Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Sorry for the long wait - I've had a really busy couple of weeks and to be honest not sure when that's going to change, but again I promise this fic won't be abandoned.
Harry surveyed the floor. In one corner Viktor Krum was standing, his back straight and chin pointed up as he nodded along politely to Karkaroff's ravings. Fleur Delacour was exchanging some last words with her family, her mother planting worried kisses on her cheek, her sister clinging to her waist, whilst her dad took his hand in hers, whispering something with a small smile. Cassius Warrington was accompanied by only his father, a tall, lean man with a similar demeanour to Lucius Malfoy.
Harry stood alone, waiting in the shadows before he absolutely had to make his entrance. He could see Terry, Mike and Anthony in the crowd, engaged in a serious seeming conversation, whilst the crowds around them giggled and chanted as though this was some festive celebration, and not the third task of a deadly tournament.
Harry cast his eye over some of the banners in the crowd. The Slytherin contestant had been widely rejected by the likes of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, with Ravenclaw, like usual, split. Instead Harry had become their hero, each banner reading something along the lines of 'Come Home, Harry!' or 'OUR Hogwarts' Hero'. Even Rita Skeeter - who'd spent the entire year oscillating between cursing Harry for being uninterested in respecting wizarding customs, and connivingly faking his own death and wasting ministry resources, and praising Harry's very existence - hadn't managed to make a dent on the love the wizarding world had for their saviour, Harry Potter.
Harry looked to the right, where the judges had gathered. As though he felt Harry's eyes on him, Dumbledore looked up, staring curiously at Harry, before smiling at him, his eyes twinkling in a way which made Harry's stomach twist painfully. Dumbledore averted his gaze, and the anxiety resting in Harry only grew. Why hadn't he approached him? Forced him forwards? Instead Dumbledore had stood there, serenely, as though he knew everything would go the way he wanted it to.
"Minister," a whining voice called sharply, its owner pushing past Harry without stopping to realise who he'd just bumped into. Harry's eyes caught onto the obnoxiously ginger hair that had gone past him, immediately identifying him as a Weasley. Percy, maybe? The Gryffindor prefect a few years back. He'd always seemed like a huge rule-stickler, it didn't surprise Harry in the slightest that he'd ended up as the minister's lackey.
Fudge turned around, his eyes narrowing in disdain as he realised who was addressing him. "Yes?" He asked impatiently, his eyes straying as he avoided Percy's eager gaze.
"It's about Mr Crouch sir," Percy began, but Fudge had found something more interesting, "I'm worried abou-"
"Not now, Whizzle." Fudge interrupted, his eyes fixed on something beyond Percy's head. Harry's heart jumped as he realised he was staring at him. The Minister stumbled forwards, a grin forming on his face. "Well, well, well... if it isn't the elusive Harry Potter."
"Minister." Harry nodded in an attempt to be polite.
"Are you looking forward to the task?" The minister's eyes sparkled mischievously.
Harry sighed, not quite knowing how to play this, and fully aware that more eyes were on him every second he was talking to Fudge. "Are you?" Harry retorted calmly. "I'm sure that looking into this will be quite entertaining." Harry gestured towards the maze. The wizarding world clearly weren't great at entertainment value when it came to these sorts of events. Sure, the dragons might have been interesting - if a little dangerous for the audience - but staring into a lake? Now staring at some hedges? It didn't seem like the best thought-out plan.
The minister shrugged. "It'll be very interesting to see who returns at the end of the day." He replied with a smirk, before putting his hand on Harry's shoulder and guiding him forwards to where the contestants had begun to congregate. Dumbledore explained the rules clearly, and with each new piece of information, Harry grew more scared. The one benefit to his position was that if he did have to go in, he'd be so far behind the others that surely they'd be able to find the trophy and end the damn tournament before he had to risk his life.
The clock turned hit the hour mark, and the contestants were ushered forwards.
"Good luck Harry. I hope you win." Cassius smiled, his eyes glazed as he turned around and strode into the maze. As he stepped inside the hedges morphed, twisting and turning and covering up the entrance behind him.
"Shit." Harry hissed. The second he stepped in - and would be legally confirmed to have participated - he would be engulfed in the maze, with no way back out except to find the trophy and end the entire tournament.
Fleur followed quickly after Cassius, similarly engulfed into the maze. Whilst Viktor looked forlorn as he watched his competitors get a head start. Moody moved over to whisper some words of - what Harry could only presume were - comfort to him, as the Bulgarian nodded fervently, perking up almost immediately.
It was another two minutes before Viktor was allowed in, and Harry was left alone on the floor, with ten minutes before he too would have to enter.
"How are you doing, Harry? Excited?" A jovial voice called from behind him.
Ludo Bagman. Harry grimaced. This was almost worse than talking to Fudge. Almost... "You got it," Harry put on a fake smile, "I'm so excited to be forced into participating in this competition against my will whilst being three years younger than my fellow competitors, and vastly less experienced."
"It's all in good fun, Harry." Bagman chirped, ignoring his sarcasm. "Just need to make sure the fans get their money worth."
"They didn't pay to enter." Harry said dryly, happy to use Bagman as a distraction for a few seconds at least.
"It's an expression."
"A muggle one." Harry raised his eyebrow at the illustrious beater.
"Yes, well... I'm not one of those types who refuse to interact with people like that." Bagman replied after a pause, his smile wavering.
"People like that." Harry muttered quietly.
"Just enjoy yourself in there, these sort of opportunities don't come often. Oh, how I wish I could have competed in something like this when I was your age."
Harry shot Bagman an incredulous look. "What is it about a life or death tournament that you people think is fun?" He spat, no longer bothering to put on a polite façade.
"Well, it lets you prove yourself, its fun, like a sport - like quidditch, do you like quidditch? of course you do, who doesn't! - not to mention the nice cash prize and fame that comes with it. People would kill to be in your shoes."
"I don't need fame. Nor money. Just peace. And people have already tried to kill me, you know how that ended." Harry turned away from Bagman, ending the conversation. "Forcing me into the maze. This is such bullshit." Harry hissed when Bagman was out of earshot.
"Actually no, it's a necessary precaution. Thanks to you." Harry's eyes widened as a strong hand pushed at his back. "See, Harry my boy," the man said in a hushed voice, "what we realised after the last two tasks, is that you had no inclination to respect the traditions and rules of this tournament. So, we had to adapt. The tournament, as I'm sure you're aware by your conniving - I'm not judging, I am a politician after all - manipulation of the rules, requires you to compete in each task. What we've done here is make it so you are only classified as competing, once you enter the maze." Harry gritted his teeth, trying to show no reaction as the Minister revealed the thing that Harry had been dreading for months: that he had no choice but to enter the deadly maze.
"I can see that." Harry said, trying to act as if the Minister's words meant nothing to him. He already knew in his head, that this would be what happened. He'd seen what happened to the contestants before him. He was the last in after all, and by quite some time at that. The second the contestants had stepped forward, into the maze, the hedges had swallowed them up, trapping them inside. Dumbledore had alluded to it too. Yet, somehow, hearing it from the Minister of Magic made it feel worse, made Harry feel worse.
Fudge glanced at his pocket watch. "I'll give you a minute to collect yourself." He said with a small smirk, inclining his bowler hat in Harry's direction before stepping back into the stands.
"Ass." Harry muttered as he watched the minister make his way over to Lucius Malfoy, who was staring at Harry curiously, his eyes narrowed in what Harry could only presume was disdain. Harry lifted his head tauntingly at the man, feeling hatred rise up within him, all directed at Draco's father, who no doubt had some nefarious hand in this task. Lucius lifted an eyebrow at Harry, before pointedly turning his gaze towards the minister, and with that Harry's distraction vanished, and he was forced to survey the situation in front of him. Not that there was much he could do now. He'd practiced all he could, researched all he could. Now all he could do was wait for his stopwatch to start and step inside. The seconds seemed to tick faster now that Harry knew he had no escape, and all of a sudden Bagman's annoyingly enthusiastic voice boomed through the microphone, and Harry forced himself to take a step forwards.
He straightened his back, and lifted his head. He was terrified, but there was no way he was letting anyone in the stands know that. Especially not the likes of Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy. Besides, if this was the last time his friends were ever going to seem him, he wanted them to know he wasn't scared (even though he was, he really, really was), he wanted them to think he was brave, and strong. So he took the step forwards, and didn't look back as he heard the maze shift behind him, the plants forming an indestructible wall where there once was his exit.
Harry took in a deep breath, calmer once he realised that no one could seem him now, before he remembered with a start what that meant. Then all his strength and faux-confidence crumbled. "Fuck." Harry hissed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm so screwed." He said to the wind. He couldn't hear the crowds anymore. He couldn't see anything but towering, dark green hedges enclosing in on him. All he could do was move forwards, move towards the danger.
It seemed as though the maze was specifically programmed to make sure Harry couldn't stay in one place more than three seconds. Every time he stopped to take a breath the hedges would enclose on him, prodding him forwards, threatening to swallow him. Harry had tried sending up red sparks straight away. He'd had to run off before he could see if anyone actually responded. He doubted that they would. Not with how Fudge and the other powers at work - Dumbledore likely - had engineered this entire task (maybe even this entire tournament) to get Harry to stay in the wizarding world.
He'd read the recent article in the Daily Prophet. He couldn't go a day without seeing a reflection of him blinking back, sharp green eyes burning into him, as he hid under his alternate appearance. The articles all said the same things, all questioned where Harry Potter would disappear to when the task was other, questioned whether he was good or bad, whether he was a hero or a dark lord in the making. Whether he was abandoning the wizarding world - that line of argument made Harry scoff, bitter and angry. He'd never abandoned the wizarding world. They'd abandoned him.
Even now, weaving through different paths in the maze, he was still being abandoned. He was alone. Even the sounds of the crowd had disappeared. The only thing which remained was his own heavy breathing, and the wind whistling through the leaves, jeering at him menacingly as they pushed him further forwards into the maze, his escape becoming less likely by the second. The only way out now was the trophy. The only way out was to end the tournament.
"Stupefy!" Harry yelled as he skid around the corner, ducking as a green light flashed in his direction. The green light. The one he'd been dreaming about since that night. He'd seen it in Moody's class. He knew what it meant. He just couldn't figure out who - or what - in this maze would be sending a killing curse in his direction. Harry glanced around the side of the hedge, blinking as his opponent came clearer.
How did Vernon Dursley get in the maze?
Harry pushed down his anxiety, quickly rationalising with himself. That monster didn't have magic, he couldn't have sent a curse, nor would he be in the maze right now. That wasn't him. "Riddikulus." Harry hissed, a small smirk of satisfaction appearing on his face as a Vernon Dursley morphed into a walrus. "Four down." Harry muttered, taking mental note of how many monsters he'd now had to dispose of. That must mean he's close right? The more monsters, the more likely he was on the right track.
Harry walked past the walrus, hesitating at the corner. For a second he thought he'd heard something. A voice. One of the other competitors maybe?
Harry ducked into the hedge, even as the leaves and twigs pressed on his back, prodding him forwards. A second later a red light whistled past his head. The voice now clear, and loud. "Crucio!"
A girl - Fleur, Harry realised quickly - screamed. Harry looked up from where he was concealed, Cassius Warrington now stood right in front of him, his wand fixed on Fleur, unflinching as he maintained the cruciatus curse. Harry crouched, frozen. He knew he should get up, he should help Fleur. Despite this, he couldn't move. Suddenly Cassius blinked, his head tilting to the side. Harry recoiled even further into the bush. There was something in his eyes... he looked evil.
Cassius broke the spell casually, another flick of his wand and the screaming stopped. Harry couldn't move. This time he knew that green light had been real. He could hear the silence. The painful silence. Fleur Delacour was dead, and her murdered was standing only a metre from where Harry was hidden.
Harry shut his eyes as Cassius turned. Surely the Slytherin hadn't seen him. Surely he would just move on, go find the cup he was clearly willing to kill for. Instead the footsteps grew louder, until they stopped, and Harry could feel Cassius' warm breath on his face. Harry flinched. Surely this was it. The end. Cassius had killed Fleur, and now it was Harry's turn.
"Up." Cassius ordered, and Harry flinched, before opening his eyes. He hadn't killed him. Not yet at least. Instead he had Cassius' wand pointed between Harry's two eyes, a dark look on the Slytherin's face. "Get. Up." Cassius commanded, sounding oddly calm despite what he'd just done to Fleur. "Don't make me repeat myself." Harry stumbled to his feet, every part of him shaking dangerously.
Cassius pushed his wand into Harry's back. "Keep moving. Don't look back. If you try anything, it's over."
Harry nodded, forcing his feet forwards, his head whirring as he wondered why Cassius hadn't killed him yet. Instead the older boy was guiding him through the maze. At the end of a long passage he could see the trophy in the distance. Cassius was taking him to the trophy, not killing him so he could get it himself. Why?
Was this some sort of plot, some sick revenge fantasy?
"What do you want?" Harry whispered. "The cup's there. Just take it. I don't want it anyway."
"I know." Cassius replied. "That's why I had to do all this. Why I had to dispose of Fleur. Of Viktor. I had to get rid of them so you would do your damn job and win the tournament." He snarled. "You made my job hard. You made me kill them. If you'd just tried, that never would have had to happen." Harry faltered in his step, twisting to turn around and face Cassius, but he raised the wand to Harry's neck, and Harry froze. "I said, don't try anything."
"Why haven't you killed me yet?" Harry asked, slowing his steps. Something about the trophy seemed ominous. He didn't like how much Cassius wanted him to get it.
"Because, killing you isn't my job, nor my right."
"Who's right is it then?"
"You know who." Cassius replied calmly, and if Harry wasn't already terrified and angry and scared out of his mind, he'd have been pissed at how Cassius had just made a pun out of the fact Voldemort wanted him dead.
"So he is back."
Harry could almost feel Cassius' grin. "Did you really think you were able to defeat the most powerful wizard to ever live? Ah, the arrogance of youth." Cassius cackled and Harry shuddered. It might have been Cassius' voice, but these didn't sound like the words of a seventeen year old.
"Who..." Harry breathed in, everything clicking into place. "Who are you?" He asked.
"Cassius Warrington." The man replied, almost giggling.
Harry gritted his teeth. "Who are you?" He repeated firmly.
The man hummed. "Don't worry Harry. You'll learn everything soon. Or you'll be dead, so it won't matter. Right now however," The man wearing Cassius' face pushed Harry forwards the last step, his wand trained on him as he moved around to the opposite side of the trophy. "we're about to go on a trip."
"A trip?"
The man nodded, smiling gleefully. "You better be on your best behaviour Harry. The Dark Lord isn't the most forgiving."
Harry felt the breath race from his lungs, as though every part of Harry's body was running away from him, trying to escape as far as possible from the inevitable.
"Now then, on the count of three we're going to grab hold of the trophy, and don't even think of trying to get away me. You saw what I did to the wonderful Miss Delacour."
Harry nodded. His mind whirring as he tried to figure out a way out of this, as he tried to ascertain whether he'd be able to get far enough away from this imposter. But even though he didn't know the man's name, he knew his strength, his dedication, his commitment to Voldemort. The man grabbed Harry's arm, and yanked it towards the trophy. There was no escape.
AN/ Not sure if I've credited this before but never bad to do it more than once, so just to clarify the idea to have Cassius be the fourth champion is full credits to crazybutperfectlysane on tumblr