "My filthy Muggle father did not come into my upbringing, for which I am very thankful. Here is my true family."

Wizards were appearing all around the graveyard. Every one of them was hooded and masked – no, one of them was not. The wizard closest to Voldemort was not wearing a hood or a mask, and if Harry hadn't witnessed the wizard's trial, he wouldn't have recognised – "Barty Crouch Junior?"

Barty turned and grinned at him. He was older than he'd been in Dumbledore's memory, and much more unhinged-looking. In one hand he held Professor Moody's hipflask, and in the other he had the Marauder's Map.

"What've you done to Moody?" Harry demanded, horrified.

Barty's grin widened. "Is it bad to have a pet reporter, sir?" he mimicked. "I swear I didn't tell Rita Skeeter I put my name in the Goblet."

Harry's stomach dropped. He'd been alone with Moody for both those conversations, which meant – which meant – "There wasn't ever an assassin, was there?"

"Of course there was," said Voldemort, sneering. "The assassin was stupidity and division. A pity you hoodwinked the poor fellow." He turned his attention to the gathered wizards – Death Eaters, Harry realised. "Well?"

One of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled towards Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes. "Master."

All the other Death Eaters copied him, then formed a silent circle enclosing Voldemort, Harry and Wormtail. They left gaps in the circle, but Voldemort did not seem to expect any new arrivals. Barty Crouch stood closest to Harry, practically salivating with glee.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years it has been. Thirteen. I smell guilt. Such prompt appearances … and yet not one of you came to search for me. How … disappointing."

The Death Eaters shuffled their feet and traded glances. Harry felt guilty by mere association; if Voldemort had not decided to become a Dark wizard, he would have made an excellent Headmaster. Dumbledore himself could not have been so disappointedly dignified.

"I want thirteen years back," Voldemort continued. "Thirteen years of loyal service, the thirteen years you were absent, and then I shall, perhaps, forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already. I reward my helpers." He waved his wand and conjured a silver hand for Wormtail. "You see?"

Wormtail examined his new hand with obvious joy, kissed Voldemort's robes, and retreated into one of the gaps in the circle.

"Lucius," said Voldemort, turning to the Death Eater on Wormtail's right. "I hear you have been busy these last three years."

"I have, my lord," Lucius Malfoy said, spreading his pale, pale hands. "All that I have built is yours to stand upon. It has always been so."

Voldemort laughed. "You lie very prettily, Lucius." He turned his attention to the empty space between Malfoy and the next Death Eater. "The Lestranges should stand here. They were loyal. They will be rewarded." He carried on around the circle, speaking to some Death Eaters and ignoring others. There was a Crabbe, a Goyle, and a stooped Nott. To this last, he said, "And you will do better this time, won't you, Nott?"

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful –"

"Oh, do be quiet, St John," Voldemort said, sounding for all the world like Ron telling Hermione to stop blabbering about history. "If you were as faithful as all that, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I do hope you haven't thrown away my chair."

Nott swallowed so loudly Harry could hear it from across the circle of Death Eaters. "Never, master."

"Good," said Voldemort. "And here … five missing. Three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return … another who has left my service forever. They will be dealt with. And here, of course, my dear Barty, truly my most faithful servant."

There was a short silence; the Death Eaters, to a wizard, radiated embarrassment.

"Master," said Lucius Malfoy, stepping forward, "we beg you to tell us how you achieved this … this miracle."

"It is a rather long story, Lucius," Voldemort said, smirking. "Suffice to say that I used a Dark ritual, the particulars of which none of you need learn. If I have need of it again, which I do not anticipate I will, the first of you to find me will be told what he needs to do. Now, we have more business tonight. Tonight, I will show you that Harry Potter has, so far, escaped me by pure chance. Untie him, Wormtail, and give him his wand."

Wormtail cut Harry's bonds and handed him his wand. The circle of Death Eaters closed. Harry felt sick; since the Death Eaters stood between him and the Triwizard Cup, he was going to have to fight his way out. If Portkeys even worked that way. He had a horrible feeling that whoever had enchanted the Cup hadn't bothered to enchant it into being able to go back.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry?" Voldemort said softly, red eyes glinting. "We bow to each other … come, Harry, die with dignity, surely you owe your Mudblood mother that much …"

Harry gave a stiff bow, as short as he could get away with.

"That's it, Harry, Potter-proud," Voldemort cooed. "Your father was proud too. Do they smile down on you tonight? Now, Harry, we duel."

Harry dived behind Tom Riddle's gravestone.

"Oh, Harry," Voldemort said, sounding mildly disappointed, the way Dumbledore sounded when people tried to tell him that he was bonkers. "We don't hide, Harry. That's not honourable. You like your honour in Gryffindor, don't you?"

Harry took a deep breath, threw himself out from behind the gravestone, and yelled, "Expelliarmus!"

But Voldemort was ready; as Harry shouted, Voldemort cried, "Avada kedavra!"

A jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand, and a jet of red light from Harry's; the two streams of colour met in mid-air, and suddenly Harry's wand was vibrating. He couldn't have let go if he'd wanted to. The green and the red had both disappeared, and been replaced by a thin gold thread of shimmering light. They were gliding away from Tom Riddle's grave, towards Cedric's body and the Triwizard Cup, with a train of bewildered Death Eaters behind them.

The gold thread splintered and formed a dome-shaped web, and their wands deposited them on the ground, and Voldemort was shouting at the Death Eaters, whose cries were now muffled, and from every thread of the golden web came phoenix song, sweet and beautiful.

Beads of light appeared on the golden thread. Harry knew, somehow, that he didn't want the beads to reach his wand; he concentrated very hard, and forced the beads towards Voldemort, who was looking more scared than Harry had ever seen him. And then the beads connected …

Voldemort's wand began to scream. A dense, smoky hand flew out of its tip and vanished, followed in short order by something that very greatly resembled Cedric Diggory.

"Hold on, Harry," said the shade of Cedric Diggory, in a distant, echoing voice.

Cedric was followed by the old man whose death Harry had once seen in a dream, and by a woman who Harry assumed was one of Voldemort's victims, and then, wonderfully, by the shade of Harry's mother.

"Your father's coming," said Lily quietly. "Hold on."

And indeed, James Potter emerged from the wand and spoke to Harry, very quietly indeed. "We will linger for only moments, Harry, but we can give you time. Get to the Portkey. It'll take you home. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry managed.

"Take my body back," the shade of Cedric appealed. "Take me back to my parents."

Harry nodded, gritting his teeth.

"Do it," James whispered. "Be ready to run. Do it now –"

Harry yanked his wand upwards, breaking the web, and ran, faster than he ever had before, through the circle of Death Eaters, vaulting graves, grabbing Cedric's body with one arm and reaching for the Cup – and then they were spinning through wind and colour, Cedric's dead weight heavy in his hand.

"Harry!"

It was Dumbledore, with a crowd of people behind him.

"He's back," Harry managed, setting Cedric's body carefully on the ground. "Voldemort."

"Harry! Harry! Harry!"

Ginny burst out of the crowd and embraced him. "You're alright!"

"Cedric's not," Harry pointed out. "He's dead. Voldemort murdered him. Moody – Barty Crouch was impersonating him."

Dumbledore nodded regretfully. "Indeed. Can you stand, Harry?"

Harry struggled to his feet.

"C'mon, let's get back to the castle," Ginny said, jumping up. "I'll help you."

"Not yet," Harry said quickly. "Sir, Voldemort's got – he's got a map of the school. It tells him where everyone is."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "How did you learn he possessed such a useful little artefact?"

"Crouch asked to borrow it," Harry admitted, stomach flooding with shame. "I – I couldn't say no, sir. I thought he was Professor Moody."

"Is Moody dead?" Ginny asked.

"Dead?" came the blustering voice of Cornelius Fudge. "Who's dead – sweet Merlin."

"Excuse me, excuse me, this is for the Prophet –"

Rita Skeeter emerged from between two white-faced Slytherin girls and came skidding to a halt. "What in the name –"

"Go to the hospital wing, Harry," said Dumbledore severely. "Miss Weasley, you too. You've both had a nasty shock. I doubt Professor Moody is dead; in fact, he is very probably in the castle. I have ways of finding him, never you fear. Now, go."

"I'll give you an interview later, Madam Skeeter," Harry shouted over his shoulder, as Ginny dragged him through the crowd. "Exclusive!"

When they arrived at the hospital wing, Ron and Hermione were already there, wearing the same concerned expressions they always wore when he inevitably ended up in the hospital wing.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione threw her arms around him and began to sob. "You could've died! And we didn't – we didn't help you!"

"I did a perfectly fine job of helping him," Ginny said coolly.

"Yeah," said Ron, who was looking very uncomfortable, "but Hermione's – you needed our help, and we weren't there."

"It's fine," Harry lied. "I lied to you. You had every right –"

Hermione only sobbed harder.

"Get off him, Granger," Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Sit down, Miss Weasley, before you faint – terrible business, I always said so. Now, Potter, you'll have hot chocolate. Would you like a Calming Draught, Granger? Weasley, put the comic away – Rita Skeeter, you get out of my infirmary this instant."

"It's alright," said Harry, scrambling into a bed before Madam Pomfrey could force him into it. "I promised to give her an interview about – about what happened."

"Yes, terribly sad," Rita agreed, eyes glinting.

Madam Pomfrey scoffed. "The day you see a sad death as anything other than news is the day I give up magic and go to live on the moon. Out, Rita."

Rita left, wiggling her Quick-Quotes Quill at Harry significantly. Madam Pomfrey bustled about, pouring potions down Harry's throat seemingly at random and making dire imprecations about the people who had resurrected the tournament.

"Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey?"

It was Luna Lovegood, barefoot and wearing Fwooper feathers in her dirty hair.

"Yes, Lovegood?" Madam Pomfrey said wearily.

"Professor Dumbledore wants to see Ron and Hermione in his office," Luna said dreamily. "Oh, and Ginny."

"Not me?" Harry asked, staring; Dumbledore tended to want to speak to him after his confrontations with Voldemort.

Luna shrugged. "Not yet. You should get going, you know, I don't think he's in a good mood." She disappeared again.

"Well, I suppose you can go," Madam Pomfrey said grudgingly. "Out, the three of you."

Ron headed off, and so, after a longing glance in Harry's direction, did Hermione. Ginny kissed Harry's forehead and left, and it seemed to Harry that what little joy remained to him went with her.

AN: The third task and the confrontation in the graveyard are, of course, adapted from the book. I took artistic license to say Crouch moved most of the obstacles out of Harry and Cedric's way, because using the book obstacles would be boringly repetitive and I didn't want to use the Evil Ever-Changing Doom Maze from the film.