My apologies for taking so long to update. A lot has been going on, combined with how I had 18 hours of classes this semester at college... here's a short chapter, just to help me get back into the swing of things.

Purpose is what drives us, and conflict provides purpose in abundance.—Unknown

I couldn't see if the spells hit the man or not, but they combined to make quite an explosion, throwing a cloud of dirt and smoke in the air. Fleur ran for the cup. I aimed at where the man had been.

"Bombarda!" I shouted again, creating another explosion.

"Get over here!" Fleur shouted, crouching next to the Trizwizard Cup. "We have to get away!" I scanned the graveyard, then turned and ran for the cup. Fleur grabbed my arm and then grabbed the cup—in an instant, we were away again, spiraling through nothingness, and then the ground hit us as we landed at the entrance to the maze, to bursts of applause, cheering, and trumpets.

"What was that?" Fleur demanded, grabbing me by the shoulders and yanking me up. She was several years older than me, you know. I noticed, behind her, that Dumbledore, Moody, and Fudge were running over. I wondered where Hermione was.

"Professor!" I yelled to be heard over the cheering. Dumbledore actually looked fairly pleased, unknowing that someone had tried to kill us. Well, me or Fleur, whoever the "spare" had been.

"Congratulations, both of you!" Minister Fudge shouted, grabbing Fleur's hand and shaking it. "I believe this is the first duel win the tournament has ever seen!" She yanked her hand back.

"A man was there, he tried to use the killing curse on one of us!" Fleur shouted.

"It was the Riddle graveyard, professor!" I added. "A man in a hood, carrying something in his arms."

Two Hours Later…

"It wasn't Voldemort who tried to kill you. At least, he wasn't the man who held the wand." Dumbledore said carefully. "If he had returned to normal form by now, there would be signs, if only missing people."

"Maybe we were going to be those missing people." Fleur snapped angrily, her French accent getting thicker. "How did a Death Eater curse the Triwizard cup in the first place?"

"Only Professor Moody and myself were able to touch the cup before it was placed in the maze." Dumbledore said slowly. "Someone must have infiltrated the maze before you two arrived at the finish."

"The voice… the voice that hissed, 'kill the spare' was the same voice in my dream, during the summer. It sounded like it was coming from whatever the man was holding." I said. Fleur gave me an odd look.

"It seems possible that—"

An explosion made the Headmaster stop. He drew his wand immediately, striding out into the hallway. I could hear a few shouts, curses. Fleur and I glanced at each other, then followed Dumbledore.

He was standing with Professor Snape, looking down at—

"Professor Moody!" I gasped, running forward. Dumbledore stopped me.

"When I told him you were not allowing anyone to enter while talking to Potter, he drew his wand and tried to kill me." Snape said quietly.

"He would never do that!" I objected. Snape gave me a hateful stare, but Dumbledore held up a hand. Before us, the huge form of Alastor Moody was… bubbling, shrinking into a crazed looking younger man.

"Barty Crouch Junior." Snape remarked coldly. "Curious, he was buried at Azkaban a year or two ago."

"How could he…" Fleur began.

"Polyjuice potion." Dumbledore said. Snape nodded in agreement.

"He must have cursed the Triwizard Cup." Snape commented. "But he would need fresh hairs regularly to have made so many batches of polyjuice potion." The two professors glanced at each other, and started walking rapidly towards Professor Moody's office. Fleur and I followed. When we arrived at his office, Dumbledore calmly waved his wand, and the door opened silently. It was full of creepy and useful weapons and tools. The two professors looked around for a brief second, then strode to the huge trunk set against the wall. Dumbledore opened it, then shut it and clicked a knob, then opened again.

And again. And again.

Then he stopped. "Severus." He gestured into the trunk, and Snape looked down into it. Whatever he saw made him stride out the office, and down the hall.

"What is it?" Fleur asked.

"Professor Moody. Somewhat worse for the wear, but alive." Dumbledore said, relief in his voice. Fleur and I looked over, into the trunk.

It seemed to go fifteen feet into the ground, at least. At the bottom, a man shivered in his sleep, missing a leg, and an eye. Behind me, the door opened again and Madam Pomfrey came in, a stretcher floating along behind her.

"What are students doing here?!" She huffed. "Professor Snape told me a man in a trunk needs help."

"Quite right." Dumbledore said. "Severus, would you be so kind as to return out champions to their quarters?"

"Certainly, Headmaster." Snape said flatly, taking about ten seconds to say the two words. I wondered how long it would take him to give a speech, such as the sort Muggle politicians did on television.

He'd probably die of old age before finishing, I concluded. He took us back to Dumbledore's office to leave Fleur with her headmistresses, then walked briskly towards Gryffindor tower with me.

"Professor Snape." A weak voice said behind us. He turned, to see the Americans. The girl was speaking. "What's up?"

"The headmaster has asked me to see these him back to his quarters." Snape said flatly.

"We'll walk him back." Percy said. "I'm sure you have better things to do."

"Indeed." Snape said, leaving.

"You okay?" Annabeth asked.

"Me?" I asked, eyebrows raised. "It wasn't me hit with a cruciatus curse. Are you alright?"

"The two of us are made of tough stuff." Percy smiled faintly. "C'mon. We'll walk you back to your dorm. Hermione's there."

"Snape seemed to know you." I remembered. "He isn't nearly that kind to me."

"We met Snape when we met Dumbledore." Annabeth said quietly. "He's a decent guy." I gave her a look.

"Decent?" I repeated. "He's evil."

"No, he's not." Percy said tiredly. "We heard what happened when you and Fleur touched the cup, and Moody… this place was infiltrated."

"That requires coordination, planning, determination." Annabeth said. She looked almost normal, even though she had been hit with an unforgivable curse a short while earlier. "What's weird is, why didn't the fake Moody kill you? He had a long time to do it."

"I don't know." I said uneasily. "Maybe Voldemort wanted to do it himself, at the graveyard."

"Perhaps." Percy said. "Maybe he wanted to show his followers you're not strong enough to challenge him? Eh. It leaves a lot unanswered." We waited for one of the moving staircases to shift, and climbed up towards the Fat Lady. I gave the password, and she swung open, revealing the little passageway. Poor protection if someone had a blasting curse and wanted to get through, I reflected. I glanced back at the two Americans.

"Coming?" I asked. They shook their heads.

"Sorry, other plans." Annabeth said. "See you around." With that, they left. I wondered if I would see them again.