Harry was sprinting through the maze, gasping for breath. He just needed some space, but that blast-ended skrewt was still rumbling along behind him. Every time Harry thought that he had lost it, the chitinous monster would clatter back into view. It was uncanny—Harry was fairly certain that the skrewts didn't even have eyes, and yet he couldn't shake the thing off his trail.

The whole maze had been a bit of a mess, actually. The only obstacle that Harry had easily overcome was the sphinx's riddle. (The riddle hadn't been particularly difficult, or even that clever; Harry suspected that the sphinx was a juvenile.) But the other traps and beasts had been absolutely awful. One portion of the maze had turned Harry upside down, and he had wasted several minutes trying to regain his bearings. He had barely evaded a venomous tentacula, and he was fairly certain that he had caught a distant glimpse of a dementor floating through the corridors of the maze. It was an altogether horrible experience.

Harry slowed, wondering for the third time if he had managed to outdistance the skrewt. He leaned up against the hedge wall of the maze held one hand against his ribs. Despite his sprint workouts with Draco, Harry was getting a stitch in his side, and he wouldn't be able to run much longer.

Harry heard distant shouting, and saw the telltale flashes of light that indicated a duel. Apparently one of the other champions had decided that the dangers of the maze were not sufficiently obstructing the progress of the competition. Harry would bet that it was Krum, probably ambushing Fleur. She would seem the weakest.

Well, weakest other than Harry.

Harry was finally regaining some of his breath. He laid his hand flat and spoke to his wand. "Point me." Harry's wand rose, and pointed deeper into the maze.

Harry followed his wand into the maze, twisting and turning through corridors. With only a simply pointing spell, it was difficult for Harry to determine whether or not he was making any progress. Even though Harry knew he was getting closer to the center of the maze, there was no guarantee that the next corridor wouldn't send him on a direct line to the outside edge.

Harry's head start, which he had been given due to his slight edge in points, had long since been negated. At this point, the champion who reached the Tri-Wizard Cup first would be determined more by luck than by skill. Any one of the four champions could stumble upon the center of the maze.

Harry wasn't completely lost, however. As Harry had moved through the maze, he realized that the closer he came to the Tri-Wizard Cup, the more dramatically the "point me" spell would cause his wand would turn. When Harry had first entered the maze, he would walk several steps to the left or right before he noticed his wand moving. Now, when Harry moved his arm from one side of his body to the other, the wand seemed to turn dramatically. He was close to the cup, there was no doubt about that.

Harry had come up with a plan prior to the task: he was purposefully engaging with the maze's obstacles. Given a choice between two turns, Harry always chose the turn with an obvious creature or trap. Hermione, of course, thought that Harry's plan was crazy, and encouraged Harry to concentrate on survival instead. Draco and Tracey, however, supported Harry's decision; if the maze was supposed to test the champions' abilities, then the path to the cup would be littered with obstacles. A path that was obstacle-free would test nothing other than the champions' footspeed. Of course, there was always the prospect that the empty corridor contained some sort of concealed trap, and if that was true then Harry's plan was completely misguided. But, thus far, the plan had worked well—Harry's wand was moving more dramatically after each obstacle he managed overcome. Until Harry found some reason to abandon the plan, he would keep engaging with the creatures and traps.

And maybe he would find something that would kill the blast-ended skrewt for him. Behind him, Harry was once again able to hear the clattering and banging of the enormous armored… whatever it was. The thing was as ugly as it was persistent, and Harry was furious that Hagrid had done such an exemplary job of growing the damn beast. The noise of the approaching skrewt drowned out the distant cacophony of the marching band that had been hired to play for the crowd.

Harry trotted forward, putting slightly more distance between himself and the skrewt. The stitch in his side had become nothing more than a dull ache, but Harry could feel the stabbing pain hiding just behind his ribs, waiting to burst forth at a moment's notice. This pace would have to do; if the skrewt came any closer, Harry would find some other way to deal with it.

Harry felt a tug at his feet. He glanced down, and saw that vines from the hedge maze were creeping rapidly toward him, entangling his lower limbs. Harry brought himself to an immediate halt; if he moved forward, he would trip, and then he would be in real trouble. Instead, Harry stood in place and stamped his feet up and down. He broke the hold of the smallest vines, and prevented them from dragging him to the ground.

The vibrations from Harry's feet, however, seemed to signal the larger vines that something was nearby. The walls of the hedge began to churn and writhe, and vines as thick as Harry's arm began creeping toward him. And all the while, the sound of the skrewt grew louder.

Harry pointed his wand at the base of the hedge, where the vines were emerging. "Incendio!" A small cylinder of flame shot out of Harry's wand, scorching the base of the vines. The small vines wrapped around Harry's legs immediately released and began to retract, and the larger vines shied away entirely. Harry fired small bursts of flame on alternating sides of his body until he was past the moving hedge, and he silently thanked Hermione for teaching him how to deal with Devil's Snare during their first year at Hogwarts.

As Harry jogged away, he glanced over his shoulder. If he was lucky, the Devil's Snare would catch the slow-moving skrewt. Harry's hopes were quickly dashed; the gouts of fire that the skrewt shot from the ends of its body kept the Devil's Snare at bay, and the enormous bug-thing lumbered through untouched.

Harry renewed the "point me" spell, and found that his corridor led directly toward the Tri-Wizard cup. Unfortunately, the corridor only led toward the cup, not to the cup. At the end of a corridor was a 90-degree left turn. With no other option available, Harry turned left.

Harry's wand spun sharply in his hand, pointing diagonally backwards.

Harry took a step back, and his wand spun sharply again, now pointing directly at the hedge.

Harry smiled. That sort of wand movement could mean only one thing: the Tri-Wizard Cup was on the other side of the hedge. Harry was so close to victory that he could almost taste it. Harry resumed his course, and all the trouble of the maze seemed to fade away. Even the pain in his side seemed dull when compared to the glory of winning the Tri-Wizard Cup.

Harry's focus was far ahead, where the maze turned to the right—that would be the turn that would put Harry on the other side of the hedge and lead to the Cup. Slightly ahead of Harry, on his left, another corridor entered into the hallway. Harry paid the left-hand corridor no attention, until Cedric Diggory burst out of it, eyes focused on the "point me" spell that he, too, had cast on his wand.

Harry let out a shout of surprise, and Diggory looked up. Harry and Cedric stared at each other for several seconds. Diggory seemed to be working through the full import of Harry's presence—Diggory's wand was telling him to turn right, but Harry was standing on Diggory's right. The Tri-Wizard Cup couldn't be in the corridor behind Harry, or Harry would have already seized it and won the tournament. Diggory's only choice was to turn left.

Diggory turned left and broke into a sprint. Harry followed, accelerating as quickly as he could.

On a good day, when Harry was in mid-season quidditch form, he might have been able to keep up with Diggory. But it had not been a good day, and for all his efforts over the last month, Harry was not in mid-season quidditch form. The stitch in Harry's side flared in pain, and Harry stumbled against the hedge, gasping in pain.

Diggory was nearing the end of the corridor. His back was turned, and he was paying Harry no regard. Harry felt his wand hand twitch. It would be so easy. Just a little tripping jinx, followed up by a full-body bind. First year spells. Harry raised his wand… and remembered his promise to Hermione.

If he cast this spell, he would win. But everybody would know how he won; Diggory had made it clear that he no longer held Harry in high esteem, and he wouldn't hesitate to let the whole school know that Harry had jinxed him in the back. Harry could win, and the only thing it would cost him would be his friendship with Hermione.

Harry lowered his wand.

At the end of the hallway, Diggory turned right and rounded the corner of the hedge. Harry could see Diggory's body cast in a blue light—the light of the Tri-Wizard Cup. Diggory gave a shout of excitement and disappeared from view. Harry had lost.

Harry pounded his fist into his thigh. It wasn't fair! Harry deserved to win this. Harry was younger than everybody, and he was only a few seconds slower than Diggory. There's no way that Diggory would have performed as well as Harry, not if he had been Harry's age.

Behind Harry, the blast-ended skrewt clattered around the corner of the hedge—the damned thing was STILL chasing him. If it wasn't likely to explode and take half the maze with it, Harry would have already cursed it into oblivion.

And then Harry realized that he still had a chance to win the cup. Harry turned back to the skrewt and raised his wand.

"Incendio!"

Harry's fireball flew through the air with perfect accuracy, striking the skrewt square on the nearest of its blast-ends. The skrewt exploded in a violent conflagration, and Harry pressed himself into the hedge and closed his eyes, praying that the shrapnel of the skrewt's exoskeleton would pass him by.

After a few seconds, Harry stepped back from the hedge. His ears were ringing from the explosion. Small fires burned here and there in the hedge maze, fueled by the remnants of the skrewt's flammable innards. But Harry's focus was not on any of that. Harry's focus was on the hedge wall itself.

Or, rather, the lack of a wall.

The skrewt's detonation had destroyed the wall at the beginning of the corridor, and Harry could see the blue light the Tri-Wizard Cup cast upon the ground. Harry started to run forward, and the stitch stabbed him in the side. He slowed down and settled for a rapid limp, jerking himself forward as fast as he could.

When Harry passed through the newly-opened hole in the hedge, he found himself standing inside a roughly circular clearing. To Harry's left was another opening, likely the passage from which Cedric would emerge. At the center was the glowing Tri-Wizard Cup, sitting peacefully atop a pedestal. Harry began to limp forward, grinning at the prospect of victory.

When Harry was halfway to the cup, Diggory appeared from the passage on Harry's left. Diggory was running at a full sprint, and Harry saw that it would be a close thing. Harry began to run, ignoring the awful pain in his ribs. Diggory leaned forward, extending his hand, and Harry leaped at the cup, headfirst, hands outstretched, grasping for the handle.

Harry and Diggory struck the cup at the same time. The impact flung their bodies akimbo and knocked the cup off its pedestal, but neither boy released his grip on the cup.

Harry looked up from the ground, and caught Diggory's eye. "Did we just tie?"

"A victory for Hogwarts, at least," Cedric said with a smile.

Harry smiled back, but the grin was quickly wiped from his face. He was being pulled, yanked away, jerked at the very center of his being, as if by a giant hook somewhere behind his navel. Harry felt as if he were thrown through the air, spinning up and away from the center of the maze.

*!*!*!*!*!*

Harry landed heavily on the ground, and his breath left him in a giant woosh. He was somewhere. Somewhere strange. Somewhere… carpeted?

Harry brought himself to his hands and knees and immediately drew his wand. A glance around revealed that he was in some sort of abandoned house. It looked as if it had been empty for some time. There was dust on all the furniture, including the couch which stood in the center of the room. The walls were charred, as if there had been a great fire, once upon a time. On one wall was an enormous brick fireplace, and near it, in the corner of the room, there was a hole in the ceiling about the size of a quaffle. The hole was large enough that Harry could just barely catch a glimpse of the room upstairs, which seemed to be painted with pastel blue paint. One curtained window looked out on the yard, allowing a small amount of moonlight into the room.

"Where are we?"

Harry spun and extended his wand. Cedric Diggory was pulling himself off the ground.

"It got you, too?" Harry asked.

"I guess it did," Diggory said. "Whatever 'it' was."

"I think it was a portkey," Harry said. "Somebody charmed the Tri-Wizard Cup into a portkey."

"Who would do that? And why send us here?"

"I told you that I didn't enter my name in the Goblet," Harry said. "Whoever did was probably trying to kill me."

"Right. Wands out, then. And I reckon we should just get out of here." Diggory drew his wand and slowly began to move toward the house's front door. Harry followed him, nervously glancing around the room.

"If you see a rat, kill it," Harry said suddenly.

"A rat?"

"Yes. Kill it immediately."

Diggory reached the door. He grabbed the knob, but it refused to turn.

Harry stepped forward. "Alohomora," Harry incanted, point his wand at the door. The charm struck the lock, but the door handle still refused to budge.

"Looks like we're stuck," Diggory said.

"Try the window," Harry ordered. Harry didn't like this house… it made him uneasy. He was getting the strangest feeling, as if he had seen this place before. As if he had been here before.

As Harry and Diggory moved to the window, there was a loud creak upstairs. Harry's wand was immediately trained upon the stairwell, and Diggory's quickly followed. They stayed there, wands aimed into the darkness, but there was no movement.

"The window," Harry whispered.

Diggory pushed and pulled at the window, but it, too, refused to open. Diggory cast an unlocking charm, an unsticking charm, and finally a bludgeoning charm. The window remained closed and whole. Through the window, Harry could see an overgrown lawn and hedges, and, near the road, a thickly-rusted gate.

"Whoever brought us here wants us to stay," Diggory said.

There was another creak upstairs, and both boys turned to the stairwell. Once again, nobody emerged. After a moment, Diggory began to move around the room, opening drawers in end tables.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Looking for something to tell us where we are. A name, an address… anything."

"Don't let your guard down," Harry said.

As Diggory moved around the room, Harry investigated the fireplace. Maybe there was some old floo powder that the former owners had left behind.

Harry checked around the fireplace, but there was nothing to be found. At the opposite end of the mantle was one lonely picture frame, turned face down. The dust on the mantle was as thick as everywhere else, but the picture was cleaner, as if it had recently been moved. Harry moved toward the picture, curiosity piqued. On a whim, Harry ran his hand down the mantle as he passed, collecting the dust. He threw the handful in the fire, hoping that some residual floo powder might cause green flames to burst to life, but he had no such luck.

There was a flicker of motion at the corner of Harry's vision. Harry spun, wand drawn, but there was nothing to be seen—just the hole in the ceiling.

Harry sighed and wiped his eyes. He was so keyed up that his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe this wasn't some nefarious plot. Maybe the portkey was supposed to return Diggory and Harry to the front of the maze, and it had simply malfunctioned. For all Harry knew, they were in Hogsmeade, only a stone's throw from Hogwarts.

Diggory probably had the right idea. Finding out where they were would tell them a lot about whether or not they were in danger. Harry reached over and turned the picture frame face up—at the very least, the motion (or lack thereof) would tell Harry whether he was in a muggle or wizard home.

Harry stared at the picture, stunned into silence.

"What do you have there?" Diggory asked. He began to walk across the room, toward Harry.

"I think I know where we are," Harry said. He blinked, certain that he must be imagining things, but the picture remained the same. It was a wizard's photo, showing a beautiful redheaded woman standing next to a tall man with messy dark hair and glasses. The couple smiled, and between them, they held an infant boy. The child had dark hair, just like his father, and when the boy opened his eyes they were strikingly green.

"I think I'm home," Harry said.

There was a rustle from behind Harry and Cedric. The boys turned, but their reactions were slowed by the distraction of the picture. Harry felt as if he was trapped in a bad dream—he knew what was about to happen, and he was trying to turn and raise his wand, trying to stop it, but his body wouldn't spin, his arm wouldn't lift, his mouth wouldn't form the words he needed. Harry's head turned around just in time to see Peter Pettigrew rearing up from behind the couch, wand snapping forward.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry reached for Diggory, trying to pull him out of the way, but the older boy pushed back, thrusting Harry away from the spell. Harry tumbled backward and fell to the ground, helplessly watching as Diggory was struck in the chest by the green bolt of energy. The spell's impact lit the room with a burst of emerald light, and Harry could see Cedric's eyes as they opened wide in surprise. Then, as the flash of green faded, Cedric's body crumpled lifelessly to the ground. Harry was unable to look away from Credic's face and the lifeless eyes that stared emptily at Harry's own.

"Incarcerous!"

Harry felt chains wrap tightly around his arms, and Harry realized that he had wasted his only opportunity to engage Pettigrew in a duel. He thrashed his body to one side, trying to bring his wand to bear, but his limited range of motion would not allow it. Pettigrew crossed the room and plucked Harry's wand away.

The rat-faced wizard walked around Harry's body and leaned down to look Harry directly in the eyes. Harry shied away; he had not seen it before, in the half-light and sudden chaos of the duel, but Pettigrew's face was grotesquely deformed. It was as if Pettigrew's skin had melted half-off and had never been put properly back in its place. His eye sockets were uneven and overlarge, and Harry wasn't sure if Pettigrew had eyelids at all. Pettigrew's lips had receded, and his already pronounced front teeth appeared even more vicious and ratlike. Pettigrews ears were misshapen lumps; his hair grew only in patches. If it had not been for Pettigrew's voice, Harry would not have recognized him at all.

"This is what you did to me," Pettigrew snapped. "I've lived like this for a year, slinking through sewers and shadows. And now I finally have you, helpless and at my mercy."

"Wormtail, calm yourself." The strange voice came from the second floor, and Pettigrew winced. "Bring our guest upstairs, please. The time has come for my return."

Pettigrew stood. "Mobilcorpus." Harry rose into the air and floated ahead of Pettigrew, up the stairs, leaving Cedric Diggory's body cold and alone.

A/N: Almost done with this book, everybody! Four chapters left to post. Now's the time to put me in your Author Alert if you want to be sure to get a notification when the next book begins to post.