Chapter 3
Splayed on her side in the thick field of grass, Harry begins to stir. Her heart races with unnatural speed beneath her exposed chest. Behind closed lids, her eyes dart wildly around, only seeing darkness. She is lost in a panicked state of unconsciousness until she begins to feel new sensations pervading through the blackness.
Cold. The frigid air nips at her uncovered flesh, bringing about goosebumps across her arms and legs. She resists the urge to shiver, though she isn't sure why.
Pain. Hot, aching throbs travel across her body like shocks of electricity. A soft whimper threatens to escape from her lips, but she holds it back, becoming increasingly aware that she shouldn't draw attention to herself.
She begins to register noises from all around her. The wind howls as it whips through the trees, and soft, muffled voices ring out nearby. Next comes a deep, ominous chuckle that sends an involuntary shiver down her spine.
Harry recognizes its owner. Voldemort.
Everything suddenly rushes back to her and hits her with such force that she nearly gasps. She remembers Voldemort. She remembers where she is. She remembers what has occurred.
But how is she alive?
Harry recalls the flash of green light blazing toward her, much like she's seen in her nightmares. It was the killing curse.
But she has survived. Again.
Harry doesn't dare move, fearing that the rambunctious crowd will spot her, but she bravely cracks open her eyes and peers out of thin slits.
The absence of the weight resting atop her nose tells her that her glasses are gone, and the blurry world emerges around her. She silently curses her crappy eyesight. From her position on the ground, she can see very little. The blades of grass block out her vision with horizontal stripes of green.
Tilting her head very slightly, Harry is able to see a large object lying straight ahead. It's a pale cream topped with dark brown, but a sticky-looking, red substance stains it's lower half. No, not a pale lumpy object. She makes out a light grey eye and the sharp point of a nose. It's a face. Harry clenches her eyes shut again. It's Cedric's head.
Another flood of guilt crashes over her, but this time, she doesn't cry. It's as if all the tears have already been expelled from her body. She feels as though she may never cry again.
She cranes her neck upward, hoping that Cedric will become a forgotten blemish in her periphery. When her eyes open again, she is distracted by a glowing blue form lying several feet ahead. It isn't very large, and if it weren't glistening so brightly, Harry probably wouldn't have even noticed it. The pastel blue looks familiar, but her foggy brain can't seem to place it. She sees flashes of a handsome yet terrified face, wide, bulging eyes, and red. Harry stares in consternation at the object for a while, rifling through her memories, but all she can concentrate on is Cedric choking on his own blood.
If only she hadn't insisted that he take the cup…
Wait… She envisions the shimmering goblet that she'd lunged for only hours before with its rounded shape, golden body, and bright blue handles. She remembers how it had carelessly been discarded in the grass when she and Cedric had appeared in the graveyard. Can it really be there, only steps away?
She makes herself believe that it is true. It's her only hope for escaping.
But can she even make it to the cup? Her body is weak, and she isn't even sure that she is capable of walking. If she flops around and catches the eye of a Death Eater or even worse, Him, then it will all be over.
But she has to try.
Harry takes a deep breath, positioning her feet underneath herself, and she lurches forward. Feeling as though she is moving in slow motion, she watches as the distance between herself and the goblet wanes. Unfortunately, her movements are uncoordinated and sloppy, and she falls several feet short. Her broken arm twists painfully beneath her chest, but she keeps moving forward with her face scrunched up in determination.
Her body shakes with the effort of her movements, and her legs are too wobbly to stand, but she inches forward like an infant crawling for a toy. She passes Cedric's corpse, grimacing when she sees his arm twisted unnaturally upward.
Harry knows that they must have noticed her by now, but she doesn't stop to look. They must be coming for her. She only has seconds to reach the cup.
She reaches forward and nearly brushes the edge of the handle. Just a little farther.
There's a shout of panic in the distance, followed by a furious snarl. They know she's alive.
This is her only chance. She uses the last of her momentum to launch herself ahead. Her body lands sideways, but her left hand closes around the handle. Making a quick decision, she snatches Cedric's upturned arm with her right hand and feels herself being whisked away right before several spells slam into the spot she'd just occupied.
The crowd around the maze dwindles at an exponential rate as the curious, yet irritated attendants to the third task traipse from their seats and begin heading toward the castle. The annoyed buzzing of the crowd sets heavy in the air, and Severus glowers at the sound in disgust.
He is aware that the people in the stands know nothing of what has just occurred, but his rational mind is being clouded by the atrocity he has witnessed. His icy glare attacks everyone who passes by, including a small-looking first year who appears as though he is about to burst into tears from the professor's infuriated expression alone. The frightened expression of the child only adds to his sour mood.
He can't get the girl's damn hollow eyes out of his head. The emerald orbs seem to be burned into his retinas.
Severus glances over at Albus with a nasty scowl, still cursing the man for his actions, but the older man's eyes are cast down. His normally twinkling eyes, stare dully toward the ground, still shining with unshed tears.
It is difficult not to lash out at Albus, but Severus controls himself, knowing that the man has only done what he believed was necessary. It must have been horribly difficult for him to let the girl go, for he had obviously cared for her. But still, Severus refuses to forgive him; he refuses to believe that there had been no other option.
When Severus had first relayed his story to Albus, the man had appeared shocked by the cruelty that Voldemort had displayed. It was clear that he never imagined Potter would be subjected to such torture before she died.
"Severus, I didn't know," he had practically sobbed.
It had taken several minutes for the older wizard to compose himself, and since then, his spirit has dissipated, and his shoulders hang in a constant slump. It is unnerving to see the powerful Albus Dumbledore in such a pathetic state.
There is no use waiting at the maze any longer. There is nothing left to be done. Severus places a consoling, yet firm hand on the headmaster's shoulder and ushers him toward the castle.
They've just taken the first few steps up the path when Severus hears a thud behind them, and his head automatically snaps around to find the source of the noise.
Harriet Potter.
At first look, she resembles a possessed, demonic child out of a muggle horror movie with her long, dark, tangled hair hanging limply around her face and her pale flesh stained with blood. Her eyes are wild and bloodshot, and shrill shrieks of panic tumble from her lips in a hoarse whisper as she clings to the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory.
Severus watches her with shock, as if searching for a sign that she isn't real. He takes in every detail from her trembling hands to her tear-stained face.
He is pulled out of his stupor when the first shout of confusion erupts from somewhere nearby. Everyone who hasn't yet left the area is turning to stare at the girl.
Acting on impulse, Severus constructs a large spherical wall that shields her from the crowd. No one should ever see her like this. She has already been through enough.
Severus charges toward her with the headmaster on his heels, and he conjures a soft blanket to cover her shivering body. With gentleness that he didn't know he possessed, Severus drapes the green blanket over the girl and kneels down beside her, assessing her condition.
"Harriet, are you alright?" Albus asks, taking one of the girl's shaking hands.
Of course, she isn't alright! After what she'd experienced, there is no way in hell that she is okay.
Potter doesn't even appear to have heard the headmaster; she just continues whispering in a raspy voice. Severus can hardly understand her, but he believes that she is whispering into the ear of the dead boy beneath her.
"Cedric. Cedric, I'm sorry," she whispers. "Mmmy fault… So sorry."
"Harriet," Albus starts again. "Mr. Diggory is gone. We need to get you to Madame Pomfrey."
The old man reaches over and lifts her face to meet his. She recoils at first to his touch but then appears to recognize him.
"It was Voldemort," she murmurs frantically. "Voldemort's back… Killed Cedric. I tried to fight him. I did… Mmm so sorry."
Potter buries her face into the dead boy's chest again, and it takes several minutes for Albus to coax her out.
"Harry, you need to come with us," he says firmly.
At the mention of "us", the girl seems to notice Severus for the first time. Her eyes go wide with fright, as if anticipating an attack, and she tugs at the headmaster's hand.
"Snape's one of them! He's a Death Eater! He was there!" She cries, her voice still rough and dry.
Severus does not show it, but the girl's comments sting. It is unnerving to see Potter so afraid of him. They've never gotten along, and he's definitely made some regrettable choices in dealing with her, but he has never tried to harm her.
"No. I assure you, he is not. He's a spy, Harry. He is loyal to me."
"No," she insists, shaking her head furiously. "He was there. He watched."
Her voice cracks on the word watched, and Severus lifts himself from the ground. He can't be here. He can't look at the girl knowing that she knows he was there and did nothing. Severus feels disgust gnawing from within the pit of his stomach.
"I know," Albus replied sadly. "He was instructed not to intervene. Trust me, he is not loyal to Voldemort. He doesn't want to hurt you. He would have helped you if he could."
"But…"
Potter appears at a loss for words. She looks like she wants to argue more with the headmaster, but she seems to lack the energy to do so. She sinks back into the grass, still shaking slightly, the fight in her all gone.
Albus points his wand at the girl, and begins the words to a levitation charm, but at the sight of the wand, the girl curls into herself, rocking and sobbing.
"No," she screams. "No. No. No."
"Calm down," the headmaster prods, but the girl is inconsolable. "We need to get you to Madame Pomfrey. I just need to cast a spell so that you can be safely transported."
"NO!" Potter shrieks again. She is so upset, that she is hyperventilating; her face is turning a sickly shade of blue.
Albus sighs and runs a hand through his long, silver hair. "Can you walk, Harry?"
The girl sniffs loudly and attempts to rise, but she fails miserably and crumples back to the ground. Her eyes are drooping, and she looks absolutely drained.
After more gentle words from the headmaster, the girl still refuses to have the spell cast on her, but she eventually agrees to be carried to the hospital wing. The old man scoops her from the ground and holds her awkwardly to his chest.
The headmaster is not a strong man, and Severus is almost amused by the absurdity of the situation. He doubts that Albus and Potter will even make it into the castle before the old man's knees collapse, and he too is in need of the hospital wing.
"Severus, please fetch Cornelius and tell him about the body. Someone will have to inform the Diggorys."
He nods tensely at the man, dropping the shield that hides them all from view. All at once, the shouts of the crowd assault his eardrums and people rush forward to gaze upon the girl-who-lived.
Cradled within the headmaster's arms, she quivers and buries her face into the old man's robes, obviously disturbed by all of the eyes on her. Albus seems to notice her distress, and his voice rings out loudly across the pitch.
"EVERYONE STAY BACK!" he booms, and the circle of people that surround him all take a step backward. "I need to get her to the hospital wing."
With that, the man takes off up the path toward the castle, but Minister Fudge stands in his way bombarding him with questions.
"Not now, Cornelius. She's in major need of medical attention."
The Minister wrinkles his forehead and frowns. "I need some sort of explanation for all this," he insists, not moving from his position.
The headmaster sighs, glancing down at Potter. "Voldemort has returned."
Minister Fudge flinches at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. "That's impossible," he sputters.
"I assure you that it is not." Albus says evenly. "Now, I must kindly ask you to move."
"Not until I have a reasonable explanation!" The man's eyes travel to the trembling girl. "Maybe I should ask Ms. Potter."
"She is badly injured," Albus starts, but the Minister cuts him off.
"If you will not tell me the truth, then I'll have to hear it from the girl."
Severus cannot stand idly by any longer. Potter needs medical attention. He struts in front of the headmaster and thrusts out his arms.
"Give her to me, Albus. I'll take her to Poppy while you deal with him," he snarls, sending a scowl toward the Minister.
The headmaster appears as though he wants to object, but he glances down at Potter, whose eyes have now drifted closed, and nods slowly, handing her over.
Severus holds her tightly to him, moving at a brisk pace. He moves past the crowd, past the castle doors, and up a staircase, still focused on the small, cold bundle in his arms.
Up close, even with her bright green eyes shut, her face is purely Lily's. The slight curvature at the tip of her nose. The delicate, high cheekbones. The spritz of freckles that dot her cheeks. How had he ever thought she looked like Potter? Aside from the messy dark hair and the glasses, she bears no resemblance to him.
He spends so much time studying her face that his foot catches on a stair and he falters for a moment, only barely able to remain on his feet.
Potter jolts awake and her green eyes snap open, staring blankly upward. Her gaze is unfocused and settled on the ceiling. She doesn't seem aware of her surroundings.
Perhaps that is for the best. It's definitely better than her staring at him as though he's a monster.
He continues on without speaking. The hospital wing is only minutes away.
The only sound in the hall is that of his own footsteps pounding steadily against the floor, until a raspy moan erupts from the bundle in his arms.
"Erghh." She says, squirming restlessly.
"We're almost there, Potter," he assures her, picking up the pace.
She continues to groan and twist within his arms, trying to escape from his grasp.
"Stop moving," she whines.
He feet stop at once, and he turns back to stare at her.
Her eyes are clenched shut again and she's shaking violently. Her face is a pale shade of green.
"I'm gonna be sick," she murmurs.
Before he has a chance to react, she turns her head and vomits, slinging bile and half-digested food down his pantlegs and onto his shiny black shoes.
He crinkles his nose in disgust, trying to hold back the angry words that threaten to spill from his mouth.
She's injured. She's a child. She's been subjected to torture and the Cruciatus curse. It's no wonder she's ill. Do not scowl at her. Do not berate her. Just keep walking.
He keeps his head held high and keeps moving, not daring to look at the girl.
Ignore the squeaking of your shoes. Ignore the eye-stinging stench of vomit that clings to your clothes. Just keep walking.
He tries this, for a moment, but then the girl is looking up at him with inquisitive eyes, looking a bit frightened.
"Are you going to be sick again," he asks darkly.
"I don't think so… I'm really sorry, sir," she says hesitantly.
He grunts tersely in response,
"I can tell your mad… I don't blame you. You can yell if you want. I'm not made of glass."
There is a sliver of uncertainty in her tone, as if she doesn't truly believe her own statement. But he knows what she's said is true. No one who has endured what she has endured could ever be considered fragile. She is strong.
"It's not your fault."
"When has it ever mattered if it was my fault?" she asks, staring up at him curiously. "I still did it."
Damn those eyes.
"Did you intend to splatter me with vomit?" he asks through clenched teeth.
"Well, no."
"Then don't worry about it."
The two of them continue down the hall in silence, still listening to the irritating squeak of his vomit-covered shoes, until they reach the door to the infirmary.