Harry looked at the golden stag and doe embroidered on the pocket of his shirt - courtesy of Mrs Weasley - then pulled on his Walpurgis vest and buckled it shut.

He looked tired - in a weary sort of way, rather than a sleep-deprived one - and very dark in his all-black uniform, and - though Harry'd never admit it aloud - rather dangerous.

He didn't feel particularly dangerous. He never did, really, but his preparation for this task had mostly consisted of defensive spells and locator spells, rather than anything offensive. He'd learned enough of them for the previous tasks that he thought he ought to be well enough equipped…

Or as well-equipped as it was possible to be, anyway.

Though the entire castle was buzzing with excitement for the task, and spectators from around Britain and further afield had been arriving all morning, to Harry, everything felt quiet, muffled… or softened rather, and not in a comforting way.

He'd spent the morning in the Room - just in case Crouch or someone else thought to sneak into the castle under the guise of a student's relative with malicious intent - and that had been noisy - Padfoot, Moony, Dora, and Stella had been there, as had been Harry's friends, and Mrs Weasley and Bill, who'd managed to get tickets. Harry thought they were there less out of interest in the task, and more to ensure there were extra Order members on the ground if something happened.

And Harry was sure something would. He didn't know what, or how - he had a million theories, and also none at all - but the quiet he felt was not the sort that came with calm, or with intense focus, but rather an expectant and yet accepting sort.

There was excitement too; though Voldemort had kept the door between them fully hidden and secure since the night of Bagman's death, Harry could still feel anticipation and impatience for the fourth task that he didn't think was his, and was sure had leaked through from somewhere.

He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin.

He'd faced death and danger before, even knowingly walked towards it several times, but something about this time was different. Perhaps it was because he knew he was walking into a trap, but didn't know exactly what that trap was going to be. Perhaps it was that Harry would be well and truly alone in this; even when he'd gone alone to confront Wormtail at the end of his third year, he'd gone knowing his friends were waiting for him. This time, no one was waiting for him, except perhaps Voldemort and Crouch and Wormtail.

Or, perhaps it was because he'd known about this, known what a risk it posed, for so long that there was nothing he could do but accept that whatever would be would be; he'd done what he could to prepare, as had Voldemort, and for one of them, that would pay off.

"Feels weird not to be going in with you this time," Ron said, from where he was lying on his bed. He alone had accompanied Harry back to Gryffindor to get dressed, and Harry was rather grateful for the company, and grateful it was Ron's bracing presence, and not Hermione's nervy reassurances, or Ginny's grim resolve, or Draco's quiet fear… Ron knew when to let Harry have the quiet to mull things over in his own head, and when to pull him out of it.

"I'm glad you're not," Harry said, and genuinely meant it; he'd been guiltily grateful for their support in the other tasks, but today there was only relief. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, then turned away from it.

"Ready?" Ron said, and reached over to snag his Walpurgis stinks badge from the bedside table.

"Ready," Harry said, and despite everything, thought he was.

"Best get to the stands, Black," Pemberley said, as Sprottle tapped her throat with her wand; it seemed she was explaining the task to the stands in Bagman's place.

"You'll be fine," Padfoot said, giving Harry a tight hug. "You've got a good plan, and you're prepared." He released Harry from the hug, but kept him by the shoulders. All afternoon he'd been putting on a calm face for Harry's benefit - though Harry'd been able to smell he was anything but - but it was slipping now. "You'll be fine. And if you're not, I'm right in the stands-"

"I know," Harry said. There was so much he wanted to say, just in case, but he himself had done a good job at staying genuinely calm - even when he said goodbye to his friends and to Moony and Dora and Stella and Bill and Mrs Weasley as they headed for the stands - and thought he might ruin that if he Padfoot stuck around much longer. "Love you."

Padfoot pulled him in for another hug, holding on just a little longer than normal.

"Love you, too," he said. He released Harry again, nodded, and then stepped back, patting him once, lightly on the bicep; holstered there, out of sight beneath his shirt, but accessible through a cleverly disguised slit in the fabric - courtesy of both the twins and Mrs Weasley - was James' old wand.

"Harry," Pemberley said, drawing him away with a gesture. He had his ever-present clipboard and was almost quivering with anticipation. "I can't believe we're here," he said, as Harry trailed him over to a clear space on the grass in front of the near-empty judges table; Fudge - Bagman's replacement - was the only one seated. "This Tournament has been my life for almost two years now… the amount of time, and planning that's gone into making sure it goes well, and now it's almost over."

"What'll you do next?" Harry asked, doing his best not to look at the maze, but it was almost impossible not to; the outer wall of it was easily twelve feet high, and it got taller the deeper in it went. Harry couldn't be sure, but it looked like it was tall enough that the people in the stands mightn't be able to see the middle section of it - where the Cup was. He supposed it added to the mystery of it all, and resolved to stay where he thought he'd be visible.

"Take a break, probably," Pemberley admitted. He gave a shaky little laugh. "After this, I'll have earned it." They drew to a stop and Fudge gave Harry a little wave. Harry nodded, eyes on Dumbledore and Cedric, who had left the Diggorys and were on their way over. Dumbledore had Fawkes flying in his wake, and Harry was both comforted by that, and a little worried Dumbledore thought the phoenix might be necessary. "When Madam Sprottle calls your name, go and stand by your entrance," Pemberley said. "Good luck in there, Harry." Harry was taken aback by how genuine he sounded. "It's not very professional of me as a judge, but we're not scoring this one, so I think I'm allowed to say I hope it's you that gets the Cup."

"Thanks," Harry said, and didn't have the heart to tell Pemberley that he had no intention of getting anywhere near it.

"See you on the other side." Pemberley patted Harry on the shoulder and went to sit beside Fudge.

"Ready, Potter?" Cedric's hands landed on Harry's shoulders.

"Sure," Harry said. Dumbledore, who'd looked like he might come over, gave Harry a faint smile that did nothing to ease the worry in his eyes and went to join Pemberley and Fudge. Fawkes flew over Harry's head, his warm wing-tip brushing Harry's shoulder. Cedric watched as the bird settled on the back of Dumbledore's chair. "You?"

"As I'll ever be," Cedric said, stepping around him. He bounced once on the balls of his feet, eyes moving from the maze - and the four entrances to it, each with one of the schools' emblems cut into the grass - to the stands, and then over to Sprottle, who was still matter-of-factly explaining the task. "It's strange without Bagman, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, throat suddenly feeling thick.

Fleur drifted over to them, as Madame Maxime went to take her seat beside the other judges. She gave both Harry and Cedric a once over, then smiled beatifically, practically glowing with her excitement and determination, and said, "May ze best woman win, gentlemen." Cedric laughed, and patted the emblem on his chest:

"I'm hoping for a Hogwarts victory, personally. And Potter doesn't care who wins, supposedly-"

"Ve haff heard zat before," Krum said, coming to join them. "And yet, he seems to be vinning."

"Not today," Harry muttered. Krum eyed him. Cedric smiled and shook his head. Fleur alone believed him completely - he could smell it.

Sprottle seemed to be wrapping up; Cedric shot her a look, then turned back to Harry and the others.

"I'm not out to get any of you," he said, "but if I have to hex you to win, I won't be holding back…"

"Likevise," Krum said, and shrugged his shoulder. "Is nothing personal." He gave a small smile, but there was an intensity in his eyes that Harry hadn't seen the equal of - on Krum, anyway - since he watched Krum through his Omnioculars at the World Cup.

"I will not be offended," Fleur said, and tossed her braid over her shoulder. "I will not be gentle eizer."

"May the best Champion win, then," Cedric said. He glanced at Harry, as did the other two; Harry supposed it was because he was the only one who hadn't spoken.

He would have liked to say something witty, or encouraging, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was:

"Stay safe." His voice cracked with worry. Krum frowned, and Fleur's expression softened. Cedric opened his mouth, but Sprottle interrupted by calling for Harry:

"-Potter from Walpurgis Academy. Currently, Mr Potter is in first place, on one hundred and forty two points." On wooden legs and near deafened by the cheering from the stands, Harry went to wait on the Walpurgis crest. The maze was open before him, its leaves rippling though there was no wind around. He had an undisturbed view straight into its centre, where, upon a stone pedestal, sat a gleaming, golden cup. He glanced back at the judges table, and at the Aurors in faintly glowing vests, because surely that was too obvious, too easy - had someone rigged the maze on his behalf?

The others had been announced and had moved to their own entrances, and then Sprottle said,

"There is no time limit. The task ends when one of you leaves the maze with enough points to have won regardless of the others' scores, using either the Cup, or the crests, or both. For your points to count, you must leave the maze through the same entrance you are now standing beside. If you leave the maze through any other point, you will be disqualified. If you need assistance, you can summon an Auror to you with red sparks, but if you do so, they will remove you from the maze, and you will be disqualified. If you're in possession of the Cup or any crests, they will be removed with you, and will not be counted toward anyone's final score."

Then, with far less drama than Bagman would have managed, had he been the one commentating, Sprottle lifted her wand into the air.

Fleur looked at the Cup, not sure if it was a trap or an incentive, but it didn't really matter… With her current score, she would need the Cup to win, and since the Cup's points would be awarded to whoever was the first to reach it… well, she needed it to be hers. There was a possibility that she could still be beaten even with it, but any of the boys would need three or four crests to do so. Perhaps once she had the Cup she could hunt down a crest, either in its hiding place, or take one off one of the other Champions, though she doubted anyone would have one that quickly:

Harry would win if he was the first to reach the Cup, and, though she believed him when he said he didn't care about winning, she wouldn't put it past him to try to get to the Cup as quickly as possible; if he did, he'd have won, and both the task and the Tournament would end. Both Diggory and Krum would be going for the Cup first, to stop that exact thing happening. And, if either of them got it, they'd be almost guaranteed to win. The only way they wouldn't would bewas if Harry managed to get all four crests, and she didn't think he was likely to bother.

Either he'd go for the Cup, or he'd go for nothing at all.

Madame Sprottle's wand sounded the beginning of the task and Fleur plunged into the maze.

Damaris Sprottle was wrapping up her introduction to the final task and Cedric was standing on the Hogwarts emblem, looking right through the maze at the golden Triwizard Cup, yet all he could think of was the look on Potter's face when, instead of engaging in a bit of friendly rivalry with the rest of them, he'd croaked out what sounded like a genuine warning.

Did he know something they didn't? Or was he trying to get into their heads?

Potter, their underage, unwilling fourth Champion, who'd known things about the tasks that he shouldn't have, and yet, quite willingly shared that knowledge, assuring them all multiple times he didn't care about winning.

The scores tell a different story, though, Cedric thought. He didn't think Potter was lying, necessarily. He'd been competing against him for a few years now on the Quidditch pitch, and at Professor Moody's duelling club the year before, and in both of those arenas, Potter was different - more relaxed, more eager, more competitive, and a little cheeky. Talented for his age, with quick reflexes and a clear head under pressure, but nothing Cedric couldn't handle; they were well matched on the pitch, and in the duelling ring, Cedric had usually got the best of him.

In the Tournament, though, Potter had lacked that eagerness, that cheekiness, and where Quidditch or a good duel always seemed to invigorate him - win or lose - Cedric had noticed the toll this year had taken on the other boy. He wasn't excited or inspired by the Tournament the way Cedric and the others were, didn't enjoy the title Champion, and yet, there was no could be no doubt that Potter was driven by the Tournament, motivated by it.

Cedric had said all along that Potter wasn't the losing sort.

The average fourteen year old ought to have floundered in the tasks, if they'd even survived them. And while there could be no doubt Potter viewed each one as a life and death situation, there could also be no doubt that he had thrived.

Today would be no different, Cedric was sure of that much. But, Potter had insisted all along that he didn't want to win, that he only wanted this whole thing over with…

Cedric looked through the maze at the Cup again, and smiled; he could do something about that.

Viktor couldn't believe how quickly the year had gone, and that the fourth task was upon them already. It felt a little surreal standing there before the maze, with the Cup in sight, and however many thousands cheering at his back.

The atmosphere wasn't foreign - not after the Quidditch World Cup and the previous tasks - but he doubted he'd ever truly be used to it. He hoped not, anyway. There was something to be said for the adrenaline, the pounding of his heart, the nerves, the excitement…

For Delacour, winning was personal - a way to prove herself. For Diggory, it was about making people proud - his school, his friends, his family. Potter - if he was to be believed, but more to the point, if Hermione was to be believed, and Viktor thought she was - then this whole thing was about surviving.

For Viktor, it was different. Viktor didn't need to prove anything to himself - he didn't doubt that he was worthy, or have a chip on his shoulder. He knew he was a good Champion, else he wouldn't have been selected by the Goblet of Fire. And while it was nice to impress people, he'd learned early in his Quidditch career that doing things for other people wasn't the way to go; popularity came and went, loyalties changed. He did things because he wanted to, because he enjoyed them.

Nothing in the world was as satisfying as being presented with a challenge and having to better himself to overcome it, to having months of hard work pay off when he pitted himself against the very best and came out on top.

In the Tournament so far he hadn't, quite. Potter was in the lead, and Diggory was tied with Viktor. But today Viktor would have the opportunity to change that.

There was a bond formed in competition, especially at this elite level, an understanding of the skill, and training, and mental strength that went into performing well in these sorts of things. And when you were one of the best, the only others that could really, truly appreciate just how good you were, were those that performed at the same level.

They were where the true acknowledgement for winning would come from, and, if he didn't win, they were where he would look for how to improve himself. With each task he'd done just that, watched his fellow competitors, learned from his fellow competitors, and now was the final chance for him to show just how much.

"On my mark, Champions… Three, two, one-" A yellowish-white light shot from the tip of Sprottle's wand and then burst with a sound like a gong. "Good luck."

Even as he wondered what would happen if he simply refused to enter the maze, Harry stepped into it.

Almost immediately the hedge writhed and closed behind him, and looking ahead, he got one last look at the gold of the Cup before the maze rearranged itself with a rustle of leaves, blocking the Cup from view.

It was eerily quiet within the maze. Though the stands were only a step further away than they had been moments before, Harry could no longer hear them; not the chatter or cheering, and not any commentary that Sprottle might be giving.

He was alone.

Except for the other Champions, Harry thought. He lifted his wand to touch the lens of his glasses. Ostendere illae omnia.

By casting it on one lens rather than on himself, Harry would see the magic as an overlay, rather than see only the magic, but even so, he knew better than to look directly up; Hogwarts' comprehensive wards would almost certainly blind him. The maze itself was bearable; each hedge was a deep green, and not glowing the way people or wands or spells did, but rather… shiny. A somewhat magical thing, rather than a thing with magic, or under the control of it.

He took a few slow steps forward, then turned and looked down; glowing orange on the grass were footprints, left there by a rune carved into the tread on his boots. It had been a suggestion of Bill's, something he and his colleagues often used to stop themselves from getting lost in the labyrinths that were ancient temples. Each print would only last an hour or so - less, if the rune got caked with mud and grass - but it ought to be enough to keep him from doubling back on himself… or, enough to ensure he doubled back on himself, and made no real progress in the maze.

Gripping his wand, Harry started forward.

For several long minutes, the maze was uneventful. Certainly the hedges twisted and shifted and occasionally tried to grab him or trip him up, but otherwise, Harry didn't encounter any challenges; no magical creatures, no spells or wards or runes, and no other Champions.

He supposed that was a good thing - he wanted the task to be as uneventful as possible - but it was a little disconcerting.

Whenever he reached a fork, he took a right; he'd started on the far left, and figured that by taking rights, he'd cross the entire maze without going all that much deeper. Every now and then he cast the spell he'd learned from Dobby to make sure the Cup was still on his left, and a reasonable distance away.

"Harry!"

Harry jumped and span in time to see Ron stumble out of one of the maze's paths.

"Ron?!"

"They sent us in not long after you," Ron panted, wiping blood from his temple. "Hermione's in here somewhere too, and Gabrielle and Cho again…" Dread trickled through Harry. "Hermione and I were going to stick together, but we were separated-"

"But- they didn't say-" Harry shook himself and turned back toward Ron. "How long ago did you lose Hermione? We can try to-"

Up close, Ron smelled wrong. And his magic didn't look quite right either - it was his usual, prickly green and gold, but it looked less like he was made of it, and more like he was wearing a cloak of it.

Harry had him at wand point in an instant.

"Harry?" Ron asked, a little nervously.

"What's on my shirt?" Harry asked.

"A stag and doe," Ron answered immediately. Harry hesitated. "Are you all right, mate?"

"You're not you," Harry said. Ron smiled and cocked his head.

"Don't be thick," he said, but his eyes gleamed red for just a moment.

"Where's Ron?" Harry demanded. 'Ron' laughed a high, cold laugh Harry recognised from his nightmares, and then they both startled as a blur of golden-yellow and black sparks - Cedric - burst out of a gap in the maze that hadn't been there a moment ago, colliding with Harry. Harry would have been knocked to the ground had Cedric not caught him.

Harry righted himself to point his wand at Voldemort, but he was gone.

In his place was something that looked like a Dementor, but without a physical form. It was a large, black cloak, fluttering in an invisible breeze, and Cedric flung himself backward, dragging Harry with him.

"That's a Lethifold," he said, a panicked edge to his voice, while Harry's mind tried to catch up. "I didn't think they lived outside the tropics. Expecto-" Weak mist dribbled out of Cedric's wand as the Lethifold advanced, and Harry, without thinking, shook Cedric loose, stepped in front of him, and said,

"Expecto patronum!"

His stag burst forward, dazzlingly, blindingly bright to Harry's magic-vision, and knocked the Lethifold over. Only it wasn't a Lethifold any more. The moment Harry had moved in front of Cedric, the thing wavered into a broken-looking Hermione before switching back into a Lethifold.

"It's a boggart," Harry realised aloud, but Cedric had obviously realised the same:

"Riddikulus!"

The Lethifold's midnight black cloak became a ridiculously colourful set of robes - Harry was sure he'd seen Dumbledore wear a similar set - and they danced a solo waltz before diving into the nearest hedge and vanishing.

"Nice one," Harry said, as Prongs winked out of existence. His vision swam a little as he readjusted to the darkness.

"You too," Cedric said, eyes on where Prongs had been. Then, he raised his wand and levelled it at Harry. "Don't suppose you've got any crests on you? I assume that's why you're out here in the fringes."

"Nope," Harry said, and stood still while Cedric stepped forward and patted his chest, then his back for any hard, crest-shaped lumps. Keeping him at wand point, Cedric backed up and then darted through the nearest gap. Harry heard his footsteps only twice before the maze's magic obscured them again.

"I don't know whose idea the goggles were last task," Sirius said, "but they were a bloody genius, and should have been in charge of this one too."

He could see into the maze, barely; Harry had kept mostly to the edges, which meant the top half of him was just visible, but every now and then he'd turn down a different part of the maze and Sirius would lose sight of him for a few agonising seconds.

The kids - Ron, Hermione, and Ginny - had brought their Omnioculars from the World Cup along, but Ginny had long since surrendered hers to Draco, and Hermione had given hers to Remus - Sirius didn't like that he lost the view of the whole maze while using them - since neither of the girls were tall enough to see more than the untidy top of Harry's head.

After beginning the task, Sprottle had sat down with the other judges to wait, and so there was no official commentary - Sirius was sorry for Bagman's death, and certainly hadn't wished him dead, but he'd never expected to actually, genuinely miss him. He did now, though, though Ron and Draco were doing a fair job of running commentary based on what they could see:

"... left - a little further in, but- oh no, another right. He'll be in the corner at this rate. I thought we'd agreed that he was going to stay out of the corners, because that's probably where a crest'll be."

"We did," Hermione said, biting her lip.

"He's turned around," Draco said. "Maybe he realised-" He sucked in a breath just as Sirius saw a plume of fire shoot up a few feet in front of Harry.

"That'll be a Skrewt," Hagrid said, sounding a bit guilty.

"Oh dear," Luna said. "They can be rather ill-tempered."

Harry disappeared - perhaps he'd taken cover, or thrown himself to the side - and Sirius held his breath, waiting, waiting-

There was a flash of magic, though Sirius couldn't have said what the spell was, and then another glow of fire, that extinguished rapidly, then nothing.

That had to be a good thing, right?

Remus gripped Sirius' arm; he'd passed Stella off to Dora only a minute or two in, worried he was going to hurt her accidentally, but Dora had only managed a minute or so longer before passing her onto Mrs Weasley, who, while she looked worried and rather pinched, seemed to take some comfort in having Stella to hold.

"Can you see him, Hagrid?" Bill asked. Hagrid, tall as he was, had the best vantage of all of them.

"No' jus'-"

"There!" Dora - who was seven and a half feet tall today - suddenly pointed. Fred and George cheered, and then Fred leapt onto George's back, trying to see, and three pairs of Omnioculars swivelled to where Dora had pointed.

Sirius was able to breathe again.

Harry had surfaced again, and didn't look injured; his worst problem seemed to be that he was a little entangled in vines that had come from the hedges, but he got free of them with a few waves of his wand, and was moving again.

"He's all right," Draco said, for the others' benefit. "Doesn't look like he's injured, though he's heading north-west, which is towards the centre…"

Sirius skimmed the rest of the maze: Marlene was patrolling on the eastern side of it, Kingsley to the west, and Sirius could barely see the top of Fleur's silvery head heading towards the centre, but that was it; the other boys were already in sections of the maze too high to see over. Sirius just hoped they were close.

Hurry up and win, one of you, he thought, as Fleur too disappeared behind higher hedges. Hurry up and let this awful bloody Tournament be over.