Hi there! I'm back with chapter 1, the offical first chapter of this story. I'm honestly still in shock, I didn't expect so many people to pick up on my prologue as quickly as they did. To everyone who has read the prologue, who followed and left reviews thank you so much! It really means a lot. I do want to be upfront, in case you didn't read my notes in the prologue I am mainly writing this story to build up an audience for my other work. That doesn't mean I won't put my all into making this the best piece I can. I want the standard of writing to be, if not perfect, then pretty close to what I can achieve with maximum effort. Anyway, enough of that, on to the story!

1985 - Hogwarts, Headmasters Study

Alexander Crassus Greengrass was a proud man. He was a man who had fought the teachings of his father, and stood proud as Albus Dumbledore took him in to the side of The Light. He was a man who, unlike his father and forefathers, had earned his wealth and thrown aside all that he would have stood to inherit after the deaths of his father and brothers. He was a man who had swallowed all pride and made amends with the enemies. He was also a man who was loyal to the promise he'd made – to uphold and depend the rights that give all born creatures the freedom to live and die free.

He had also made a promise to Dumbledore many years ago, a few months after the birth of his daughter. He had sat down in the headmasters office, a cup of tea turning cold as he listened to the old mans words.

"Surely, you can't be serious?"

Dumbledore gave a sad smile and turned to his desk, one hand wrapped around a piece of cloth.

"you know," Dumbledore replied in musing thought, "I knew a man who would have hada jovial response to such a question. A shame, the people you think you can trust can seem to be the ones you should trust the least."

He turned to look at Alexander, his face grave. The Greengrass patriarch knew this then – this was not something he thought might happen but would eventually. He sighed and placed his cup down, placing a hand to his brow and clawed as if that might tear apart the pressure culminating in his skull.

"We're at peace," He sighed wearily, "And you're already talking of war again."

"Peace can only be maintained so long as those who worked for their freedom are prepared for war." Dumbledore stated, taking a seat opposite the wearisome Lord. "Alexander, your nature as a turncoat is beneficial beyond what you might expect."

"How so?"

"Well, aside from myself and a few trusted others, no one knows that you turned away from Voldemort," He tried not to wince but could not help himself, "and thus he will not suspect you when he returns."

"If he returns." Alexander corrected him.

Dumbledore shook his head. "When he returns. He's not dead yet Alexander, and you'd be wise enough to act in accordance with this truth. Those loyal to the Dark Lord, and there are many still, will be watching."

Alexander let out a shaky breath and dusted at the sleeves of his coat. "Well, they won't be seeing much of me for the next few years at least. I must re-build the house of Greengrass up again."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. I must admit, I was surprised to hear you'd given away your fortune."

"The families of those who suffered under You-Know-Who needed it more than I did." He replied.

"Yes, indeed. It does provide a slight bit of trouble should the Dark Lord ask...though I suppose, if one were looking to play the part of remorseful solider, forced to kill under the influence of the Imperiartus curse, as so many have claimed, gestures that appear as born of built or remorse would through you far further from any suspicion of ulterior motive."

Alexander nodded in agreement with the Headmaster, having not even thought of it as such but understanding that he was simply providing an alibi for his new spy.

"So, to clarify Headmaster. Should...WHEN he returns...I am to go to him?"

"Precisely!" Dumbledore stated, clapping his hands. "Go, observe, gage him, stay in his camp long enough to gather information and then run for the hills!"

Alexander blinked rapidly, confusion as clear on his face as on his mind. "Sorry, run?"

"Indeed. You are a great fighter Alexander, but I'm afraid there is not much you will be able to do once The Dark Lord begins returning to full strength. Should there be open war, you will be called. But I feel my former student will take note of his past mistakes and work a more cunning strategy. It is no coincidence many of his most loyal are already becoming bedfellows with ministry officials."

Alexander had noticed this. Malfoy was becoming quite friendly with Fudge, and one would be a fool not to know where the blonde snake's loyalties lay. He could claim whatever fiction he wanted, the man was cold blooded and a killer. And unfortunately, the man still thought the house of Greengrass a friend. Alexander had hoped to sever those ties, but now he knew that was not to be.

"So I'm to run, like a coward?!" He gritted his teeth, rage directed at the great wizard. Dumbledore did not flinch, nor show any sign of hesitancy or attempt to apologise. The man never thinks he's wrong, he thought angrily.

"I have others who are prepared to take the fight to Voldemort," once more a flinch, "in the shadows. Alexander, I hope you never have to stand near that vile man ever again, but I'm afraid fate is against you."

It might have sounded to others like a slip of the tongue, but Alexander knew that Dumbledore was too clever to allow something like that slip. 'Fate', it was a simple word but enough for him to shake his head and let out a bitter laugh.

"Fate...So there's a prophecy then..." He hardly need guess who it might concern. "Then nothing more needs to be said."

"Good, then know this will be the last time we will speak for many years." Dumbledore stated. "So, keep these words to heart, and never tell anyone of what I've asked of you. I can't force you to keep up your appearances around your family, I know well enough you won't, but all else must remain secret. Never break the lie, lest it cost you your life."

"I understand. If that is all, I'll take my leave." And so, he rose from his chair, careful not to break the arms in his enraged vice like grip. As he was about to leave Dumbledore called out once more.

"There is one more thing. Your daughter, what did you and Vivennia call her?"

He hesitated to answer, not desiring to say another word to the man. But what would be the point in denying him this information, he'd only see it in a decade or so when she went to Hogwarts. Loathe as he was to admit it, it was the best school in the world for wizards. And given its history that said a lot about secondary level wizarding education.

"Daphne." He smiled, thinking of his little girl. "Her name, is Daphne."

"A good name. I hope to see good things from her one day."

He left then, left on good words. Cool words not full of venom. He wanted to be angry at the headmaster, but he couldn't. Dumbledore had the right idea of course. He was still angry that the man had dismissed his so easily, as if he was of such little importance.

Of course, neither men knew it then but, Alexander Crassus Greengrass was going to be a very important man. One day, many years later, and all because a girl smiled at a boy.

14 years later...

The day Alexander became the most important man in the world was a day most like every other. He woke up with his wife in his arms, her peaceful form a sight that near drove him back to slumber. The gentleness of her shut eyes, the soft in and out of her breath, the stray hairs that covered her face giving her a wild and untamed appearance. She was every bit the same woman he'd asked to the Triwizard Ball. He then a fifth year Hogwarts student had never thought to earn the adoration of the beautiful Beauxbaton champion. When she'd accepted his hand, danced and laughed with him, kissed him softly he promised to himself to never be with another. To never be disloyal. He'd scarcely left her side since.

He missed those early years when the most difficult part of his day was balancing schoolwork with dating. Now it was maintaining appearances and alliances he'd hoped to break years ago. Instead he was rising from his bed, stirring his wife as he did, and preparing to meet with Lucius Malfoy for a drink at The Gargoyle's Spine – a high class bar where the upper echelon of the wizarding world, otherwise known by Malfoy and others like him as purebloods, met to make their shadowy dealings. For the last decade it was mainly the sight where disgruntled Death Eaters went to complain about the loss of the war. More recently it had become a place to woo and bribe political figures to push agendas that were anything but progressive.

"Sleep well darling?" He asked his wife as he walked to the bathroom.

"Comfortable as always. Although I'm considering no longer having a glass of wine before bed." She called out. "I keep having these strange dreams about talking trees."

He chuckled and went about to...do his business. "Perhaps that's just from going over to the Davies', you remember when you read that book Susan lent you?"

"Yes, apparently its being made into a moving picture."

"Sounds interesting."

"We'll have to go with the girls when it does. And...how would you feel about that restaurant near the bridge after?" She asked him as he exited and both began to change into their day-wear.

He bit his lip before answering. "Love to."

She chuckled and kissed him playfully on the cheek, whispering, "Liar."

"How DO you always know?" he inquired, grinning.

"You have a tell. Oh, by the way, Andrea stopped by with this device." She gestured to a box by the side of their bed, " It's called a telephone. It allows you talk to people over vast distances. She says all we have to do is plug it in and just like that we can talk any time of day!"

"Really? Hmm, fascinating." Muggles, he thought as he brushed his teeth, such strange creatures and yet so creative. Years later he was still finding more things in common with the no-mage's than with his own kind. He chatted heartedly with Vivennia for a while longer, and continued to do so as he had his breakfast and sent a few letters out to his employee's. Alexander owned one of the largest Broom making companies in Europe as well as a company in the muggle world that produced and delivered muggle appliances; though this was primarily run by the Davies'.

Alexander had had his doubts when beginning this particular line of profit, but thankfully it had ended up playing out rather well. Lucius, as far as he understood, truly believed that this was part of an act to appear a reformed man. Alexander was glad for this. The business gave him an excuse to live outside the wizarding world and all who still thought him a Death Eater and blood puritan. The business allowed him some measure of escape and allowed for his friendship with his daughters best friend's father, his own best friend, Dylan Davies. Dylan was a breath of fresh air in Alexander's rather stale room of life. A muggle man, a writer and artist and teacher , he was an interesting man -perhaps the greatest friend Alexander had ever had.

Alexander wished it was Dylan he was having a drink with today. In fact, he would prefer anyone to Malfoy, even Crabbe or Goyle. He reminded himself every day, he was serving a purpose. One day, he promised himself, I'll be there when the likes of Malfoy are gone for good.

As he prepared himself to leave me made note of the day – the final task! He smiled, thinking at the excitement that his daughters were surely feeling. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was an event to remember, and if Hogwarts' champions came through today the whole castle would be celebrating.

"What time will you be coming back?" Vivennia asked him, waving her hand and watching with little amusement as her bread was sliced, toasted and buttered before their eyes. A gifted magician, one of the reasons he'd married her. He himself went about the muggle way of making himself a pot of hot coffee.

"I would like to say not too late, but you know what Malfoy is like. I expect it will be sometime in the early hours." He sighed, and Vivennia, sympathetic to his plight, gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Perhaps when you return there's something we might do the save the day from disaster." She whispered in his ear, eyes flaring and a flirtatious grin growing which he returned in kind.

"Hmm, well I would be a fool to turn down an offer like that." And he planted a kiss on her lips. Long and deep, and full of all the love of their two decades of marriage. He broke it with the utmost hesitancy, the taste of her lingering eternally until the next time he kissed her.

He sipped at his coffee, and sat at the table and read the morning paper, muggle and magical, and prepared himself for his meeting with Malfoy. When existing in the world of that Lucius, and his biggoted following, inhabited one had to show a reflection of the man. There was a reason lucius had kept him close after so many years. He showed all the qualities which he, and The Dark Lord, admired – intelligence, confidence, callousness, cruelty, cunning. Qualities to show they were hidebound to their purpose, the ever loyal servants to Voldemort.

Though Alexander doubted so many of them had stayed their course. It seemed each year that the numbers gathered at the Gargoyle diminished bit by bit. Snape was all but absent these days, Karkarov more invested in his pupils and Zabini keenly searching for her next husband. It would be a wonder that if the Dark Lord did return, more than a dozen of his followers would make the call (and at least one of them a spy for the light).

Alexander waited around the house until midday before deciding to make his venture towards the Gargoyle, but not before conducting some business. He flooed in to Diagon Alley and made his way through several shops looking for various items – books, clothes, a new broom for Astoria that he had promised if she maintained above average grades (a promise he'd never thought he'd have to fulfil). In truth much of it could have been done any day, but he longed for any reason to belay seeing his former allies turned unwitting enemies.

Eventually there was no more that could be done to delay the inevitable. At near sundown he picked up the floo powder, stepped with heavy footing towards the fireplace, and uttered the word, "The Gargoyle's Spine."

And in an instant he was out of the safety of his home. The Gargoyle was not a well-known establishment, and for good reason. Those that gathered here were not up to anything good. Upon arrival he quite clearly saw several members of the Wizengamot were just before him, each being seen to by a member of a staff.

A young man moved to approach Alexander, a well-mannered smile on his face. Alexander paid him no mind as he threw him his coat and walked inwards, standing tall and releasing an air of superiority with every movement. This was the act he had come to perfect, with no little help from instructors of the stage and the screen, so there was no doubt in any mind – Alexander Greengrass was a Death Eater through and through. That was the lie he was selling, and if eyes on him were blocks of gold he could buy an island from the total of their gazes.

Alexander recognised most of those in the establishment, but of course there was always exceptions to the rule of thumb that this was a place for Death Eaters and corrupt government officials. There were of course dark wizard from abroad, some older generations who'd fought with Grindelwald, as well as those who, while dark, were less loyal to the a cause and more loyal to making coin.

Lucius, naturally, was sat in the very centre of the room, on the most comfortable seat, sipping the most expensive brandy, and looking down on all others from a platform he had personally paid for. He thought himself like Jupiter, reigning from above. He was treated as such, by patrons and staff alike.

Alexander noted the company that were with him – Crabbe, Avery and McNair. It was not an unusual sight, but it was strange to see them all look so nervous. Three powerful men, and they were doing all they could not to quiver in their own kingdom. Alexander approached with reservation. Malfoy, noticing his arrival, said some words to Crabbe and, much to the mans clear reluctance, moved to make space next to the former king of Slytherin.

"Alexander, a pleasure of you to finally join us." Lucius smiled, though it lacked any warmth.

"Apologies." He said, bowing his head slightly in reverence to the Malfoy patriarch. "I've had business to attend to. I make no excuses."

Malfoy accepted this and nodded for him to take a seat by his side. As he did, he poured Alexander a large glass. Alexander had never been much for the strong liquors, preferring a cold beer if anything, but accepted it none the less. He took a quick sip and raised his brow in false joy at the taste of the drink.

"I might finish that if I were you." Lucius suggested, pouring himself and McNair another and both quickly throwing them back. Alexander did just so, but decided he couldn't avoid asking,

"Lucius, why are we drinking with such enthusiasm? Are we celebrating? Did Potter die in the Tournament!" He joked, hoping to ease the tension. Though Crabbe laughed lightly, the other two did not. Something serious was happening. Something deadly serious. He would admit, he'd had his suspicions since the World Cup that something was in the works, but after a few months without anything he'd assumed the whole thing to be nothing more than a one-off intimidation spree. Now he was thinking otherwise.

"Lucius, what's going on?" He asked, genuine worry in his voice.

"Do you remember," Malfoy began, in a pleasant tone of reminiscence, "1986, July the 10th?"

"I cannot say I recall." He answered honestly.

"Well I recall quite clearly. That was the first day that a bill I sponsored passed through the courts. The Blood Tax Protection. I had sponsored bills before, as had my father. But they were never at our own volition. The Dark Lord enjoyed playing his games with the Wizengamot. He never saw the true potential that laid in the halls of the ministry. The power to alter the world to your very desire, with nothing more than pen, paper and a little persuasion of coin..."

The way he was talking it was as though the man's life was coming to an end. And while Alexander certaintly did not like the man nor enjoy his company, he did not want to see him dead either. A prison was the only place Lucius deserved to be, doomed to spend the rest of his life looking at the same four walls.

"Forgive me Lucius, but is there something the matter?"

Lucius did not look but instead grabbed Alexander's arm and pulled up the sleeve and tapping with his wand. In an instant, years of enchantments were removed and the mark he'd so desperately tried to hide was once again clear as day on his skin. And it was moving, agonisingly so. He hissed at the sudden sharp pain.

"After all these years... in truth I thought the day might never come..."Lucius whispered, not sounding pleased at all.

McNair and Crabbe too looked uncomfortable. And why shouldn't they? They'd grown fat of the spoils of their lies. Fourteen years and they had grown in power beyond what they might have hoped. Now with the mark showing life again...Alexander recognised the truth...

"He's back isn't he?"

Lucius emptied the last drop from his bottle and poured it down his throat and sighed. "We shall know soon enough, I was told we will be summoned."

"Told by whom?"

"Another I thought dead." Was all Malfoy would say.

Alexander sat there, trapped and frightened, for the day he had longed to never be was here. The day the Dark Lord returned – as Albus Dumbledore had warned him. What he did not known was how important he was about to become, as did another who stood side by side with Harry Potter at that very instant. Almost a world away, in the Maze of the Third Task, Cedric Diggory grabbed on to the cup and was pulled from the school grounds...

...And landing with a rough thud on cold ground. Ground that was absent the midnight-lighting and the crowds of the altered Quidditch pitch, Cedric noted. He looked around at his surroundings and immediately began to feel complete confusion. This was most definitely not Hogwarts, nor anywhere even remotely close to Hogwarts. He should know, given he'd ventured out into every corner of the remote Scottish region during his seven years of study.

He looked to Harry, who also appeared to share his confusion. But there was also some familiarity there. He could tell that the younger boy had some level of awareness of where they were. He reached out a hand to him and asked, "You ok?"

Harry quickly accepted it and, with a slight wince, was pulled to his feet. "Yeah, think so. You?"

Cedric gave a slight nod and then, looking between them noticed the lack of the cup. Odd, he thought, since both boys had had their hands firmly grasped on the thing mere seconds ago. And he wasn't sure about Harry, but he'd had a vice-like grip on what was surely going to show their Hogwarts unity victory.

"Where are we?" he pondered out loud. "And where's the...aha, there it is!"

As he was speaking, he found the cup laying not a few metres away. Taking the short walk as a moment to catch his breath, he wondered why the cup would have brought them here? He understood clearly enough that the cup was a portkey, there was no other explanation for it. But a portkey to a graveyard? Was this another test, a final trial? Perhaps a safeguard to prevent dual victories? He picked up the cup, careful to only hold it while is hands were covered by his shirt sleeves, and looked around for what could be their next challenge.

Nothing struck out to him. Accept a rather fantastically gothic tombstone, one that Harry was looking at in a panic. The boy muttered something under his breath, then turned to Cedric with wide eyes.

"We need to go! Now! We need to go!"

"Harry, calm down, take a breath. What do you mean we have to go? Where are we, what is this place?"

"I don't know...but I know whose grave that is." He said, pointing at the name.

Cedric approached and looked at it – Tom Riddle. The name struck a memory in the older boy. He'd seen that name before. "Tom Riddle, he's in the trophy cabinet at Hogwarts...but this says-"

"1943, Riddles Dad. Voldemort's father." Harry said, words quivering on his tongue. And at once he understood that this was not part of the Tournament. This was a trap. A trap for Harry. And he'd walked right into it with him. A snapping branch caught their attention and they turned to see a large figure approaching.

"Harry, grab the cup!" He instructed, loosening his right hand from his sleeve. Unfortunately, it was a moment too late. A spell of green energy came hurtling towards them – a killing curse. Cedric barely had time to grab his wand but failed and the curse struck right to his center, knocking him back several feet in the air before landing horrible on his head.

"No! Cedric!" He hard Harry yell in despair. And then the cruciatus curse. And that was the last thing he heard before he passed unconscious. His last thought before he did, I'm glad the cup was there otherwise I'd be lying dead...

So was the sight when Alexander arrived, The Boy Who Lived held by stone structure and the Dark Lord returned in a most hideous form. When the mark had called he had answered dutifully, as Dumbledore had instructed he should. He stood behind Malfoy, who was, among several other, being berated for their inadequacies. Not him though, not Alexander. He was not important enough. He along with a dozen or so others were the loyal soldiers of the generals gathered closest to the Dark Lord.

They weren't just here to mend their bonds of loyalty. No, it was far worse. They were here to watch him murder a boy. A boy. A child. Alexander felt sick to his core. This was not what he had wanted when Dumbledore asked him to spy, nor was it what Dumbledore surely had expected.

Calm now, He thought to himself in an attempt to reassure his ill feelings, if even half of what my daughters tell me is true then he may just survive.

"...had I detected a sign, or whisper of your whereabout-" Lucius' attempts to persuade the Dark Lord of his loyalty sounded as real as his earlier grievances.

"Oh, there were signs my slippery friend. And more than whispers."

"I assure you My Lord, I have never renounced the old ways." In a brave show of unusually confidence, Malfoy removed his hood and stood so he was now eye to eye with The Dark Lord ."The face that I have been obliged to wear each day since your absence – that, is my true mask."

As the large man, his name eluding Alexander, proceeded to grovel, Alexander's interest became focused on another not so far away from their gathering. A young boy he recognised, Cedric Diggory. The boy looked so peaceful lying there, eyes closed as if he might be unconscious. The Dark Lord did not have mercy in his bones so the boy, he concluded, was surely dead.

A waste really. The boy had such talent. Beyond that he was, to his recollection, a charming young man with a bright path ahead of him. Snuffed out of this world just so one of such evil could return to it whole.

The screams of Harry Potter drew him away from his glancing to the dead boy. The Dark Lord had but a finger on the boys head, and the boy screamed as though he was being torn apart from the inside out. The dark Lord screamed out in mockery and allowed the sight to continue to the amusement of his followers before letting go.

"Astonishing what a few drops of your blood will do ey Harry." He smirked. The next moment the boy was thrown free from the grasp of the statue and Voldemort was advancing away from him. The Death Eaters backed away from the two.

"Pick up your wand Potter!"

A duel then. A chance. A slimmer of hope. Harry laid there stunned for a moment still wincing and confused by the Dark Lords command.

"I said pick it up!" He yelled, gesturing to the boys wand and shouting, "Get up! Get up!"

Harry did as instructed and Alexander watched as the mock duel proceeded. Mere sport was he for Voldemort, a wizard of great power all but torturing the boy to death. A fate he did not deserve. It seemed all but certain Harry's life was at an end as curse after curse was thrown his way and only a single spell meekly thrown back in panic.

Eventually the boy lay on the floor, breathless and afraid, and so Voldemort approached him and whispered words to him only he could hear. He doubted they were words of kindness. He could not bear to watch and turned away to see a strange sight that renewed hope in him that Harry Potter might live this night...

Cedric had come to the very moment Harry had had dived behind a gravestone, an escape that he knew would buy him only seconds at most. Cedric did not see this, only woke up to blurry vision and confusion. It took him a moment to recall where he was, why he was here, and what had happened mere moments ago.

"Harry!" He wheezed, rolling onto his stomach. He gritted his teeth and push through the drowsiness and wariness until he was on his knees looking up. Looking up and seeing him – Voldemort, You-Know-Who, The Dark Lord. He was back. Fourteen years of peace and he was now finally back. He couldn't help but feel as though all hope had vanished and in an instant hopelessness overcame him.

I have to get out of here, he panicked then forced himself to stay still. Harry. He couldn't Harry behind. The Gryffindor champion hadn't left him in the maze, even though he might have wanted to. Now it was Cedrics' turn to be brave. He looked around for his wand but found nothing. And the Dark Lord was losing his patience. He had to be quick, even together it was doubtful that they'd be able to hold back Voldemort for more than a few precious seconds.

That was when it hit him, in quite the literal sense. It was though his wand had flown at him out of thin air...or perhaps he'd subconsciously used Accio wandlessly in his panic. Whatever it was he had no time to waste as the Dark Lord screamed in anger.

"I want to see the lights leave your eyes!"

And then he emerged, The Boy Who lived standing tall. Afraid, but determined. He was as unwilling to die as his adversary. He looked passed the Dark Lord and Saw Cedric and ever so subtle nodded his head to the direction of the cup. Cedric understood. It was between him and the Death Eaters.

"Have it your way." Harry said calmly, brandishing his wand with flare. "Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The two spells met in an explosive contest of wills. Harry clutching his wand like a lifeline, Voldemort holding his with one hand will the other hovered lazily near it. It was not a competition that would last long. But perhaps long enough to get to the cup!

Cedric dragged himself across the dirt of the graveyard, careful not to move to fast or grab the attention of the Death Eaters. Thankfully it seemed they were entirely focused on the duel in front of them. As he got closer, he heard Voldemort say something to his Death Eaters with almost a panicked tone.

He looked up and, to his amazement, Harry was holding his own. His magic must have been powerful, to hold back The Dark Lord. He continued his crawl while keeping eyes on the two of them. The moment the spells ceased was the moment he had to get to Harry and escape and win the Tri-Wizard Tournament together.

As he watched something most unusual happened. As Harry's spell met the end of Voldemort's wand, spectres began to appear. First and old man, then a younger man with glasses that looked almost familiar. Then a woman. All three made their way to Harry's side. He'd seen them before, the same place he'd seen Voldemort's face. Everyone knew who they were. James and Lily Potter, Harry's parents!

Their ghostly forms went to Harry's side and spoke to him, as a light shape dome glistened around the two enemies. Every eye was on them. Cedric wasted no time rushing on the ground towards cup, each movement seeming to last a lifetime and every snapping twig and rustling of clothes on dirt made him brace for the spell that was surely going to end him.

He reached the cup with a great gasp of relief, looked up and saw Harry look towards him. He pointed down at the cup, and Harry nodded. He nodded quite clearly. Something so simple, enough for Voldemort to turn his head so that his eyes were now looking directly down on the Hufflepuff Champion.

"Womtail you fool, the boy is alive!" He screamed, and one by one the Death Eaters turned with their wands drawn. Cedric had barely a moment to cast Protego and even that barely withstood the force of all the Death Eaters spells combined. Cedric tried to fight back, but already he was on the ground and weary. He could barely muster the energy to keep himself conscious.

No, he told himself, I can't give up now.

"Reducto! Ebublio! Orbis!" He yelled each spell with quick purpose and wielded them with deadly accuracy. Several of his attackers were knocked back by the first curse, two trapped in a bubble from the second and the third dragon one of Death Eaters into the ground. The remaining looked at the boy hesitantly, perhaps not expecting such a well thought out attack from his place of weakness. It was that moment that saved Cedric's life.

In an act more of instinct than thought he turned his wand on the Dark Lord himself. "Relashio!" He casted loudly, and perhaps enough luck was on his side for the Dark Lord did not see the spell coming. His wand flew from his grasp and as it did the full force of Harry's spell struck him in his center.

The younger boy breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes wide with surprise. Neither had expected or thought that they stood of much of a chance, yet here they were holding off Death Eaters, Dark Wizards, with years of combat experience. The boys shared a brief grin.

"I thought you were dead!" Harry smiled and Cedric laughed.

"Yeah, so did I for a second there. I think the cup took the brunt of it."

"Lucky you."

A loud scream caught their attention and they turned to see Voldemort advancing at a furious pace. Cedric turned his head with a panic.

"I've got the cup, let's get out of here now!"

Harry nodded in agreement and rushed to his side only for a spell to come right at him. Harry only just barely managed to deflect it and both boys turned to once again face their opponents – Cedric once again facing a barrage from the dark wizards, and Harry now at the end of Voldemort who'd put aside any notions of holding back now releasing spell after spell with wrath.

"Harry, we can't hold them...that much...longer!" Cedric growled through gritted teeth.

"I...know..."

And in that moment, he looked at Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and saw in his eyes his intent before it happened. Brave Harry. Noble Harry. Harry who would sacrifice all for another. And did. His wand aimed at the cup, he cast a summoning spell and pinned it to his fellow student. Cedric, on instinct, grabbed the cup as it came into his hands. He felt the pull of the portkey, tried to resist as he reached out desperately, hopelessly to the other.

Harry gave a sad smile, and then in an instant, exploded in a ball of bright white light.

"Noooooooo!" He yelled as he was pulled away, his last sight of before he was back on Hogwarts grounds Harry Potter – his corpse dead on the floor...

Mere minutes after the boy had disappeared and Alexander still couldn't believe what had happened. Harry Potter dead. His corpse lay still in front of him. He looked down, down at the poor boy this vessel once held. The brave young man who had died as he lived, with more honour than Voldemort ever had.

Voldemort. Something had happened when he'd sent that last curse which had robbed the last Potter of his life. He looked almost sickly. Some of the other had gone to his side but he'd dismissed them, for once with little threat. The Dark Lord was too happy to care that he'd shown weakness for a moment.

Opposite Alexander was where the Dark Lord now stood, starring down gleefully on the corpse of his enemy. Next to him was Lucius who too appeared happy, yet also somewhat remorseful. Perhaps because he'd never before taking part in the killing of children. Shamefully, Alexander had once all those years ago. The guilt ha never quite left him.

He doubted Voldemort felt guilt in this action, though he did note that his former master had been careful in placing Potters wand on his chest and closing his eyes. He did this in front of his followers.

"None but those I instruct is to touch the body." He told them. " Alexander, you will stay until my trusted servant returns. He shall know what is to be done."

Alexander was still in much of a state of shock to acknowledge the Dark Lord had spoken to him directly. He nodded to show he understood, and kept his head bowed so not to meet his eyes.

"my friends," Voldemort began, "tonight was but the first act in the story of my glorious return. A story that, for now, you must keep silent. Should the ministry discover my return they will send their dogs of war after us. And as powerful as I am, I do not desire to rule this world alone. Go now, go back to your homes and wait for my summons. Lucius, there is room plenty at Malfoy manner. I shall be your honoured guest for the time."

Malfoy bowed deep and spoke humbly, "It would be my greatest privilege my Lord."

Other words were spoken though none of great important. Instructions on former allies to contact that Alexander noted down in his mind when next he would speak to Dumbledore. Dumbledore. He would have to tell him of his failure, that he stood idle as the hope of the wizarding world had fallen.

Though what could he have done? He was no powerful wizard, nor was he in any position to turn from the Dark Lord. His wife, his daughters, would have soon followed after him if Voldemort didn't have them tortured to the point of insanity first. He tried to help; he gave the Hufflepuff his wand, he didn't join in the attack, he even blocked some of their spells into other Death Eaters.

This was not his fault. So why did he feel so full of guilt? Because he knew, somewhere inside him he knew that he was as much to blame for this as Voldemort. He shared the blame with every dark wizard who had been in Little Harrington. They were all culpable, all of them standing still and watching a boy die because one man refused the limits of mortality.

And now here he was standing over the corpse of one that might have been his enemy in another life, or a friend, or a stranger entirely. All his possibilities. Removed. The boy was barely older than his own eldest daughter who he now so desperately wanted to hold in his arms. To know that she was well and truly safe would have brought him peace for a moment.

Instead, he kept to one duty and performed to another. A quick wave of his wand and his small wolf patronus emerged and brightened the entire graveyard. He hadn't used this method of messaging for some time. Not since the last war.

"Go to albus Dumbledore." He commanded. "Tell him - I failed. I'm sorry. Come to Greengrass house tomorrow at midday, I will say everything that needs to be said then."

He left out that Harry Potter was lying dead only inches away. Given that Diggory escaped it was likely they already knew. Why they hadn't simply taken the portkey back to this very location he knew not. He supposed it was possible that there were spies working for Voldemort at Hogwarts. Perhaps running interference to stop any unwanted witches or wizards making their way here.

He heard a small wheezing noise. He looked down at Harry, hoping beyond all hope, that the Boy Who Lived might survive twice against You-Know-Who. He had not moved an inch, though his chest seemed little lower. Yes, of course. He understood now. Air releasing from the lungs. He'd seen enough bodies to know this happened.

Still it wouldn't hurt to check, He thought to himself. It might be a wasted gesture, but it was something to do at very least. He leaned down and placed two fingers on the neck of the body, then jumped up startled. A popping sound behind him caught his attention.

He turned and came face to face with none other than Mad-Eye Moody holding the Tri-Wizard Cup, his other arm a mangled mess. He was surprised to find the former auror in front of him, and was about to confess that he was Dumbledore's spy. It seemed fate had other plans for him.

"Apologies for my looks Alexander, Barty Crouch Junior." He stuck out his hand and grinned madly, throwing the cup aside. "Glad to make your acquaintance again." He winced then laughed. "Sorry about the arm, nasty bugger! Can thank that bitch McGonagall for the ugly mess!"

It took a moment for the name to register with Alexander. It had been many years after all, and there had been many Death Eaters. Then it came to him, the son of Barty Crouch Senior who'd been arrested at Karkarovs trial.

"How do I know it's you Barty?" He asked. It was not impossible that this was indeed Barty Crouch Junior (just Barty Crouch now, he supposed, that his father was gone). Though it was equally possible that this was Moody playing the part of Death Eater to worm his way in with the Death Eaters before springing a trap.

Crouch had no need to reply. He just grunted and grinned as the effects of Polyjuice potion were removed and after a few moments of painful, and visual displeasing, transformation Crouch now stood in front of him.

"I think this is good enough." He grinned, ripping the eye from his head and tossing aside the prosthetic leg. "of all the people I had to be in these last months, Moody was the worst. Fun to play, but a nightmare of a man. Was there nothing he could keep attached to his body?!"

Rant over he approached Alexander and looked at him with a mad glint in his eye. "So, how was it?"

"It was, intense." He answered carefully. "The boy fought well for his age, but the Dark Lord was-

"No, no, no, no, no." He said, waving his hands. "Not Potters death. The Dark Lord's return. How was it?"

Alexander decided to answer truthfully, knowing anything else might betray his true feelings. "I arrived after he took form."

Crouch sighed. "I suppose I'll just have to ask Wormtail then." His tone said it all. Eventually he looked down on Harry Potter and tutted to himself. "Poor lad, he had real potential. Would have made a great Death Eater. If only he wasn't born to those traitorous cunts."

Alexander winced at the viscerality of the language, but said nothing in return. He only watched as Crouch looked around in disappointment.

"No, no this won't do at all." He hissed, licking his lower lip. "We need something, something powerful. When they find his body, The Light should see...this was the work of the Dark Lord."

"That's not what he asked for." Alexander stated.

"Yes, I know about his little plan to keep to the shadows." Crouch sighed, pacing in front of the former Slytherin. "Still, Fudge is stupid enough to pass it off as something else. Dumbledore will amass some forces to be sure. But he'll be fighting two battles..."

Before he could say any more Crouch was out and the spell had left his lips. "Morsemordre!"

And just as all times before the symbol took to the sky, clear for all to see. Crouch laughed loudly and then bellowed the words. "Harry Potter is no more! Harry Potter is DEAD! Come on Greengrass, say it!"

"Harry Potter is dead!" he shouted, though without any of Crouch's enthusiasm, biting his lip.

"Spoil sport." He groaned. "Right well we best be off. Come on Greengrass, there's work to be done!"

So, there we have it. Harry Potter IS dead...or is he? the answer can be found in this chapter if you were paying attention. If you think you know please dm me and try to leave it out of the review/comments section just to keep people guessing. I hope you enjoyed this update, the next chapter should be out just after the Ides of March, probably Firday of that week.

In the meantime please feel free to enjoy what's here already, and if you like my style of writing and want to see more head over to my blog where I post short stories, poetry and reviews whenever have a spare minute. I've recently posted a short poem and it'd be awesome if you checked it out. I also co-host a political podcast where I discuss socialism and socialist issues. I know that's a bit different from what I do here so if you want to go check it out, dm me. the info for my blog can be found on my twitter, and the info for my twitter can be found in my bio here.

Thanks for reading, look forward to the next chapter, see you next time!

Harvey John :)