A/N: I'm re-reading GoF and Harry is so dumb it's almost amazing he's still alive. Like when he gets sent to the graveyard and sees someone approach, he just stands there and lowers his wand as he watches them. Then during the scene where Crouch-as-Moody reveals that he was the one responsible for everything, Harry's just like, Good joke, mate. Crouch-as-Moody literally has to go through his whole plan for Harry to believe him.
Chapter Forty-Five
Champion of Champions
Sweat pooled on Harry's forehead and the back of his neck. His robes were probably drenched by now, and the task hadn't even started. The stands surrounding the quidditch pitch were full, and Harry desperately tried to find his friends or Sirius. From down here, though, the audience was a single, faceless entity.
Harry rubbed his clammy hands against his robes. Hopefully, he wouldn't drop his wand whilst running through the twenty-foot-high hedged maze – he'd be the laughing stock of the entire school. Maybe he could accio his broom and soar above it all… That wasn't explicitly forbidden, was it?
He almost jumped out of his skin when Krum tapped his shoulder. "Where is your friend?" he asked in broken English.
"That's a good question," Harry muttered, craning his head around. Other than the three champions, only Hagrid, Bagman, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick were down here by the maze instead of up there with the spectators. "She might still be with Professor Moody."
Krum's bushy eyebrows lowered in confusion. "Why?"
Harry faltered. "She was feeling nervous, so he wanted to give her some advice."
"What?" asked Fleur indignantly, having clearly eavesdropped on their conversation. "Surely that's against the rules."
Before Harry could think of a suitable response, Fleur marched over to Bagman and reported to him what she'd just learned.
"Now, now," Bagman replied affably. "That's hardly an infraction worth getting worked up over. Although if Miss Fortescue doesn't show up within the next ten minutes, she automatically forfeits."
Something wasn't right. Was Alex in trouble? Had she and Moody been ambushed?
A horrible feeling settled in Harry's stomach. It worsened with every minute that passed. Harry thoroughly regretted not bringing his two-way mirror down here with him – he hadn't wanted to risk breaking it in the maze, nor did Sirius want to show off their nifty trump card.
Feeling like he had no other choice, Harry jogged over to Professor McGonagall. "Professor," he said when she turned to him in surprise, "I think Alex is in danger."
Professor McGonagall peered down at him with those hawkish eyes of hers. To his immense relief, she responded neither sceptically or dismissively. "Very well, Potter," she said slowly. "The professors and I will go search for her."
Harry nodded, the ball of tension in his gut unwinding slightly. He followed after his Head of House, eager to help out, when he noticed a figure hastily jogging towards them.
It was Alex. She looked unharmed, if a little winded. Within seconds she made her way to them by the entrance of the intimidating maze, her face flushed and her breathing laboured.
"Sorry I'm late," she wheezed, clutching her side. No doubt a stitch was forming from her run. "Professor Moody kept me longer than we realised."
Fleur sniffed audibly. "And what, exactly, were you plotting with him?"
Krum also peered at her with suspicious eyes.
Alex returned their hostile gazes with a cool one of her own. "He revealed who the real enemy is," she said with an odd smile on her face.
Ignoring their baffled silence, Alex moved to Harry's side. "Let's team up," she whispered so that only he could hear.
"Right," he replied, quickly regaining his confidence. "Two wands are better than one."
"Excellent!" said Bagman with a loud clap of his hands. "We're all finally here. Let's get the show started, shall we?"
"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," Professor McGonagall informed the champions, ignoring Bagman and his misplaced joviality. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"
Harry and the others nodded with varying levels of surety.
"Stand by the opening now," encouraged Bagman. "That's it. Sonorus. Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand!"
Bagman clapped Harry on the shoulder. "In first place, with eighty-five points, is Mr Harry Potter of Hogwarts!"
Wincing from the volume, Harry pulled away from Bagman's warm grip and clapped a hand to his ear as the audience exploded into thunderous cheering. Bagman moved onto Alex, whom he didn't bother laying a hand on, and announced her position as second, then Krum as third, and Fleur as fourth.
After a last-ditch attempt, Harry finally spotted his friends. They were piled into the stand where the Gryffindors typically sat during their quidditch matches. Harry waved madly at them, a large grin lighting up his face as they waved back. Dean and Seamus quickly unfurled an old banner they had made for him in first-year – a red-and-gold sign that read GO POTTER GO. The familiar sight settled the storm that had been brewing within him.
Alex's parents were sitting next to Sirius, their hands clasped as they beamed down at their daughter. Alex herself didn't seem to notice – she was too busy eying the entrance of the maze.
"On my whistle, Harry!" hollered Bagman over the increasingly loud audience. "Three, two, one!"
Harry shot off into the maze before Bagman even removed the whistle from his lips. He had gotten maybe ten metres into the maze when the hedges behind him rustled as though alive. They shifted, shrinking and growing so that the opening from which Harry had entered was no longer visible. The hedges were so tall and thick that it cut off all sign and sound of the outside world. It was almost like he was underwater again.
"Lumos."
The light illuminating the tip of Harry's wand shook in his grip. The fact that he could now see did nothing for his nerves. Harry debated remaining still until Alex made her way to him, but then the hedges began to move as though aware of his plan.
With unnatural speed, the path in front of him began to close. Harry dashed through the slim opening before the maze could choke him and leave him tangled between the leaves. He burst free at the very last moment, his heart pounding in his chest. Harry allowed himself five seconds to catch his breath before moving again, not wanting a repeat of what had just taken place.
After he covered a decent amount of ground, Harry glanced at his wristwatch (a Christmas gift from Sirius and Remus) and found that fifteen minutes had passed since he'd first entered – and he had yet to run into a single obstacle besides the maze itself. Where were magical creatures? The other champions?
Harry's eyes darted upwards as though the audience could be of any help, but even though they could see him from where they were sitting in the lookout towers, he couldn't see them. It had something to do with angles and perspectives – Hermione would know. But for now, Harry was well and truly on his own.
His pace slowed dramatically as he crept through the maze. The longer he went without encountering another living thing, the more anxious Harry grew. He half-expected Voldemort to be around every corner, but so far, it was just him and the darkness of the maze.
And so when Harry found himself staring at a cloud of golden mist lazily hanging mid-air, he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. Having prepared for everything but this, he took a chance and threw the Reductor Curse at it. Predictably, the spell shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact.
What would happen if he walked through the mist? Was it worth chancing it, or should he double back?
A scream shattered the silence.
That was Fleur, Harry realised with a start.
"Fleur!" he yelled. There was no reply.
Harry slapped a hand to his mouth, feeling like a complete idiot. Now whoever—or whatever—had attacked Fleur knew he was nearby. He could practically hear Alex scolding him for his recklessness.
"Harry."
He whirled around, wand raised and pointed right in Alex's face. Somehow she had managed to sneak up on him, and was looking rather unimpressed with the bright light shining in her eyes.
Irritated, she pushed his wand away from her. "You all right?" she asked as he forced his heartrate to slow. "I ran into Krum and knocked him out a few minutes ago."
"I'm fine," he muttered, keeping his wand at an appropriate, non-blinding level. "You?"
Alex nodded. "Krum was having trouble with some blast-ended skrewts, so I put him out of his misery. C'mon, let's go before we find out what got to Fleur."
Without waiting for a response, Alex pressed forward into the maze. She walked without a care in the world, and Harry envied her composure. Whatever Professor Moody had said to her really seemed to calm her nerves.
"Did you run into any creatures yourself?"
"Yeah. An acromantula. A swarm of doxies and pixies, even a lethifold. That last one was a real pain to deal with," she growled. Perhaps she wasn't as calm and collected as Harry had presumed.
They continued their way through the maze unbothered by both humans and creatures alike. Unlike before, though, Harry didn't feel as flighty; Alex's presence was both anchoring and reassuring. Upon their seventh dead-end, she hissed in frustration and withdrew her wand. "Point me."
Nothing happened. Alex's face morphed into an expression of pure fury as she spat once more, "Point me."
At last her wand hovered over her palm and spun several times before the tip faced their left. "That's north," she declared, noticing Harry's confusion. "That's where the Triwizard Cup is. I'd mow down the hedges, but last time I did that, they tried to kill me."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," he admitted, turning back the way they came. "What's wrong with your wand, by the way? You never struggle with these sorts of spells."
"Nerves," she grunted. "I can't wait to leave this stupid bloody maze."
Harry snorted. He couldn't agree more.
After several more point mes, they finally made some visible progress in the form of a sphinx - the living, breathing kind. It was a magical creature capable of complex thought, which made them distinctly dangerous. Hermione and Remus had spent far too long debating whether their high levels of intelligence qualified them as beings as opposed to creatures, but in the end it was Sirius who reminded them that the sphinxes themselves preferred to be categorised as the latter rather than the former.
Alex was glaring at the sphinx as if she had a personal grudge against the half-woman half-lioness. Her wand was gripped tightly in her fist, but there was no need for violence at the moment. The sphinx wasn't crouched low as though ready to pounce; rather, she was pacing back and forth, cutting them off from the path that led straight to the Cup.
"You are very near your goal," the sphinx declared, confirming their suspicions. "The quickest way is past me."
"Move, then," snapped Alex.
"No," she said, continuing to pace. "Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess, I let you pass. Answer wrongly, I attack. Remain silent, and I will let you walk away from me unscathed."
"Great," Harry muttered beneath his breath. "If only Hermione were here."
"We can take her," Alex said in a low voice. "If we answer incorrectly, I'll distract her and you get the Cup."
"If you're sure," he replied hesitantly. When she nodded in confirmation, Harry met the sphinx's amused gaze and said, "Okay. Can we hear the riddle?"
Alex awoke to the jarring sensation of a bony hand latched onto her arm. As opposed to the other instances when she had been on the receiving end of a Stunner, this time the fog of the curse lifted at once. Eyes flying open, she scrambled away from the person who'd been grasping her, and fumbled for her wand.
It was gone.
Alex's grip on her empty holster tightened as hot rage flooded her. That bitch stole my wand! she thought, incensed.
A weak groan from nearby temporarily shook her out of it. The person responsible for the pitiful sound was also the same man who must've woken her. He was practically skin and bones, his face gaunt and sunken in. Were it not for the slight noises he was making, Alex would've assumed he was dead.
"Who are you?" she asked, getting to her feet. Her panicked eyes darted around the dark room they were trapped in; the only source of light came from a portable lamp that was lit by magical means. "Where are we?"
"My name," he wheezed with considerable effort, "is Alastor Moody."
Alex's blood ran cold. She instinctively flicked her wrist before remembering her loss. "Who took my wand, then?"
"The bastard who's been impersonating me all year." The beaten down expression on the half-dead man's face made way for bitter anger. "Bartemius Crouch Junior."
What the fuck. A million questions sprung to mind, but there wasn't time for a single one of them. She needed to find a way out of here, if not for Moody's sake then for Harry's.
"Oh god," she muttered, freezing. "Harry."
"He's after Potter," confirmed Moody, shifting slightly. One of his eyes was missing; the socket which used to carry its magical replacement was red and oozing.
Alex could feel her throat close even as she struggled to breathe properly. Air refused to enter her lungs, and it had nothing to do with the tiny enclosure she was stuck in. Moody had to guide her through her breaths, embarrassingly enough. He was the one who had been trapped in here for months on end – she should be helping him.
But how could she? She was wandless, and the only magic she knew of that sort was how to ignite a small flame with the click of her fingers—good for brightening this room, and perhaps lighting any cigars Moody had on him—but not much else.
To prevent another nervous breakdown, Alex stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robes. In preparation for the final task, she had expanded her pockets to fit her box of potions, which she presented to Moody with little fanfare. As he rifled through the vials for something to aid him and his many problems, Alex withdrew the dagger her mum had given her not long ago – at least, she hoped it hadn't been long. There was no telling when Crouch Jr had tossed her in here in the first place. Moody had managed to wake her normally, without the use of magic, which either meant the spell had been cast so long ago that it had lost its power over her, or its caster was in trouble himself.
Alex felt for a wall. Once her tentative palm met something solid, she dragged it around the perimeter as she cased the room. All in all, the space she shared with Moody was four-by-four metres, less than half the size of her dormitory. Her mind threatened to unravel at the thought of Moody, a grown man, being trapped in this tiny hole for almost a year, but Alex valiantly pulled herself together and discarded that idea. She needed to focus.
A light tap of her knuckles against the wall proved it was dense while a failed attempt to slide her knife into a single groove led Alex to believe that the wall was seamless. Did the castle contain such a room?
"There's only one way out," Moody said as he slowly but surely pulled himself together. He must've taken some Strengthening Potion, as well as something for his wounds. "The exit is at the very top."
"Like a submarine?" she blurted out.
Moody's lone eye stared at her in bemusement.
Alex shook her head. Moody was a wizard through and through.
"Do you know any blood magic?" he asked, eying her dagger.
"No," she said. "Do you?"
"A little," he admitted, "but I'm not exactly a practitioner of that branch of magic."
"So how do I do it?"
"Use your knife to cut your finger and write out runes along the walls. Characters for crumble and collapse. You've studied runes, I hope."
Alex resisted the urge to brag about coming in the top three in her year for Ancient Runes and simply got to work. After a deep breath, she pressed the tip of the dagger against the pointer finger of her dominant hand until it sliced into her and drew blood. It wasn't much, just enough for her to write with.
She started with something basic: the symbol for torch, which looked like an upside-down Y or a bird's foot as illustrated by a young child. When nothing happened, she thought for a moment and added the rune for sun in front of it.
As though someone had flipped the switch, the spot on the floor she'd written on lit up. Their sight now fully restored, Alex approached the actual runes with newfound confidence. She deliberately turned her back to Moody, fully aware that a proper eyeful of his abused state would weaken her resolve considerably.
Alex dug through her memory for all the appropriate runes and inscribed it where she could on the wall. She had to space them out enough so that they couldn't be read as one combination and thus fail to work. Occasionally her cut would clot itself so she either reopened it or used a different finger. It was a small price to pay for their quick escape.
Once she was done, she stepped back and surveyed her work. A question struck her.
"What happens after I activate the runes?" she asked, peering at Moody from the corner of her eye. He was in worse shape than she thought. "Won't the whole thing collapse on us?"
"I don't think so," Moody said after a painfully long moment. "This isn't a regular room. It's almost like an attic, but I have my suspicions that we're in a sort of pocket dimension."
Alex nodded in understanding. Like bottomless bags, then, she reasoned. Merlin, they'd better not be in one of those.
"Okay," she said, closing her eyes. She reached for her magical core moments before activating the runes. "Here we go."
Alex flexed her fingers, focusing on the burn of her self-inflicted lacerations, and pulled on the power within her. If she had to describe it, it felt like liquid silver, only more manageable. Her senses amplified, and even without opening her eyes she knew the runes throughout the room were glowing as she activated them.
One second they were trapped in a dimly lit space, the next they were back in the DADA office. Alex blinked at the abrupt transformation.
"What?" she said dumbly.
Slowly she turned in a circle, surveying the office. Not much had changed – except the suspicious chest with seven locks was no longer there, replaced instead with a pile of ash.
"You did that," Moody informed her. He paused to cough roughly, his lungs unaccustomed to the change in air.
Alex swallowed audibly. They had been confined to a chest? A magical one, sure, but the inhumanity of Moody's situation struck her with renewed vivacity.
Speaking of Moody, he needed medical treatment ASAP. "Stay here," she told him pointlessly as she ran out the room.
It took her several minutes of yelling at the top of her lungs for Alex to draw the attention of a pair of ghosts out for a night-time stroll. After a quick recap of the situation, the ghosts agreed to assist her by calling for the four House ghosts to watch over Moody while Alex ran down to the quidditch pitch. She only hoped there was still time.
She was too late.
Voldemort was back.
But so was Harry.
Alex reached the quidditch pitch just as Harry appeared out of thin air by the entrance of the maze. The crowd cheered thunderously at his apparent success, but when they tried to swarm him in celebration, he lashed out like a cornered animal. Uncertain murmuring replaced the applause instantly.
The crowd parted swiftly as Dumbledore made a beeline for Harry, who had tossed the Cup aside like its very touch burned him. Alex ran towards them, and as she drew closer she noticed the dirt and grime liberally coating him.
"He's back," Harry gasped as Dumbledore tried to calm him. "Voldemort's back."
"He's gone mad," cried Fudge as he took a step back from Harry. "The boy's raving!"
Harry's declaration spread like wildfire. Confusion escalated into hysteria; someone screamed. Others were booing.
"Comb through the maze," ordered Dumbledore to the professors responsible for patrolling the maze, judging by the high-vis vests they were wearing. "Find the other champions."
"Alex isn't there…" Harry said, steadying himself. "It was someone else."
Before panic could rise anew, Alex barrelled past Bagman and Fudge and made herself known. "It was Barty Crouch Junior," she said, flinching as all eyes zeroed in on her.
Harry's shoulders slumped with relief when he registered her presence. He fumbled with his robe and pulled out her wand from his pocket before wordlessly handing it to her.
Alex could've hugged him then and there. "Thanks," she murmured, voice breaking. She slid her wand into its holster, relishing the familiarity of its weight against her forearm.
Her parents, Sirius, the entire Weasley gang and Hermione joined them a moment later, and Dumbledore decided it was time to return to the castle and discuss what exactly had just happened. The other students were instructed to return to their common rooms for the night.
Sirius threw an arm around Harry as a gesture of comfort, but it soon became a necessary action as Harry strained while walking up to the castle, his breathing laboured and his steps shaky. Alex made to grab her potion box, and suddenly remembered the last person she'd tried to help with it.
"Moody," she gasped, stopping dead in her tracks. When the others turned to her in concern, she explained what had had happened to Moody – the real one.
Dumbledore nodded, his face morose. "The hospital wing is our intended destination anyway."
But Alex could bear their sluggish pace no longer. With a hasty apology, she broke away from the group and power-walked the rest of the way, her parents hot on her heels. They probably weren't going to let her out of their sights any time soon, and that was completely fine by her.
"What in Merlin's name?" hissed Madam Pomfrey, rising from her place by Moody's side as Alex and her parents rushed towards them. "This isn't a playing field, Miss Fortescue."
"How is he?" she asked, eyes glued to Moody's dozing face. Tucked in like this, he almost looked like a corpse.
Whatever she saw in Alex's demeanour had Madam Pomfrey softening microcosmically. "He'll be fine," she said soberly. "I had to feed him a sleeping potion; his body was exhausted, but he refused to lower his guard even now."
Alex felt her mum lay a hand on her shoulder. "So that man we met in the halls this afternoon was an imposter?" she asked, quietly horrified.
Alex jutted her chin in a nod. "All year, he told me. Crouch Jr was pretending to be him even before stepping foot in this castle."
"Over here, Miss Fortescue," interjected Madam Pomfrey.
Although bemused, Alex knew better than to argue with the no-nonsense mediwitch. She obediently sat on the empty bed across from Moody's.
"Your hands," Madam Pomfrey said patiently.
"My hands? Oh," Alex murmured, remembering her cuts. Blushing lightly, she held them up for inspection.
"That's an uncomfortable amount of blood," Dad remarked weakly.
Mum's expression tightened. "If we check the dagger we gave you, will we find it suspiciously dirty?"
Alex pressed her lips tightly together to keep from crying out as Madam Pomfrey disinfected her wounds. "It's not like I was hurting myself for fun," she muttered. "That bastard Crouch Jr snatched my wand – I had to get us out somehow."
"So, the ghosts were being truthful," surmised Madam Pomfrey with some surprise. "You were the one who got them to bring me to Alastor."
Alex nodded, secretly relieved the pair of ghosts had agreed to help her. She made a mental note to find and thank them later.
Dad started. "Ghosts?" he repeated, wide-eyed. "You commune with them?"
"Of course." Alex's eyebrows lowered in response to her dad's bewilderment. "I thought you knew that?"
"No, that definitely hasn't come up before."
Even Mum was eyeing him oddly. "Florence. Surely there are bigger things to worry about right now."
Dad cleared his throat, his brown cheeks darkening with a blush. "Right, yes."
Not for the first time, Alex considered what a weirdo her dad was.
Must be the Fortescue blood, she thought, recalling all the odd shite her dad's dad had gotten into when he was headmaster of Hogwarts.
Alex was grateful when Harry and the others finally arrived, not only because it meant they were safe but also because Madam Pomfrey stopped scrutinising her like she was a puzzle needing to be solved. After the healer did her best to patch him up, Dumbledore had them sit in a circle around Harry in preparation of what he was about to tell them.
"Should the children be here?" Mum pointed out before Harry could get started.
"Yes, should they?" hummed one of the Weasley twins as he glanced at his siblings and Hermione.
Ron ignored his older brother and received Mum's challenge head-on. "Whatever Harry tells you guys, he'll tell us all later."
Mum sighed, knowing a losing battle when she saw one. "I don't doubt that."
Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder in silent encouragement.
Harry gazed up at the ceiling, unwilling to look any of them in the eye. "Well, you know what happened in the maze. Alex—fake-Alex—met up with me and we ran into almost no obstacles, save for a sphinx near the end. I answered her riddle and when we got to the Cup, fake-Alex attacked the maze itself so that the hedges would move and try to swallow us up."
"That's when we lost sight of you," supplied Sirius with a frown. "Everyone was busy watching the Durmstrang boy and the Beauxbatons girl duel each other, after that."
"Right. Well, I noticed fake-Alex was acting odd, so I cast an expelliarmus and got her wand. Then the impostor's face and body changed, and I recognised it as a Polyjuice transformation, but before I could react, Crouch Jr grabbed me and the portkey.
"We landed in a graveyard. Crouch tied me up. Bertha Jorkins walked towards him, only she was under the Imperius, and handed him a bundle that contained…whatever form Voldemort had been in."
The Weasleys recoiled at the name. Hermione bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Sirius's hold on Harry tightened. Mum buried her head into Dad's shoulder. Alex and Dumbledore were the only ones without a notable reaction – a move she quickly realised was a mistake.
"My scar hurt like hell," continued Harry, heedless of their responses. His green eyes were glossy and unfocused. "Crouch Jr performed this ritual. He took a bone of Voldemort's dad's corpse, my blood, and his own hand. He just – chopped it off like it was nothing."
Alex gagged.
"He threw everything into the cauldron, including Voldemort. When he came back out, he was whole again. But he wasn't human. He was bald, and noseless, with slits for nostrils. And his eyes… They were red."
"Was he like that before?" Alex asked, deciding Harry needed a brief reprieve.
Dumbledore looked every bit his age when he replied, "No. He was human then."
"He was bragging," said Harry, glancing at Dumbledore. "Voldemort. He was saying how, after he tried to attack me when I was a baby, he became less than a human, and something more. Said he defied death, came closer than anyone else, and latched onto every living creature he could find until Quirrell stumbled onto him. Eventually Bertha Jorkins crossed his path. He used her for information and as his slave.
"Crouch Jr said Voldemort tortured her so strongly it broke the Memory Charm his dad put on her when she discovered he was alive instead of dead in Azkaban like everyone thought. Apparently it was his mum's dying wish for him to be free, so they swapped places when she succumbed to illness. Voldemort used Bertha to reunite him with Crouch Jr, and they've been in touch ever since."
Alex was going to skin Crouch Jr alive. For Bertha, for Moody, for Harry and for herself. For every innocent person he had hurt to further his own gain.
"I'm guessing that's when they took control of Barty," concluded Mum.
"Yeah," murmured Harry, nodding. "Crouch seemed real proud about that. He hated his dad. So when he noticed him down by the forest, he Stunned me and Alex and killed him right there. Turned him into a bone and buried him near Hagrid's home."
Alex really did throw up then. Her parents made quick work of Vanishing her mess, but Alex was too ill to feel embarrassed. No doubt Fang had gotten rid of the bone by now, curious creature that he was.
"Was he the only Death Eater there?" pressed Dumbledore.
Harry shook his head quickly. "He was, at first. Then Voldemort pressed on Crouch's tattoo, and suddenly there were several more. Lucius Malfoy was one of them," he added angrily. "As was a man named Macnair. Avery. Nott. Crabbe and Goyle. Voldemort said he'd break the Lestranges out soon and reward them for their loyalty, and was furious that one was too much of a coward to return, and that another had left him forever. The other four were dead."
How Harry could remember all that, Alex had no clue. If she were in his place, she'd be too busy giving into her base instincts to fight and flee. Since he had nothing to do but watch and listen while bound, it probably made sense that everything had been seared into his memory.
"He made his Death Eaters stand in a circle and watch as we duelled. I- I refused. He didn't like that. Voldemort started taunting me and my parents – joke's on him, though, because my parents came back to help me out."
Everyone exchanged a glance at that. Sirius was watching Harry with a painful mix of fear and hope in his expression.
"How do you mean?" Hermione asked gently.
Harry inhaled shakily, the corners of his eyes awfully wet. "Voldemort's Killing Curse met my Disarming Charm in the middle. Our wands were vibrating, and golden threads emerged from the centre of the two spells and created a sort of net around us, preventing the Death Eaters from intervening. Then these ghost-like figures emerged – first Bertha, which he killed not long after being resurrected, then an old muggle man, and then my parents."
He paused to clear his throat. Tears were well and truly spilling out from his eyes now. "They told me to grab the Cup using the chance they gave me. Right before I lost control of my wand, I dove to the side and Summoned the Cup while their spirits distracted Voldemort. That's how I got back – because of them."
"How is that possible?" wondered Sirius as he rubbed at his eyes.
Everyone turned to Dumbledore for answers. If he had any, he wasn't keen on sharing at the very moment. Dumbledore's weary face was as closed off as the Chamber of Secrets currently was.
"That," he began, "is a conversation for another night. For now, I think it's best we all retire, especially you, Harry. You've been through a great ordeal, more so than I would wish on anyone. But you have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you, and I thank you for that."
So, this was why everyone back in her parents' hey-day wanted Dumbledore as Minister of Magic. His words had such a revitalising effect on them that Alex half-suspected there was a charm inlaid in his voice.
Harry slumped back in the bed, the events of the night clearly taking their toll on him. As much as Alex wanted to stay and comfort her friend, she knew she wasn't in great shape herself, and followed everyone sans Sirius out of the infirmary. They all heard his sobs before the doors closed shut.
Ginny held Hermione's hand as the latter began to shed tears of her own. The fury colouring Ron's face made Alex realise that she should have been sharing their sentiments. She should have been screaming or crying or lashing out. But all she felt was exhaustion – the sort that was interwoven into every fibre of her being, the type that would leave its mark on her for weeks to come.
"We're planning on going home now," Mum told her softly. The late hour and muted atmosphere definitely seemed like it warranted nothing above whisper-volume. "We want you to come back with us."
Although the holidays were a mere week away, Alex saw the appeal in leaving Hogwarts early. She was on the cusp of agreement when two figures emerged from the shadowy corridor from where they had been clearly waiting. Alex's tense muscles loosened when she recognised them.
"You go ahead," she told her parents. "I'll go home the same time as everyone else."
Her dad opened his mouth to argue, but by then Alex had branched away from the group and moved towards the newcomers.
"What are you guys doing here?" she asked, thinking of the time.
"We're out for a midnight stroll," drawled Katherine. "We were obviously waiting for you."
"Oh," murmured Alex, taken back. "Why?"
"Because we were worried about you!" Agatha pointed out agitatedly.
Alex blinked in surprise at Agatha's rare display of vehemence.
"Things became strange after Potter emerged from the maze. He looked insane," she added in a low whisper, aware of those nearby.
Alex glanced back at the others, who were already almost out of earshot. She was half-surprised Dumbledore didn't come to personally tell off her friends for staying out this late, but he evidently had bigger things to worry about.
"You'll need to sit down for this," she said, looking them each in the eye.
They migrated to an alcove that could seat all three of them, plus some. After confirming the coast was clear, Alex told them – well, not everything, but a decent amount. She shared with them how all year she'd been searching for the person responsible for entering Harry into the tournament and how it was part of a grander plan, she just didn't know how grand. She recounted how the plan came into fruition tonight and that Harry had been portkey'd outside school grounds and been used as the central figure of a Dark ritual to revive Voldemort.
"His inner circle was there," she hissed. "And their spawn are sleeping soundly in their beds back in our common room."
"Don't do anything rash," warned Katherine, frowning.
Alex barked out a laugh. "When have I done anything like that?"
"If we made a list, we'd be here until the sun comes up."
She smiled at that. "You aren't wrong."
"What happens now?" Agatha wondered, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Dumbledore will probably make an announcement tomorrow," mused Alex. "He's not the type to keep this from everyone. The more prepared everyone is, the better."
"Prepared," Katherine repeated warily. "For what, exactly?"
Alex levelled her with a sombre look. "Same this last time Voldemort was in power. For war."
Agatha leaned back against the wall, her expression pinched.
Katherine buried her face in her hands, taking a moment to let everything sink in. When she collected herself, she nodded and said, "I'm with you."
Now Alex was truly alarmed. "I thought you and your family were neutral?"
"My family would also rather me marry a man twice my age than anyone who isn't a pureblood. It's safe to say that their way isn't the right way."
Before she could think better of it, Alex reached out and squeezed Katherine's hand. "Thank you," she said sincerely.
Katherine flipped her hand within Alex's grasp and squeezed back.
Even Agatha appeared amazed by her best friend's decision. She quickly gathered her wits. "I'll help you where I can," she declared, sounding more or less sure of herself. "My father would give up his firstborn for a seat at Voldemort's table, so he'll surely keep up to date with everything."
Alex responded with a slow nod as she pondered whether Agatha had ever mentioned having siblings. "I appreciate that."
Agatha stared at her lap. "My parents always said he'd be back. They never lost faith. Guess they were right."
"They also believe they'd be better off with a son, so clearly it's not just my family that's out of their right mind," Katherine was quick to inform her.
They sat there for several more minutes, busy stewing in their own thoughts. No one wanted to be the first to suggest retiring for the night in fear of what they knew would be coming the following morning. Sure, they had to face reality eventually, but for now, the three of them were content to act as if they were the only people left in the world.