Content warning: Background character deaths, some described in detail. See chapter endnotes for a spoiler if you're anxious and need to know who dies before continuing reading.
21st June 1995
Still clutching the small gold trophy cup awkwardly with his wand hand, Harry reappeared somewhere entirely new, his gut roiling and his forehead burning as the Portkey transported him out of the labyrinth of challenges, and up into the Top Box of the Quidditch stadium. The deafening roar of the crowd was overwhelming.
Looking around he saw Dumbledore, Sir Audegard, and Madame Maxime spaced along the front balcony, each with a chunky gold radio broadcast microphone to speak into.
"…And here he is! Our Hogwarts champion Harold Potter has arrived first in the Top Box, earning a guaranteed ten points!" Dumbledore announced triumphantly, glancing back at Harry and giving him a cheerful wave.
Harry tucked his wand away in his robe pocket so he'd have less to juggle, and waved happily back to him and to the crowd, golden cup in hand, and Dumbledore gave a cheerful wink and a smile.
Moody, who was standing protectively next to Dumbledore, gave Harry an approving nod. "You have made your family proud, lad."
"Thanks!" Harry glanced around at that reminder, looking for Sirius and Dudley.
Dudley he spotted, sitting over next to Minister Fudge who was beaming, perhaps anticipating a triumph for Hogwarts. An Auror in work robes was hovering nearby him, looking serious. Madam Umbridge in formal pink robes wiggled her fingers at Harry in a tiny wave before joining back in the applause and giving a decorous clap. Percy Weasley, wearing freshly starched dress robes, beamed proudly at him and inclined his head, his delight in Harry's accomplishment obvious and overwhelming any attempts to look decorously impartial. The Delacour and Krum families were there too, glued to their Omnioculars as they watched the final bit of the competition.
The three judges all had tiny desks to work at, and he spotted them all scribbling notes frantically, in between checking on progress of the final contestants with their Omnioculars. From up here the black glass ceiling on the labyrinth looked completely clear. It reminded Harry a little of an ant farm! Except he'd been the ant. He could see some flashes of coloured light down below in the centre of the maze, but not much detail from up so high. No wonder so many people had gotten Omnioculars!
"Well done, I knew you could do it!" Dudley said enthusiastically, coming over to shake his hand. "I'm so proud of you! That was amazing! You were the best!"
Harry was a bit taken aback by the straight-out praise but wasn't going to quibble even though he wasn't sure he'd done the best out of the competitors. It was a good moment, one to savour.
"Here is Viktor Krum!" Audegard announced, as his own school's champion appeared in the Top Box, holding a small silver trophy. He looked more battered than when Harry had last seen him.
"I think we can all agree that was some truly magnificent duelling! A very narrow race to the finish, only seconds behind Potter. A respectable five points out of ten for timely completion of the challenge," Audegard said. He then paused in his narration and Madame Maxime took over. Apparently Fleur was busy fighting the minotaur, while hampered by some curses Krum had hit her with and the lingering effects of Harry's Smokescreen Spell. Audegard shook Krum's hand then waved him over to go to his parents, who embraced him with proud smiles.
"Where's Sirius?" Harry asked Dudley, while the stadium around them, erupted in cheers and applause. "He said he'd come."
Dudley winced. "He wanted to be here, but there was uh… important business. Try not to worry about it, cousin. He'll be back soon and we'll talk then."
"He's okay, though? Is Pettyrat up to something?" Harry asked, both disappointed and worried. "He promised he'd be here. He promised even Dementors wouldn't stop him coming. Is he hurt?"
Dudley didn't blink at the mention of 'Pettyrat', so Harry guessed Sirius had explained the phrase.
"He's fine, I swear by God he is," Dudley reassured, giving him a nervous smile. "Just… just focus on this for now. You have done so well Harry, and you deserve to relax and revel in your triumph for a while. Anyway… look, Dumbledore's calling for you. You should go."
Harry nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly. Dudley was acting odd, and he clearly knew something he wasn't willing to tell right now. It sounded like someone had coached him, maybe given him a line to say. Still, it probably wouldn't be wise to challenge him on it with so many people listening in. Sirius was probably up to something super important – probably involving Pettigrew – and most likely it shouldn't be talked about in company.
"Well done, Harry," Percy said, as Harry passed by on his way to where Dumbledore stood with the other Heads of School at the balcony edge. "Jolly good work today. No… for the whole Tournament! Win or lose you have certainly done Hogwarts proud. Oh, and do not forget to have your arm looked at by the Healers."
Harry glanced down at his left arm, startled. "Oh! Thank you. Yes, I really should." His attention drawn to it he started to increasingly notice the dull ache from abused muscles that his bone-healing spell hadn't been designed to remedy. The numbness charm had helped a lot, then adrenalin had kept him going after it was countered, but that was starting to fade now and the pain was mounting.
Harry moved up next to Dumbledore, tucking the trophy cup away in a pocket so that he could wave more freely to the crowd with his right hand. He wondered if it was real gold or not, and if he'd get to keep it. Its only real use was to award him ten points; it wasn't the Triwizard Cup, which rested on a plinth in the centre-front of the box, quite near Dumbledore. Probably due to Moody and his paranoia again, was Harry's guess. The man was hovering. Harry waved to the crowd, joining Krum in playing to the audience a little, though Harry thought Krum should smile more.
When Delacour appeared in the Top Box a few minutes later clutching a bronze trophy, bedraggled but still beautiful, the crowd's roar was overwhelming. Though it was still light out some fireworks were lit in celebration, shooting up over the middle of the stadium for all to see. Some burst in all colours like glittering rainbow waterfalls, and others shot up to explode with tremendous bangs that left meteors spiralling crazily in all directions. A few special fireworks were a hundred times more exciting than the Muggle kind, like the animated Chinese Fireball dragons made entirely of glittering light, which flew over the oval breathing out fireballs of red and yellow fireworks that burst with noise and a spiral of sparks. Giant trees made of green and yellow sparks glittered as their leaves fell in a hundred tiny sparkles, turning autumn colours as they rained down.
In the bustle and the noise, as Delacour's arrival was celebrated and the fireworks began, Moody walked over and picked up the gleaming Triwizard Cup trophy and peered at it suspiciously. He took it over to Dumbledore with a frown.
"Hold this for a second, I need to cast one final spell to check something," he said.
"Really, Alastor? We have already checked it a dozen times, there are no enchantments or curses on it," Dumbledore chided, but took the large cup nonetheless, holding it and peering at it thoughtfully. "What do you–"
Distracted by the cup, Dumbledore didn't pay attention as Moody draw his wand.
"Diffindo."
Dumbledore's throat opened in a red gash. Blood spurted out of the neat slice that Moody had opened up across the front and one side of his throat with his quick murmured spell. Blood gushed down the front of his robes, mixing in with the red fabric. A couple of spurts of blood fell into the golden Triwizard Cup trophy too, which Dumbledore dropped as he staggered dizzily backwards, clutching at his throat with his left hand and fumbling at his robe pocket with his right. His breath gurgled and wheezed, and a faint red froth appeared at his lips.
A toga-clad house-elf popped out of nowhere and grabbed the bloodstained Triwizard Cup before it hit the ground, seizing it out of the air it by one of its handles with thin, trembling hands. Harry recognised her, it was Winky, the house-elf he'd seen in this very box last summer.
"Master…" she pleaded, in a high, reedy voice.
"Go!" Moody roared at her, and she popped away.
Half the people in the Top Box hadn't even noticed what happened yet, as Dumbledore choked quietly on his own blood.
Madame Maxime's loud shriek of terror took a few seconds to register as something other than excitement over the fireworks.
"Stupefy! Impedimenta!"
"Incarcerous! Silencio!"
A couple of angry voices called out spells against Moody; Audegard and Krum were quick off the mark.
Harry joined in a beat later. "Stupefy! Ossio Dispersimus!"
But with a wordless swirl of his wand, Moody cast a strong Shield Charm that saved him from the lot.
"Get me out of here!" a woman's voice shrieked in the background, shrill and demanding. "Get out of my way!"
Harry hadn't turned to look, he didn't dare take his eyes off Moody, but he could hear people starting to panic.
"G-get him!" Fudge ordered. "No, wait! Protect me! Don't just stand there, do something!"
Audegard had conjured a Shield Charm of his own now, and Krum was standing behind it, using it as cover as he went on the attack against Moody.
Harry seized a moment while Moody was distracted to cast a quick spell on Dumbledore. "Fascia!" White bandages wrapped around his neck. But they weren't going to be enough.
Into one of the microphones Madame Maxime shouted, "We need a 'ealer!"
There was arguing in the background in French, Fleur Delacour was insisting her family leave and they were insisting she come with them.
Pops of Disapparition reassured Harry that at least people could leave. The Top Box had wards on it, but they were designed to prevent intruders Apparating in. It had sounded so reassuring, when Moody had explained the day before what he and Dumbledore had set up for everyone's safety. No werewolves or Death Eaters could pop into their box and attack, though he now knew that obviously the Triwizard Portkeys and house-elves were exceptions to that rule. Now it seemed the one-way Anti-Apparition wards were a trap, one that slowed backup from arriving.
"Dudley! Go with the Delacours!" Harry yelled, glancing over at his cousin who hesitated indecisively, standing there like a lump.
"No, I think I'd better fight," Dudley said. "Sorry."
His body shifted, face shrinking down, round chin narrowing to a point. His hair colour and style changed from its usual blond to a short, spiky pink. It wasn't Dudley. It hadn't been him for some time, Harry now realised. It was Tonks now, standing there in a suit that was too big for her.
"Help Dumbledore!" she ordered, cinching her belt tighter and moving forward to attack, pulling a wand out of her trouser pocket. "Healers will be here any–"
She was wrong, though. Help was not on the way.
As Harry cast Anapneo to clear Dumbledore's airway of choking blood, far down below on the Quidditch pitch the lime-green Healers' tent suddenly burst into flames. Not just any flames, either.
"Fiendfyre!" he heard Percy Weasley say, in a choked, horrified voice.
Percy's wand hung limp in his hand, and his face was pale beneath the freckles. Flames engulfed the tent, starting from one end but moving in fast, uncontrolled. The fire shifted, as shapes coalesced made of living flame; dragons, chimeras, and fiery serpents. The beasts moved through the tent which turned near-instantly to ash as they passed, and then they moved towards the base of some of the stadium stands. The wooden stands full of screaming children.
There was cursing from a couple of Aurors in the Top Box, who Disapparated away from the fight in the Top Box, thoroughly distracted.
"Percy! Guard my back?!" Harry called out.
It got his attention, and Percy shook his head – as if to shake away his uncertainty – and moved over to where Harry hovered next to Dumbledore. He put a Shield Charm up, determination clear on his face, and Harry got to work healing while the adults fought.
"Anapneo," he cast once more, as Dumbledore choked again, bloody froth at his lips.
He was no expert, but the experts were too busy to help, if they were even still alive. He'd have to do the best he could and he hoped desperately that it would be enough.
Dumbledore raised his wand shakily to his own head, drawing out a shining silver thread of magic on the tip of his wand. A memory.
As there was no Pensieve handy Harry had no idea what to do with that, however, and was too busy trying to save the man's life in any case. As he watched and chanted, the silver thread flickered and dissipated in a shimmer of light; Dumbledore couldn't hold it.
"Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanen–"
Moody's snarl interrupted him before Harry could finish the healing chant. "Expulso! You fickle turncoat! He has to die! Protego! Expulso! Avada Kedavra!"
One attack spell followed another, and Percy's Shield Charm was not enough to stop such a determined barrage. The Top Box rocked with the powerful explosion which blasted out the front of the balcony and sent Harry, Percy, and Dumbledore flying. A follow-up explosive curse scattered Moody's attackers briefly, and the threat of the Killing Curse had them diving for cover.
As he fell towards the broken balcony Harry thought he'd surely plummet to his death any minute and cast a hasty Cushioning Charm.
"Molliare!" He hoped desperately it would be enough. What was the spell for falling again? His mind whirled in a panic, going blank for a moment before he remembered the incantation and blurted it out quickly. "Arresto Momentum!"
The three of them all bounced off an invisible shield, however, and Harry mentally blessed whoever had done the warding on the Top Box. They'd anticipated – somehow – the possibility of people falling over the railing and had in advance put up a magical barrier to prevent just that. Even with the physical wooden barrier in broken shards, the magical force field was still holding… for now, at least.
Harry was fine, though his left arm was aching again after being buffeted around during his awkward fall. Percy was fine, just shaken. Dumbledore, however…
Dumbledore landed badly, unconscious at last from either blood loss or the new wound to his chest, a tremendous burn that had scorched through his clothes and charred his skin black.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered shut, and his breath rattled to a final, terrible halt.
"MORSMORDRE!"
Moody's triumphantly shouted incantation sent the Dark Mark into the sky. It blazed up, glittering greenish smoke making a colossal skull in the sky, sparkling like a new constellation. The screaming of the audience reached fever pitch at the sight, as a snake slithered out of the skull's gaping jaw.
"I have carried out my Lord's commands! Our enemy Dumbledore is dead and Lord Voldemort rises again to his full power!" Moody cackled, shouting into one of the microphones from the judge's table, ignoring Bagman and Marchbanks who were crouched cowering behind it, taking cover. Scamander was nowhere to be seen.
"Protego!" He briefly paused in his speech to erect a shield between himself and Tonks, who'd moved over next to Harry as she fired a couple of spells at Moody. Audegard was on the defensive, and healing Krum of a serious injury from behind a shield.
Harry put up a shield himself like Audegard was doing, hopefully protecting himself and Tonks all against possible retaliatory curses so she could stay on the attack.
But Moody ignored them to rant to the audience again. "The Dark Lord is reborn in strength, born in blood, and bone, and fl– Argh!"
A blue spell blast hit Moody from behind, where his magical shield didn't protect him, and he stopped mid-speech with a choked scream. He looked down in shock at the large round hole that had pierced him right through the middle of his chest. His eyes glazed over and he dropped his wand as he stumbled and fell to the ground, dead within a minute. No-one moved to help him, not even Harry. He didn't know how to save someone from a fist-sized hole through their heart and lungs, even if he'd been eager to try. He was pretty sure it was impossible even for wizards; magic had its limits.
"Silent Reductor Curse," Marchbanks said, loudly but shakily as she stood up, lowering her wand. "'Twill earn you an extra fifteen points on your Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT to cast it silently. In truth it has been some time since I have cast it myself but I have not lost my knack! Oh, dear Merlin, I think I need to sit down again. Would you just look at all that blood!"
-000-
The attack wasn't over with Moody's death, with Fiendfyre still raging down below and at least once accomplice – who'd cast that dreaded ferocious spell – still on the loose. With Fudge having Disapparated away with most of the Aurors from the Top Box, Dumbledore dead, and Amelia Bones dismissed from her position months ago as head of the DMLE, leadership was thin on the ground. However, in the absence of any high-ranking officials others were willing to step into that gap, when most were unable or unwilling to do so.
Audegard stepped up to one of the still-working microphones, so his voice boomed across the stadium. "The counter-curse to Fiendfyre is Opprimitor, emphasis on the second-last syllable, sharp zig-zag movement downwards with your wand, hold a water-focused mindset. I shall be down shortly to assist."
Stepping away from the microphone he asked Krum, "Are you with me?"
"Of course, sir," Krum replied, jaw set with determination, and they both Apparated away down to fight the fire.
Tonks stumbled forwards, looking ill as she stepped past Dumbledore's body where it lay, so very horribly still. She swallowed hard, and closed her eyes, then took her turn making an announcement. "Marchbanks says Aguamenti will do nothing to Fiendfyre directly, so stop that, it's too weak to use directly. However, you can use it to douse the stands if they catch fire. Earth-making spells may help; if you don't know the counter-curse throw up earthen bulwarks instead. If you are skilled in Apparition feel free to Disapparate; the wards Dum… the wards placed here only stop enemies coming in, not people leaving. It's safe to Disapparate. Please leave in a calm and orderly manner."
Harry waved for Tonks' attention and said, "Please let them know I'll help set up a first aid tent outside the main entrance, they can take wounded there to await any Healers."
He wasn't sure he'd be any good with a counter-curse he'd only read about but never tried before. However, he did know that there would be a lot of people with burns who'd need help, and most of the Healers who'd come to the stadium were likely to be injured themselves, if they'd even survived.
Tonks nodded. "Potter is going to set up a temporary Healer's tent outside the main entrance. Take the badly injured there to await help from St. Mungo's. Anyone with proficiency in Healing charms please join him there."
Tonks stepped away from the microphone, letting out a long, pained breath, and turned her teary face away from Dumbledore's body again, as it caught her eye. Harry didn't blame her. He was desperately trying not to look at him… it… either.
Marchbanks took her spot at the microphone, peering at the fire-fighting effort with her Omnioculars and calling out loud instructions about charms to use and where people should move to. She was doing a fine job co-ordinating people so everyone left her to it.
In the background, Bagman was scurrying for the stairs. Harry guessed as a lifelong Quidditch fan he favoured broomsticks and was too scared of Splinching to want to Disapparate. The Delacours were all gone, he didn't know where.
"I'd better go help," Tonks said. "Or… no… perhaps I should stay with you. War target and all. Ready to go when you are. Entrance, right?"
"I err… I can't Apparate. Fourteen, remember?"
Tonks smacked her head. "Right! Sorry."
"Where… where's Dudley?" Harry asked, steeling himself for the answer. "And Sirius? Are they… um…?"
"Alive," Tonks said quickly. "They're okay. Your cousin is injured, and Sirius took him to St. Mungo's, and then home. There was a spot of bother with Death Eaters at Sirius' house, but they're both going to make a full recovery. We didn't want you to uh… you know. Panic."
"They're okay?" Harry double-checked. "You're sure?"
"They will be. I mean, they should be. Injured but healing fine, no major injuries, I swear by Merlin. That's what I knew an hour ago. Two Death Eaters caught, another two wounded and on the run, and the Obliviators were mopping up and everything. It was all over. A great win," she said, then a lost look came into her eyes as she looked over the stadium at the thinning crowd. Many people were still crying and screaming, some popping away now they'd been reassured it was safe to Disapparate. Most were too young or too scared to try.
She wrenched around to face Moody's body with a sudden snarl, and kicked his corpse, making Harry wince. "Now I know why so many of my missions went wrong, and why I learnt so little! Traitor! Rot in Tartarus!"
"Tch. Ahem!" tutted Marchbanks, turning away from the microphone to direct a chiding look at Tonks. "Get this young man where he needs to be and leave me to stand vigil over the dead."
"Come on," Harry said, putting his wand-holding right hand in the crook of Tonks' arm. "Down to the entrance, please."
-000-
It was both better, and worse, than the Quidditch World Cup. Fewer dead, but more children injured. Most had suffered falls or trampling injuries from those desperate to get away, uncaring of who they pushed past or even stood on in their frantic haste to escape.
Tonks commandeered two concession stand tents, kicking out sellers of hot pies and Butterbeer. Harry put up the Healer's sign of the Rod of Asclepius, and some people with wounded family members and friends instantly gravitated over to him. There were even two Healers ready to work (once their own injuries had been tended to by each other), and some fellow students also eager to volunteer, including Applebee and Midhurst. Harry recognised one of the Healers, and they him.
"Hippocrates Smethwyck," the Healer said, a very curt reintroduction, ignoring the niceties while he vanished Harry's freshly applied bandages and splint around his left arm. Another spell held the arm gently in place, fixed in the air while he worked. "We met at the fundraising dinner last year, I think. And at your Regent's trial."
"Yes–" Harry started, but the Healer didn't seem to need a response, and kept talking. "Broken, but your healing charm was well done, if hasty. Your muscles are injured; you cannot keep ignoring your own wounds to tend others. You will damage yourself further."
Fine words coming from someone with burns all down their back and arms, Harry thought, but he knew better than to openly critique an adult aloud. He stayed still while the Healer worked on him, then cautiously offered to help him out with a healing variant Cooling Charm on his own burns.
With an experienced and only lightly injured Healer-in-Charge to take over triage and tending the wounded, Harry acted mostly as an assistant. He directed incoming St. Mungo's orderlies into Disapparating away with the worst injured as they trickled in, said soothing things to anxious relatives then shooed them out of the tent, and helped tend some of the more minor injuries like cuts and bruises.
Tonks hovered constantly nearby, with paranoid watchfulness and her wand drawn. The only time she interfered in Harry talking to people, however, was when Narcissa and Draco stopped by to check that Harry was okay, and to return Storm to him.
"That's close enough," she said, stepping between Harry and Narcissa Malfoy as she rushed towards him, looking worried.
Narcissa stumbled to a halt, wary of the wand pointed right at her chest.
"Well, really!" she sniffed. She leant past Tonks, peering at Harry. "Are you alright, Harry, dear? We came to check on you. Is my cast-off niece causing you trouble?"
"You were gone too long!" Storm hissed accusingly, sliding out of Draco's arms and slithering up to Harry's feet. "There was fire! I was dropped!"
"I'm fine. Mostly. My arm should be fine. I uh… I guess you heard about Dumbledore."
"Everyone did," Draco said. "You could hardly miss it. We were all glued to our Omnioculars."
"I'm fine," Harry hissed to Storm.
"I can sssmell-taste that. Were you not listening? I was dropped!" Storm said, angrier this time.
"Well I'm sssorry Millicent dropped you. I'm sure it was an accident. Did Draco find you?"
"Thiss one? Yess, the sssmall one. One of your people. I am not sure if Millicent is a favourite now. He could be a new favourite. Will he feed me treatss?"
"Maybe," Harry said vaguely, "but she likess you more."
"Difficult," Storm mused. Years of bribes by Millicent hadn't been completely wasted in securing his affections, even after such an indignity as being dropped in a stampede while his minder escaped a fire without him.
"Thanks for getting Storm," Harry said to Draco. "Do you have any injuries?"
"I think you should leave now," Tonks said to Narcissa, still standing in her way.
"My ankle is hurt," Draco said. "It is not too bad, though."
"Then I can tend it for you, if you like," Harry offered, circling quietly around to get closer to Draco.
Tonks huffed in exasperation. "Don't try anything!"
"Thank you, that would be most kind," Draco said, watching her warily but not otherwise responding to her warning. He limped over to Harry.
Storm slithered up Harry's leg, and into Harry's copiously enlarged robe pocket. "You shan't leave me behind again. She did not protect me. That is your duty now."
Harry couldn't believe it as his snake wiggled around into a comfy position and went still. Storm was going to take a nap.
Tonks' voice was rising angrily as she asked Narcissa, "And where is your husband? Was he busy?"
"Well I never! My husband is indeed busy, fighting the Fiendfyre like a hero for all to see, alongside Yaxley and his more useful Aurors!"
"Clever!" Tonks said, but her admiration had an accusing edge to it.
"He is clever," Narcissa insisted, "and he does a far more worthy task than your very important standing around."
"I'd like you to take your argument outside, please," Harry said firmly.
They ignored him, however, both insistent they needed to watch over him, but were unwilling to entirely give up their argument. Healer Smethwyck eventually needed to bark a command of his own for them to leave, which was obeyed with more alacrity, though neither went far, standing guard on their respective charges within sight of the open-sided tent.
"Dumble… Dumbledore died," Draco said, as Harry wiggled off his boot and cast a charm on his foot to check on the bones, which were all fine. He felt it gently for good measure, in case his charm was off. "He's really dead? I saw him fall…"
"Yes," Harry affirmed. "I tried but… I couldn't save him. Also two Healers and two assistants died, a mediwizard and a mediwitch. And another mediwitch and an Auror are both in critical condition with burns at St. Mungo's who might not make it."
"Muggle-borns?" Draco asked, but in a dispirited, low voice that suggested he'd already guessed the answer.
Harry's lips thinned. "Pure-bloods or half-bloods, more likely, not that someone's heritage should determine if it's alright if they die or not. The vast majority of Healer and Auror jobs go to those with well-connected patrons or to rich pure-bloods. You know that; you go to Slughorn's soirees the same as me, even if your parents never talked about such things Slughorn certainly does."
"Yes, I suppose so. I never thought… They just did not care who they hurt…"
"Yes," Harry agreed quietly. "Food for thought, isn't it? But perhaps something best not discussed here and now." His eyes flicked over meaningfully to where Narcissa stood not too far away, watching them from outside the open-air tent.
Draco's eyes followed Harry's, and he gave his mother a wan, silent smile.
"All done," Harry said, as he finished magically wrapping Draco's foot up in bandages, and cast a couple of charms on it. "It's just a mild sprain with some bruising. Apply a Cooling Charm hourly for the rest of the evening if you can or get someone to do it for you. We don't have any supplies here, so obtain and apply some Bruise Balm tonight before you go to sleep, or tomorrow morning at the latest. Keep it bandaged until you can get Madam Pomfrey or a Healer to double check things, but honestly I'm sure I'm right and you'll mend fine on your own."
"I do not know a Cooling Charm safe to use on people," Draco fretted. "I know not who in our dorm does."
"Then use Glacius to make ice chips and wrap them in a tea-towel or something, and apply it to your ankle."
"How are you so calm?" Draco asked accusingly, an abrupt change of subject not made with his usual grace.
Harry winced and shrugged. "Too much practice. And I'm keeping busy, that helps a lot. I'm trying not to think about it. It helps, doing something. Something to remind myself that I'm not useless. Still, believe me, I will be seeing him die in my dreams for weeks."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault," Harry said.
He wondered if it was his own fault. He could've done something, been faster with his spells. Fought harder. Was it their fault? The adults? Even Dumbledore's? How could he not have suspected his friend? Why wasn't security better, the Aurors faster and less bloody useless? Harry hadn't saved Dumbledore. He hadn't even known Dudley and Sirius had been in danger.
It triggered an anxious thought. "Hey, would you do me a favour?" he asked Draco.
"Of course. I am currently a favour in your debt and would be willing to assist in any case."
"Check up on everyone for me? Find out if they're all safe and let me know. Just… everyone. You know, all my friends. Make a list and report back."
"Consider it done."
Draco, like Harry, seemed happier with something to do, something practical to focus on.
It was a time-consuming task Harry had set him, with some Hogwarts students scattered to the four winds, whisked away by family members or Disapparating themselves to safety. Draco left with his mum, after being assured Harry was fine for them to go. Narcissa carefully hugged him while Tonks watched, scowling, and holding onto one of Harry's shoulders like Narcissa might Disapparate away with him if the possibility wasn't guarded against.
They weren't the only ones who were worried about Harry's wellbeing. Healer Smethwyck fussed over him and tried to shoo him off to rest long before Harry was ready to stop helping. However, eventually it was obvious that the flow of wounded (and worried relatives and friends looking for the lost at their tent) had trickled to a halt, and that the seriously injured had all been safely evacuated to St. Mungo's. Harry was needed neither as a guard nor as a makeshift Healer, and he felt he should be gladder about that than he actually was.
Sirius stopped by briefly, much to Harry's relief. He looked pretty intact, except that one side of his face was covered in a thick gooey paste, smeared on like clay. It was a virulent orange that you just didn't get with Muggle medicinal creams.
"I don't have long," Sirius warned, "there's a lot to do with uh… the war. Things I can't discuss. Yet I did want to stop by and make sure you were alright. Let you know how sorry I am that I couldn't make it to the Tournament. Congratulations, I heard you did really well!"
"It's okay. There were important things to do."
Sirius reached out with his left hand and placed it gently on Harry's shoulder. "You are important too. I want you to know that I did not forget you, nor judge you unimportant. Death Eaters attacked at our home as we left, and I thought you would prefer I secure your cousin's safety first and foremost rather than watch you compete, all things considered. I'm trying to do better. Sni…Snape says I run off too much. I didn't this time; Dudley's safe, and uh… my housemates and I as well. Everyone's healed and safe at home now. I hoped we could still make the Tournament before you even noticed our absence, but the hospital visit took longer than I had anticipated, and Dudley was not eager to stay longer in the wizarding world. So, plans had to change. Are we cool?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we're cool, Sirius. You made the right decision."
"I… I hope so. I can't believe Dumbledore… I suppose even the greatest wizards can be taken down by a surprise attack. Betrayed by someone we trusted. Again…" Sirius trailed off with a distant look in his eyes, before shaking his head and refocusing. "Let's not talk about that. We have lost a great man but the fight goes on. Thank you for doing what you can, Harry, and thank you too for staying safe."
"I… well. It's nothing."
Sirius gave him a look.
"…You're welcome?" Harry said tentatively, which seemed to meet with more approval.
"Be careful, Harry. I will see you at King's Cross station in a couple of days, alright? I have to make sure everything's safer than safe. Moody knew a lot of… things, things that are now compromised."
Sirius left not long after their discussion, after checking in with Tonks who looked visibly relieved by whatever he told her. Harry was transported back to Hogwarts less than an hour later by Professor McGonagall, where he was swarmed by his friends and housemates, eager for news and for reassurances that he was well.
Hermione pushed through the crowd and dove at him like a heat-seeking missile, barrelling into him and clinging tightly around his waist while he patted her awkwardly on the back. She wasn't crying, but she held onto him fiercely like she daren't let go of him for a second, babbling away a mile a minute.
"I was so scared, and we couldn't do anything but watch! It was terrible! How could he do that? He was our teacher, he was Dumbledore's friend! You're right, the Defence teachers are all cursed! And we tried to get to you, really we did!"
"We couldn't though," Neville added, setting aside his book on one of the small tables dotting the Gryffindor Common Room, and coming over, a relieved smile on his face. "It is good to see you. It was hard, waiting here with no news. Not uh… not that it was not harder for you. Obviously. Sorry."
"It's okay," Harry said.
"The prefects, you see, and some of the adults, they were getting us to evacuate, everyone they could. They wouldn't let us go upstairs, only down and out of the stadium!" Hermione babbled. "I couldn't help you, they wouldn't let me onto the pitch to help Viktor either, even though I was sure I could help with the counter-curse! Or earth barriers, Neville knows a good charm for digging trenches but no-one wanted to listen and let us through. I get that, really I do they were trying to keep us safe and keep the lines moving but I just–"
Harry pried her arms off him and held her by the shoulders, staring at her intently. "It's okay. You couldn't help, and you wanted to. I know how that feels. I didn't do as much as I wanted to, and I was right there. There were only seconds, and it wasn't enough. I'm just glad you're safe. Did anyone from here get hurt? Anyone missing?"
"Oh!" Hermione said, pulling away and rummaging in a pocket. "I have a list. Malfoy gave it to me to give to you when I told him we were fine and Professor McGonagall had gone to get you. Since all the dorms were going into lockdown, you know? He really shouldn't have been roaming around but he said it was important and it was for you and I guess it kind of was; it's a list of all the people he checked on for you. I looked. Sorry! I shouldn't have looked, I know you don't like people looking at your mail, but really it was just a checklist with some notes and I saw him checking it off when he talked to me. He said it wasn't private and I could read it. That's okay, right?"
Harry nodded and took the list and let her chatter wash over him. It was soothing, in a way. To be worried over. Draco's list was quite thorough, including not only Harry's close friends but those in other years, and also people he only somewhat associated with or had fallen out with, like Alice Tolipan and Anthony Goldstein. He'd even included a few adults he'd marked off as safe – Draco's parents and Pansy's too, Percy Weasley, Professors McGonagall and Slughorn (whom Harry kind of liked but wasn't close to like Draco was), and even Snape (whom Draco had Floo-called to check on). Sirius and Dudley were marked down as, "Location unknown, discharged from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries earlier today." Luna was noted as "Injured, healed at Hogwarts, returned to dorm." Everyone was fine, except for those three. Sirius and Dudley were still hopefully fine. Somewhere.
"Do you think you won the Tournament? They never gave final points," someone asked.
Harry had no idea and said so. "I think deciding who was the winner was the last thing on the judges' minds. Bagman left, and Scamander did too after a while, I don't know where."
"He went to save the creatures in the labyrinth," Johnson said, "when the flames got a bit too close for comfort."
"Marchbanks looked pretty shaken. She's ancient, poor thing. She had trouble standing after all that."
"Fierce though!" Ginny Weasley said admiringly. "She took that traitor out with one spell!"
"Silent Reductor Curse," Harry said. "She said afterwards it was worth fifteen points on your DADA NEWT exam."
"Bit late now," an unhappy seventh-year muttered. "Already done that. The exam, that is."
"Only a couple of days to go," Dennis Creevey said. He looked kind of blotchy-faced and teary. "The Headmaster is dead. Why are they even keeping us here?"
"We're safe here. And some people still have exams," Hermione said.
"How can we be safe if You-Know-Who is alive again, like Professor Moody said he is? Like Dumbledore said he is? Who will keep us safe now that Dumbledore is dead?" Creevey asked piteously. "I want to go home."
Harry didn't know what to say. No-one did. Dennis' brother Colin eventually led him away to bed. After some more chatter, including Harry shocking Hermione with the news about Winky leaving with the blood-stained Triwizard Cup trophy (she couldn't believe such a likeable house-elf could be so bad, and swore she must have acted under duress), the rest of the Gryffindors eventually scattered to their own beds, for what fitful sleep they could manage.
Harry was one of the last to fall asleep, which was no surprise to himself.
Snape sent Harry an angry letter very late that evening that made it through Harry's owl wards after the sun had set around ten o'clock. It was conveyed to him by an owl that repeatedly bit him so hard with its crooked beak that it drew blood, until Harry was forced to bat it away. It contained brief condolences on the passing of the Headmaster, and an angry rant.
"You are in constant possession of a painstakingly enchanted Portkey. What you appear to lack is even rudimentary intelligence and any semblance of self-preservation! I take back any assessment I have ever made that compared you to a Slytherin."
Harry healed his bites and scrawled a hurried reply for the fractious waiting owl, explaining that the Tournament officials had stripped him of all his belongings except his wand before the Tournament task had begun. Which had, unfortunately, included his Portkey.
Sirius had sent him a letter too, perhaps forgetting that as it was the summer solstice sunset was the latest it would be all year, and that Harry's wards would keep his letter from arriving for many hours. It contained no reference to Dumbledore or the Tournament but instead had an apologetic explanation for his absence that day. Death Eaters had ambushed him and Dudley as they'd left a hotel in London on their way to the Triwizard Tournament. He'd defeated a couple, and another two had fled. However, they'd wounded Dudley badly, and Sirius had been hurt too. Sirius wrote that he'd been treated at St. Mungo's, and his leg was all healed up with only a thin scar to show for his scare. Dudley had wanted to go home and was 'very insistent and upset' (Harry felt that was code for Dudley chucking a massive tantrum) and his desire to watch the Triwizard Tournament had completely evaporated. So, Sirius had eventually bowed to his insistence to be delivered back to his mum and not to his school, where Sirius was keeping an eye on him until a replacement guard could arrive to watch over Privet Drive which he hoped would be very soon. He finished with more extremely apologetic rambling about how truly sorry he was to miss it, but that he'd caught some of it on the Wizarding Wireless at St. Mungo's and knew Harry would do well, and that he'd watch the replay later on some Omnioculars if he wasn't in time to catch the end of the Tournament.
There was a short and apologetic note from Lupin too, swearing that Sirius was home safe 'at our other home' after seeing to Dudley's safe return to his parents, and not to worry as Sirius would be fine to pick him up from King's Cross station in a couple of days and would send another owl tomorrow.
A lot of other people had written too – not the Dark Lord, thankfully he was still blocked – but those were the most important letters Harry paid attention to.
Harry lay awake for hours before he could get to sleep that night. His mind kept playing the day over and over, thinking about Moody's attack and Dumbledore's death. If he'd been faster. More suspicious – constant vigilance! If he'd Stunned Moody, immobilised him. Or, if he'd whispered his healing spell on Dumbledore instead of chanting it. He could have Disapparated with Dumbledore, he knew the theory, maybe he could've done it. Or gotten Tonks to leave with him! Why hadn't someone else – someone better – gotten him to safety? Taken him to a Healer?
He wondered about Voldemort's plans too, and who'd been behind the attack. Why had that house-elf left with the trophy? What had Moody been ranting about that he thought worth his life – worth staying to gloat? Was Voldemort really going to be reborn? Didn't he already have a body?
So many thoughts whirled. How he could've beaten Moody; a dozen spells and strategies he didn't think of in the heat of the moment. How he could've saved Dumbledore. A Shield Charm – if he'd only got one up! Or, if he could have done something about the Fiendfyre – what if he'd gone there instead of to a Healing tent where he really wasn't needed like he thought he would be? He knew the counter-curse, just the theory but he knew it. Maybe he could've saved some of the people who'd died in the fire if he'd acted faster instead of talking while people were dying.
Storm was always sympathetic to Harry's side of any problem discussed with him and was happy to chat in the middle of the night, being nocturnal by nature, but he wasn't an especially helpful confidant.
"So, the Elder is dead and Nagini's master is winning?" Storm summarised, after Harry retold the key events of the day that Storm had missed.
"Yess."
"Good. He likes sssnakess. We should sssend him a duck. Clever-men like duckss."
"What?! He killed people! He's a terrible danger to the whole wizarding world!"
"He sssent me a frog, and he sssends giftss to you too. And you are not in danger are you? He likess you."
"Maybe a little, but our truce is broken, remember? He sssent people to try and kill Sssiriuss and my cousin."
"What cousin?"
"Dudley. The one I live with at Privet Drive."
"The big one who sssmell-tastess of sssweetss and chicken? He sssays I am handsome but never gives me anything."
Harry huffed in frustration. "Do you only think with your ssstomach?! Do you only like people who feed you?"
"No. I also like people who like sssnakess. And who are good allies to you, Harold. The big one is not."
Harry sighed. "He's okay. He helpss sssometimes."
"You are sssafe, aren't you?" Storm double-checked.
"Less sssafe now that Dumbledore is dead."
"Then it is bad that your Elder died," Storm concluded, but didn't seem overly distressed by the notion. "Harold…?"
"Yess?"
"Do you think I could eat his bird now he is dead? It sssmell-tastess very tasty. It is big, but that is mostly feathers. I think I could swallow it. You could cut it up for me!"
"No."
Snape sent another letter that arrived in the wee hours of the morning, with a less cross but still annoying owl that pecked him awake. It didn't contain an apology as such, but Harry could read between the lines and knew that 'it seems I was incorrect, and you have more brains than a Puffskein after all' was a compliment and an apology of sorts. He reassured Snape that yes, he had his Portkey back now; a determined goblin had sought him out and returned everything safe and sound before he'd left the stadium.
Endnote spoiler: Dumbledore is the Dark Lord's greatest enemy, and dies this chapter. 'Moody' also dies, as do some unnamed Healers and their assistants.
Moody's body – There are indications in canon that if you die while transformed under Polyjuice, you don't change back. Or at least, that the transformation can persist for some time after death.
Sirius: "Crouch never came for his son's body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress, I watched them do it." - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 35 (Padfoot Returns)
Note – Neither Voldemort nor Tom have had a body of their own; they have both been possessing one. Until now, when implicitly something has changed in that respect for someone.