The three tumbled onto the ground, and in the chaos Snape was knocked several paces away. The shock of the transport hummed in his ears, and he could hear that people were talking but couldn't understand what was said. But his eyes took on what he was seeing in a flash – the presence of a diminished Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, and the clear intention to kill the cowering Hufflepuff boy, probably because he was there.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape called out as he smoothly drew his wand and aimed it at the young Hogwarts champion.

The spell caught the boy, unwanding him as it threw him ten meters, slamming him against a tree. Half of a breath later the green, sickly light of an Avada Kadavra from Pettigrew's wand struck the ground where the boy had been.

He saw Harry's eyes grow large and scared, and he looked at Peter Pettigrew and the small form of Voldemort. He saw the cauldron and suddenly the pieces fit together. Bone of the father, unknowingly taken; flesh of the servant, willingly given; blood of an enemy unwilling taken . . . and Snape saw what was going to happen. And he knew why the Dark Lord wanted Potter – he was hoping that with some of his blood he would be able to defeat the lad. And, with the certainty born of the intuitive potions master that he was, he also knew that it wouldn't work. If anything, using Harry's blood would only strengthen his mother's spell. So how to get out of it?

"Master," Snape acknowledged, kneeling before the infantile form of the Dark Lord. "I have disabled the whelp for you. I am gratified to learn of your return."

"Severus, my faithful servant," Voldemort hissed. "You shall bear witness to my regeneration."

"Of course, my Lord," Snape answered. He felt a momentary pang as he realized that Harry saw his abject humiliation. But he couldn't worry about that now – now he had to play a part.

He watched as Peter Pettigrew secured Harry with the tombstone. The boy turned wide eyes on Snape, and Snape hoped that the boy realized the subterfuge he would have to accomplish to make this work.

"May I be of assistance, my master?" Snape asked.

"Pettigrew will do best for the primary ingredient needed from a servant," Voldemort answered. "I would not have you subject to . . . inconvenient questions if you are to remain my spy."

"I am grateful, my master."

"But you were always the best at potions," Snape continued. "Could you perhaps check to make sure our base is correctly made?"

"Of course, my master," Snape nodded. "And I would assume that you have the final ingredients at hand?"

"Of course," Peter snapped. "We have been planning this for a long time."

"Then allow me to assist," Snape said, going to his feet and nearing the cauldron. "I will see if it's ready for use."

Snape seemed calm outwardly, but inside his mind was racing. Did he want to blow his cover or was it more useful to have him continue as a spy? Could he kill Voldemort here now with doing something to the potion or would he be able to come back as he continued being able to do? His ability to continue to come back made Snape hesitate – surely it was better to deal with this incarnation of him then to wait for him to come back another way?

But, given that he would rather deal with Voldemort with this incarnation and to also remain a spy, was there anything he could do to the potion to weaken him in a subtle way? He looked in the cauldron, and had to admire Pettigrew's brewing. The boy had barely managed an OWL in potions, and here he was brewing a new body for the Dark Lord.

"Does it look well-brewed?" the Voldemort thing asked him.

"You must let me test it, my Lord," Snape him. "Give me a few moments."

"I followed all of the directions," Pettigrew sniveled.

Snape inspected the potion, smelling it, dipping a finger into it, and even putting the smallest bit on his tongue.

"It could be strengthened with a bit of asphodel," Snape told him. "And nettle will help bind you more firmly to your new body." Firm enough to kill, Snape added nearly subconsciously.

"Do you have those with you?" Voldemort asked him.

"Of course, master," Snape answered, pulling his potions kit from his robe pocket and unshrinking it. "I believe that some Acromantula saliva might also make you more impervious to outside forces." Or make your core unstable, Snape thought to himself, although very quietly so nobody could pry that thought from his mind.

Snape added the ingredients, and tried to think if there were any other things he could add to subtly weaken Voldemort.

"Enough!" Voldemort cried. "It is time to add the bone."

"I can do this, milord," Snape told him. "Perhaps Pettigrew can focus on his donation to this potion."

"Pettigrew can do the bone," Voldemort told him, weakness creeping into his venomous voice. "You collect the blood from my unwilling enemy."

Snape nodded, saying, "Yes, master," as he turned towards where Harry was trapped.

"Bastard," Harry spat at him, and Snape could see that he'd been crying. "Did you kill Cedric?"

"Silence, brat," Snape told him, pulling a long thin knife out of his pocket and looking the boy fully in the face. "The Dark Lord needs your blood, unwillingly given in order to regenerate. It is my duty to get that for him."

With great relief, Snape saw the understanding creep into Harry's eyes. The boy understood. Snape could almost believe that this boy should have been in Slytherin.

"Betrayer!" he yelled at Snape with passion. "I always knew you were evil!"

"Hold out your arm," Snape directed coldly. "If you do not, I will spell you still."

"Take my blood," Harry whispered, barely audible. "I give it to you freely."

Snape nodded, taking the knife and drawing it shallowly across Harry's forearm. Harry cried out dramatically, even though Snape wordlessly healed the cut as soon as the knife drew across his skin.

Taking the bloody knife, Snape turned back to the potion and added the drops of blood. He hoped that his efforts would be enough.

Pettigrew drew his knife to make his sacrifice, and Harry looked away as he realized the man intended to cut off his hand. Fire exploded from the cauldron as Pettigrew's donation splashed into the pot, and Snape shielded his face as the force of the explosion knocked him back. He found himself thrown towards Harry, and though his instincts told him to shield the boy his head told him that the boy was far enough away. Would his interference have any affect on the resurrection? Would it stop it, or just weaken his new form?

With a billow of black potion that reminded Harry of the smell of what Neville often did in potions, he saw Snape and Pettigrew being thrown back. At first Harry had felt betrayed by the Potions Master, but then he suddenly realized the subterfuge that the man must be doing. He knew Snape often played a part for others, and he suspected that he was doing that again now. There was a reason that Dumbledore trusted the man so thoroughly, and Harry began to trust him too.

The smoke cleared, and Harry could see the form of Voldemort rise from the smoke. His movements seemed jerky and uncertain, as if his body didn't fit properly.

"Are you well, milord?" Snape asked him softly. "Truly, you are magnificent to behold."

"My body is . . . working," Voldemort replied. "But it is . . . odd."

"Master," Pettigrew held up his wand. Blood dripped down his body from the bloody stump he'd tucked under his armpit. "Master, your wand."

Voldemort took the wand, feeling the heft in his hand. Why did it feel so odd?

"Expelliarmus!" erupted from behind Harry, and his mouth gaped as he realized that Cedric had regained consciousness and was actually trying to attack Voldemort.

"No!" Harry yelled. "Cedric, run away!"

Snape pulled out his wand to do what he had done last time, but he wasn't able to beat Voldemort's Avada Kadavra spell fired right at him. The sick green light flashed, filling the graveyard. Snape's Expelliarmus hit the already dead body of Cedric Diggory, this time not in time to knock him out of the way of the killing curse. Harry watched the boy's inert body fall to the ground, and Harry couldn't tell if it was Cedric or himself screaming. In his panic Harry had somehow been able to work his way free from the restraints and drew his wand.

Snape saw it happen, but could do little to stop it. Harry aimed at Voldemort, and Voldemort matched the spell. The cracking light from both of their spells met, and Harry's began to slowly overcome the light from Voldemort's wand.

"No!" Voldemort yelled, realizing Harry's strength compared to his own. "No!"

As Harry's wand increased in strength, ghosts of spells started to come out of Voldemort's wand. First, he saw the silvery presence of Cedric come beside him.

"Harry, take my body back to my father," Cedric told him. "And tell him I died fighting the Dark Lord."

"I will," Harry promised.

"And don't feel guilty," he told Harry in a mock stern voice. "I'm the one that thought you needed protection, and you're doing well enough on your own."

"Thank you," Harry breathed, putting more power into his wand.

Cedric faded, but there were others coming out of the wand, most of whom Harry didn't recognize. Finally, Voldemort gave a push with all his strength, which interrupted the stream long enough for him to grab ahold of Pettigrew and then apparate. There was a loud clap, and then suddenly the dark mist began to clear. Harry found himself staring into the dark eyes of the Potion Master, who suddenly seemed concerned.

"Are you all right, Harry?" he asked firmly. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt," Harry answered, numbly holding his wand in shock. "What happened?"

"The Dark Lord knows you're more powerful than he is," Snape acknowledged. "He's left to lick his wounds."

"Are you his or are you Dumbledore's?" Harry asked simply, looking up at Snape with trust.

Snape didn't know quite what to do with that trust. He knew that Harry would believe whatever he told him at that moment, there had been too much happening to lie. And he found himself reluctant to lie to this young Gryffindor.

"I am Dumbledore's man," Snape answered quietly. "But I pretend to help Voldemort in order to be a spy."

"That's what I thought," Harry nodded, unconcerned. "What did you do to his potion?"

"Altered it slightly to weaken him," Snape answered. "But your understanding and giving your blood willingly probably did the most damage. I'm not sure exactly what affects it will have on his health, but I am assuming that it will make him weaker if not unable to function altogether."

"That was smart," Harry nodded, still numb. "How did you get through?"

"I realized that it was a trap," Snape answered carefully. "I tried to stop you from touching it, but I was too late."

"And now Cedric is dead," Harry said simply, looking at the body of his fellow student.

"It's not your fault, Harry," Snape told him gently. "Cedric died a hero, trying to save you. This is the fault of the Dark Lord."

Harry nodded, not completely believing him, but not able to argue. "He wanted me to take his body back to his father."

"The cup came with you," Snape observed. "If you take it back touching Cedric it will take you both."

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"I think it's best if my part isn't known," Snape answered. "When you get back, when they start demanding answers, simply swoon a bit. You will be taken to Poppy, and then tell her that you need to speak to Dumbledore. He will sort out everything from there."

"I will," Harry promised. "But could you . . . come and see me after?"

"I will," Snape promised, though he had no idea why Harry would want him as a visitor. "And I will answer any other questions you have at that point. It is not safe for you to be here, Harry. You need to go back."

Harry nodded numbly, walked over to Cedric's body and spelled it quietly over to where the cup had fallen. With tears forming in his eye, he thought about learning that spell Wingardium Leviosa with Hermione and Ron. Would Hogwarts ever be the same again?

And with that, he touched Cedric's still warm body and then touched the cup, and he was yanked out of that small graveyard and back into the screaming insanity that had everyone cheering for their new Triwizard champion. Harry felt as if he was merely observing as his body yelled for help, sobbing and screaming. He felt it as the tenor of the crowd changed, and soon there were the robes of wizards and witches surrounding him, with hands helping ease him away from Cedric's body. He felt the firm hands of whom he later assumed was his head of house easing him away. He wasn't sure if she had cast a spell on him or not, but he found the world around him growing dark, and he knew nothing more until he woke in the infirmary the next morning.

AN: There will be a bit of an epilogue, but we are drawing to the end of the tale of the Boomslang Thief. I am sorry that I had to allow Cedric's death, I tried really hard to avoid it. But, it would affect so much more if he hadn't died. I know that preventing Cedric's death was part of the plot of "The Cursed Child," which I haven't read, but I agree that it would be problematic for him not to die. His death changes everything – it makes Voldemort's evil much more present for Harry, and it becomes a counterpoint to the ministry's sticking their fingers in their ears and humming approach to Voldemort's resurrection. I am kicking around the idea of a sequel which would probably have to do with Umbridge's murder, but we'll see how it goes. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think.