A/N: The sections in italics (memories) are directly from canon. This chapter has a lot of explaining, as did the last one I suppose. Bear with me though; soon all the explaining shall be over with and we can get on to the plot. :P

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and I do not intend to make any money off of this story, it is purely to satisfy the little muse inside my head. The only part that belongs to me is this little plot I've thought up. In this particular chapter, scenes from JK Rowling's book, "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" were used only as a background for my plot, with no intention of plagiarism.

From Kings Cross – Chapter 3

After the quartet arrived at Hogwarts, they realised that they were going to have to wait until after the banquet to speak to Dumbledore. Going up to the staff table to speak with him would cause far too much of a commotion.

As they stepped into the Great Hall, they could see Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table, sulking and nursing a good sized bruise on his forehead. Ron snickered quietly, pointing him out.

Pansy Parkinson appeared to be incessantly trying to help him, but he kept shoving her away.

The sorting went by slowly until they finally reached the last name, "Yung, Zach. HUFFLEPUFF!"

They ate their meals quickly, but, with the exception of Ron, slowly enough to still be polite. After they had finished their desserts (Harry was glad to once again see his favourite one, treacle tart) they somewhat impatiently waited while Dumbledore slowly finished his meal and stood up to say a few words before dismissing the student body to their dorms.

After Dumbledore finally left the Great Hall, they hurriedly stood up and rushed out to speak with him.

"Professor!" Harry called out as they all caught up with him, breathing slightly heavily.

"Yes, what is it my dear boy?" he said with that twinkle in his eye.

"Can we talk to you in private?" Harry said as he began to recover, and stood up straight again.

"Why of course, why don't you all come up to my office?"

.oO0Oo.

As they walked up the spiral staircase, scenarios were flashing through Harry's mind. What if Dumbledore didn't believe them? What if he decided that it was better they didn't know, and obliviated them? Harry shook himself out of his 'what if's and stepped into Dumbledore's office.

"Right, now Professor, this is going to sound a little strange, but please just hear us out." Dumbledore nodded his assent and Harry continued on. "First of all, we should probably tell you that Professor Moody is, well, not Professor Moody. He's an imposter, by the name of Bartimus Crouch Junior, a death eater." Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly "He is taking Polyjuice Potion, and has locked the real Moody in his own trunk and using his hair to make the potion. And here's the kicker, he's planning on using the Tournament to resurrect Voldemort."

"Now Harry, my dear boy, this is a very serious accusation. You will need to have some proof to back it up I'm afraid." Dumbledore said, peering down his spectacles in a serious manner.

"Well, I was honestly expecting this; I think it will be easier if we could use your Pensieve though." Dumbledore arched an eyebrow, "May we Professor?"

"Yes of course, however, I find myself questioning how you knew I own one," Dumbledore said, as he stood to collect the Pensieve from its place on his shelf. He carefully maneuvered through the field of spindly silver instruments, and picked it up, moving back to his desk with the grace of a man far less than half his age.

"Thank you Sir," Harry said as he looked at the Pensieve, wondering how best to begin. "Well, as you have always told me, I suppose the beginning is a very good place to start." Dumbledore chuckled, a twinkle returning to his eyes. "I have come the future, from about 3 ½ years from now. After Voldemort was resurrected at the end of the Tournament, the Second War began. It was not going too well, you… well, you died sir, at the end of my sixth year. Snape killed you, because you were already dying and wished to pass the elder wand on to him." Dumbledore looked, for the first time in quite a while, very surprised.

Before Dumbledore could speak, Harry held a hand up, "Wait a second Professor I'm almost done, and then we can view my memories in the Pensieve. I believe that will make all this a lot easier to understand. Anyways, in the end it came down to a final battle at Hogwarts, and I was killed by Voldemort." Although Harry had not believed it possible, the Headmaster was looking quite shell-shocked. "I ended up in a place that appeared to be Kings Cross, where I met what I guess was your spirit. Your future-self offered me 2 choices, I could either go on, or go back to Hogwarts and finish Voldemort off. Then he realised that there was another, far better choice. I could board a 'train' that would take me back in time to the start of this year, and so I arrived on the Hogwarts Express."

Harry paused for a moment before continuing, "Your future-self also gave me something to tell you to ensure that you would know I'm trustworthy. He says 'I'm sorry about Ariana.'"

Dumbledore's eyes widened yet again, as a single tear traced its way down his cheek.

"Why don't we see those memories now then," he said, wiping it away with a small, sad smile.

"Alright then Professor," Harry stood, pointing his wand to his temple and slowly pulling out the shining memories, putting them into the Pensieve. He turned to his friends, who had been relatively quiet up until then. "You guys ready?"

After they nodded their assent, they all dipped into the Pensieve, headfirst.

"On three, right? said Harry. "One – two – three –"

He and Cedric both grasped the handle.

Instantly, Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel. His feet had left the ground. He could not unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup; it was pulling him onward into a howl of wind and swirling colour, Cedric at his side.

"This is the end of the third task, Moody entered me into the tournament, and Cedric and I tied for first." Harry's voice drew them from the scene. "The cup was made into a portkey by the fake Moody. The cup took us to… well, you'll see soon enough."

Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.

They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously travelled miles – perhaps hundreds of miles – for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.

Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry. "Did anyone tell you that the cup was a portkey?" he asked.

"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie.

"Oh my god. Is that—" Ginny was pointing at a huge black cauldron in the centre of the graveyard.

"Yeah, that's where it happens." Harry said over his past self and Cedric talking.

They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.

"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.

They could see a dark figure approaching the past Harry and Cedric. "That's Wormtail." Harry spoke up again. "See that thing he's carrying? That's Voldemort."

"Kill the spare."

A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"

The present Harry turned away slightly, not wanted to see it again.

Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him, he was dead.

As Pettigrew tied the past Harry to the tombstone, present Harry pointed something out to the others. "See that writing on the tombstone, it says Tom Riddle, that's Voldemort's father."

Pettigrew began pushing the huge stone cauldron towards the foot of Tom Riddle's grave. Harry's companions continued to watch in horror as Wormtail added each ingredient to the mixture, finally dropping in the baby-like Voldemort.

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam.

They, that is, all but Harry gasped as they saw, for the first time, the new face of Voldemort.

A/N: Ok so there's the first memory, for the next one's I'm going to copy quite a bit less of canon in, and focus more on the characters' reactions to the memories. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!