The Graveyard

The crowd murmured amongst themselves as they waited for Alastor to emerge from the maze. He had been in there for almost twenty minutes now, and Albus was beginning to grow concerned.

He'd heard the scream of the French champion, and all had seen the sparks of distress being sent up.

"I cannot wait any longer," Madame Maxime declared as she stood, drawing her wand as she made to enter the maze herself.

Albus placed a hand on her forearm as a disturbance came from the entrance, and a dishevelled Alastor exited, levitating three of the champions.

"What happened?" the headmaster questioned as he approached.

Alastor shook his grizzled head.

"I don't know," he growled. "I found Delacour and Diggory unconscious, and Krum took a while to find. He'd been swallowed up by one of the hedges."

"Harry?"

"Is he not out?" Alastor asked worriedly. "The cup is gone, Albus."

He turned sharply towards the maze.

"Poppy, please tend to the other champions," he instructed. "Severus, when they are able, I would like to know what has happened. I fear that time is indeed of the essence."

"Would you like me to come with you?" Minerva asked.

Albus nodded gratefully.

"Aye, I'll come too," Alastor offered.

"No, I would have you inform the aurors of what has happened. If Mr Potter took the cup, it should have brought him before us. Come, Minerva."

With his wand in hand, Albus entered the maze, a feeling of trepidation having truly set in. Something was sorely amiss and he needed to understand just what had happened in the past moments.

"Merlin," Minerva whispered as they began making their way through the maze. "Potter?"

Albus nodded.

"He was in quite the rush," he murmured.

The magic that permeated the air was cast with a potent mix of anger and anguish. Something had both terrified and infuriated the boy in equal measures, and the results was a path of destruction he had carved through everything he'd encountered.

What could have caused such a reaction, Albus did not know, but what became clear the further into the maze they travelled, was that those feelings had not abated, even when he'd reached where the cup had been resting.

"A portkey," Albus deduced, the feeling of Harry having been torn away from here still prevalent.

"But where has it taken him?"

Albus could only shake his head.

"I do not know, Minerva. Fawkes?"

The phoenix appeared with a gentle trill, circling above the Professors.

"Can you find Harry, Fawkes?"

The bird remained silent for a moment, and only the sound of beatings wings could be heard, coupled with the uneven breathing of Albus and Minerva. Eventually, Fawkes released a mournful cry and Albus swallowed deeply.

"Wherever he is, it has been hidden well."

"What are we to do, Albus?"

The headmaster frowned thoughtfully, doing his utmost to ignore his own panic.

"We hope, Minerva," he replied helplessly. "We hope."

(Break)

"What do you think is happening?" Hermione asked as Professor Dumbledore exited the maze.

Even from this far away, he looked concerned, and as he began speaking with the other judges, they too appeared to be unsettled.

"More importantly, where's Harry?" one of the twins asked.

That very question proved to be too much for Katie, and she vaulted over the railing and began sprinting towards where Dumbledore and the others had gathered.

"Come on," the other twin urged as Angelina and Alicia attempted to follow.

Hermione followed with Ron, and when they reached the judges, Katie was being led to the table and helped into a seat by Professor Moody.

"Do you not think it best to put an end to this, Albus?" Karkaroff asked.

"No," Dumbledore said firmly. "I wish for everyone to remain within the stadium. "Kingsley, can you secure the exits."

A large, dark-skinned man garbed in auror robes nodded and gestured for a woman with pink hair to follow.

"Professor, what's happening?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore looked towards her; his expression quite thunderous though marred with worry.

"We do not know," he said sharply. "Please, return to your seats."

Even Fred and George complied without question, and the group did as they were bid, minus Katie who was still being comforted by Professor Moody.

"Something's happened to Harry," Angelina murmured. "That's why he isn't here."

Hermione had reached the same conclusion, but what made the dread she felt only worse was that Harry was not here. Professor McGonagall was in the maze, but Madam Pomfrey had not been sent in.

To Hermione, that meant only one thing.

Harry wasn't in the maze at all.

(Break)

It was the feeling of something sharp being dragged through the flesh of the underside of his forearm that brought Harry round, and he winced as he opened his eyes, momentarily confused as to how he had ended up here.

As his mind began to clear, he realised that he was tied to a large slab of rock, overlooking what appeared to be a graveyard.

It was not this, however, that caught his attention.

In the very centre, in a clearing that had been made stood an enormous cauldron, encrusted with hundreds of stones that twinkled in the flames and the moonlight above.

"Hold still!" a somewhat timid voice instructed.

Harry looked down to see a vial being pressed against the fresh wound his captor had made and his eyes narrowed as he took in the man's features.

"Pettigrew," he said in realisation.

He'd recognise the visage of the stout man anywhere, even if the past decade and a half had not been kind to him. Having learned of Sirius's innocence, Harry had searched for any photos of Wormtail amongst those that Hagrid had gifted him, and now, here he stood, the coward who had betrayed his parents.

Harry leered at him and Pettigrew did his best to ignore it.

"Wormtail," he called after the man had turned away. "If I'm going to die here, I'll be taking you with me, you fat little bastard!"

Pettigrew raised his chin defiantly.

"The only person that will die here is you."

Harry chuckled humourlessly.

"We will see," he declared. "Don't tell me you can't feel it."

"Feel what?"

"That cold shiver down your spine," Harry goaded. "You can feel it all around you, just as I can. Do you want to know what it is?"

"WORMTAIL, WHAT IS THE REASON FOR YOUR DELAY?"

"I'm coming, M-my L-Lord."

Harry's gaze shifted past the rotund man and to what appeared to be a discarded pile of robes on the ground near the cauldron.

"Hurry!" the same voice wheezed.

It had been almost three years ago that Harry had heard it, but there was no mistaking whom it belonged to.

Voldemort.

Since being roused, Harry felt the first real sense of dread wash over him.

Whatever was going to happen here was going to be neither good, nor pleasant for him, and as he fought against the bindings that held him tightly, he looked on as Pettigrew dumped something resembling a human baby into the cauldron.

Harry knew he needed to free himself.

He did not know what Pettigrew's intention was, but he was in no doubt that being tied to what he could only assume to be a monument of sorts would not serve him well.

It did come to his mind that he was unarmed, but he also remembered the note he had received before being brought here.

The cup.

If the person who had orchestrated this was being truthful, it would take him back to Hogwarts. But where was it?

His attempts to break free were fruitless, so he instead turned towards locating his one chance of freedom. From his position, however, he could not see it.

"Come on," he whispered, annoyed at himself that he had found himself here to begin with.

Harry needed to escape. Katie was in danger, and he could only imagine what Voldemort would do to him given the chance.

Nonetheless, it was no use.

He'd begun reading theories on wandless magic, but not practicing it. He wasn't even sure if any type of cutting curse was possible.

The outlook was poor at best, and Harry wracked his brain for anything he could use.

Even the nervousness of the trembling Pettigrew did little to assuage his concerns, but he watched as the man cleared his throat.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

He levitated a chunk of bone from nearby the cauldron and dropped it in, eliciting a frown from Harry who immediately realised what was happening.

Pettigrew was conducting a ritual of sorts.

"F-flesh of the servant, w-willingly g-given, you will revive your m-master," he whimpered.

Harry looked on with morbid curiosity as Wormtail drew a knife from within his robes and lopped off his own hand, adding it to the mix.

It was nauseating to watch, but above all else, Harry hoped the man was experiencing unending agony. He even smirked as his parents' betrayer collapsed to the floor briefly, clutching at the bleeding stump.

Much to his chagrin, he did manage to stand again and Harry's jaw tightened as he picked up the vial of blood he had stolen from him.

He wanted nothing more than to say or do anything to interfere with what was occurring, but it would be foolish to do so. Not only could Voldemort's efforts be successful, but the magic also involved could punish Harry for the attempted sabotage.

No, he did not know enough about the magic being used to risk it. The only thing worse than the prospect of Voldemort being reborn was having to face him with no means of defence.

It was then he realised just how he may find a way to escape. It was indeed a longshot, and it could not be done unscathed.

Nevertheless, he had to make it back to Hogwarts. The mere thought of what Katie could be enduring was worse than what may or may not happen when the ritual was complete, but he intended on keeping his promise.

If the opportunity arose, he would rid the world of Peter Pettigrew.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Wormtail continued to tremble, pouring the contents of the vial into the cauldron before collapsing in a heap once more. He truly was a pathetic specimen.

Harry looked on with bated breath as a plume of smoke began billowing from the large vessel, and a hissing sound began before it cracked, spilling to concoction within.

It took some time to clear, and when it did, Harry could see a tall, thin silhouette rise from the ground. All he could do was accept what had transpired.

Lord Voldemort had indeed returned.

"Robe me," a voice commanded.

Pettigrew snivelled as he hoisted the bundle of cloth from the floor and fumbled as he placed them around the shoulders of his master.

"Wand."

A bone-white length of wood was offered, and a set of spindly fingers wrapped around the shaft. Voldemort sighed contentedly as a burst of crimson sparks erupted from the tips.

"My Lord, you promised," Pettigrew grovelled.

The Dark Lord looked towards the man and Harry could sense the distaste he felt for him.

"Your arm, Wormtail."

"Thank you, My Lord," Pettigrew whimpered.

"Your other arm!"

Wormtail froze, crying out in pain as his uninjured arm was snatched by Voldemort who inspected the inside of his forearm.

"It is as clear now as ever," he declared. "Let us see. Let us see who remains loyal."

He pressed a long, white finger to the mark on Pettigrew's arm before allowing him to fall to the ground once more. Voldemort said nothing else, not even acknowledging Harry's presence as his gaze swept around the graveyard.

Only a moment later, the swishing of cloaks could be heard as the first of the Death Eaters arrived, followed by more and more until a dozen or so masked men and women stood before the man they believed to have perished.

"Thirteen years," Voldemort said disdainfully. "Thirteen long years, and yet, you answer my call as though no time has passed at all."

The Death Eaters said nothing, each of them in a state of shock marred by the fear permeating around them. Harry could sense it, as could Voldemort who smirked triumphantly.

"My Lord, if there was even a whisper of your survival…"

"Be quiet, Lucius!" Voldemort spat.

Harry's jaw tightened as he recognised the voice, and he wondered just how many others that had ambushed him were here.

All of them, most likely.

"What say you, Nott?" the Dark Lord questioned, addressing another of the masked figures.

The man remained silent for a moment, evidently choosing his words carefully.

"As ever, I am ready to serve."

Nott.

He had been there the night of the final.

Voldemort chuckled.

"Ever the diplomat," he said with a bow. "Now, there are many who are missing. They shall be freed soon enough. Of course, there are those we have lost along the way, and there is one other who will join us. He is currently serving me right under the nose of the old fool."

The Death Eaters began murmuring amongst themselves, some questioning what their master was referring to, others making disparaging comments about Dumbledore.

"And where would we be now without our guest of honour," Voldemort continued, turning to face Harry who could not help but flinch at the appearance of the man.

The Dark Lord's eyes and nose seemed to have taken on a serpentine quality. Both slits with the former being a crimson colour. His lips were as pale as his skin, and Voldemort was entirely hairless.

Were it not for the severity of the situation and the murderous expression, perhaps it would be a rather humorous transformation, but there was nothing amusing about this.

Voldemort approached Harry, pausing only a foot away before circling him, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Harry Potter," he whispered.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, but he would show no fear to Voldemort. The man thrived on seeing people cower before him, and Harry would not be one of them.

"You have carved quite the reputation for yourself," the Dark Lord continued. "I must say, I am impressed with your performance in the tournament, and your escapades outside of it. Macnair was not a weakling."

"No, but he was a coward, just like the rest of that lot," Harry replied, nodding towards the gathered Death Eaters.

"Cowards?" Voldemort questioned.

"What else would you call hiding behind masks and attacking a fourteen-year-old? That's almost as cowardly as attacking a baby who could barely stand on his own two legs. But that's you lot all over, isn't it? You can't fight fairly because you'd get your balls kicked into your throat."

The Death Eaters hissed their displeasure, but Voldemort did not react. He simply held his hand up to silence his followers.

"You mistake cowardice for cunning," he replied.

Harry shrugged.

"If that makes you feel better about being a coward."

Voldemort's slitted nostrils flared.

It was beginning to work.

Harry would not profess to know all he wished about his foe, but what he had learned was that Voldemort had an ego, and if prodded in the right way, he could perhaps force the man to make an error that would benefit him.

"You are rather obstinate for someone so close to death."

"I'm not afraid of death."

Voldemort eyed him speculatively.

"We will see."

He turned back towards the Death Eaters and clasped his hands together.

"I made a mistake," he admitted. "In my haste, I ignored a fundamental rule of the magicks of old, and I paid for it dearly. The boy was protected, but now, that is no longer so. I could not hope to harm Harry Potter that night. That has been rectified. You will all witness the demise of this boy, and I will hear no more doubt from any of you."

The Death Eaters cheered jubilantly, and Harry laughed.

Voldemort's narrowed gaze snapped towards him.

"I see you do not understand the gravity of the situation," he sighed disappointedly.

"I see that you do not understand your own dilemma," Harry retorted.

"My dilemma? It is not I tied to a stone only moments from death."

"And that is the problem," Harry returned evenly. "I am tied to a stone. Anyone can kill someone who is unarmed. Do you really think you will earn their respect by killing me like this, Tom?"

"You dare speak that name?" Voldemort hissed. "CRUCIO!"

The pain that tore through Harry was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Even the sheer agony of what had happened to him in the lake paled in comparison to the Cruciatus Curse.

He couldn't be certain how long he was held under it, but when Voldemort relented, Harry could taste blood in his mouth and his body shook uncontrollably.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Harry?" Voldemort cooed. "I don't suppose you wish for me to do that again, do you?"

Harry defiantly spat a glob of viscous, crimson liquid at the man's feet.

"You're only proving my point," he wheezed. "You're scared to face me."

Voldemort laughed, followed by the gathered Death Eaters.

"You truly believe I fear you?" he asked in disbelief. "You are out of your depth, boy."

"And you will have to look yourself in the mirror knowing you could not beat me, and your followers will always question whether you are as powerful as you claim to be. You say I got lucky. I say that you've not got the stones to find out if what happened that night was a fluke. Go ahead and kill me where I am if you really are as cowardly as you have shown yourself to be."

By now, Voldemort's jaw had clenched so tightly, Harry thought his teeth would break under the strain.

Perhaps it was not so wise to goad the man, but it was necessary.

After a moment, the Dark Lord relaxed and walked casually back towards the Death Eaters who had watched the back and forth with interest.

"My Lord do not listen to him," one of them urged.

It was another voice that Harry recognised.

"He is right, is he not, Avery?" Voldemort snapped. "I can sense the doubt coming from all of you. Allow me to set your minds at ease. Wormtail, untie the boy and return his wand."

Pettigrew was still whimpering on the floor, and Voldemort growled frustratedly.

Pointing his wand at the stump the stout man was clutching, he fashioned something of a metallic prosthetic to replace the flesh Wormtail had sacrificed for the ritual.

The sobbing stopped immediately and Voldemort nodded to where Harry was tied.

"My Lord, do you think this is wise?" Lucius Malfoy asked worriedly.

"Quiet, Lucius," Voldemort growled, pacing back and forth irritably.

Even Harry could now feel the doubt of the Death Eaters, and as Wormtail went about the task of cutting the ropes that bound him with the same knife he'd used to draw his blood, Harry readied himself.

Peter dropped the wand at Harry's feet as he fell into a heap on the ground, and he wasted no time in retrieving it.

"Now, do you have experience in due…"

Voldemort's query was cut off as Harry aimed a pair of spells at the retreating Wormtail. The man screamed as both impacted against him; the first a particularly vicious rupturing curse, and the second a bonebreaker.

The snapping of his spine was like music to Harry's ears, but he did not have time to relish in Pettigrew's suffering. The man would be dead in a matter of moments, but until his final breath, it would be excruciating.

Voldemort replied immediately, screeching in fury as he unleashed a barrage of spells that saw Harry needing to duck for cover behind the stone he had been tied to.

It was quickly reduced to rubble with a blasting curse and the shards tore through his robes and skin.

He managed to roll away for only a brief reprieve before he needed to move again.

Voldemort's attack was relentless as he fired spell after spell towards him, not allowing Harry to catch his breath.

What he learned was that the Dark Lord's speed was something to behold, and the power behind his spells was like nothing Harry had ever witnessed. The air around him positively reeked of the man's magic, and the graveyard looked as though the mightiest of storms had torn through it in only a matter of moments.

As equally concerning was the amount of control Voldemort had mastered throughout his life. The Death Eater's had not moved an inch since the fighting began and Harry began to realise just how far he had yet had to go.

Still, tonight was not about defeating the Dark Lord. As much as he wished for this phase of his life to be over, he was not ready.

No, tonight, he needed to escape the clutches of the man, and he knew he would be lucky to manage that.

Trying his luck, he ducked behind another of the gravestones and attempted to apparate away, to no avail. Evidently, Voldemort had taken no chances this evening, and Harry cursed as a shockwave from another spell sent him skidding across the torn-up ground.

No, this wouldn't do.

If he continued in such a vain, Voldemort would fall into a comfortable rhythm and Harry could not allow that. As much as he knew he needed to escape, he could not remain idle.

"Come Death, come," he whispered, avoiding a sickly yellow curse, and raising his own wand in retaliation.

A trio of spells erupted from the end, only for Voldemort to flick each of them aside as though they were but a minor inconvenience.

"That is better," the Dark Lord declared with a smirk. "Come along, Harry. Let me see the best you have to offer."

The man lowered his wand and held his arms out to the side, baiting Harry to strike.

Gritting his teeth, Harry complied, unleashing a barrage of his own served to distract his foe, even if it was only for a second.

"Crucio!"

Voldemort's smile faltered as he barely stepped out of the path of the curse and he nodded.

"I've heard you are not averse to delving into the Dark Arts," he said thoughtfully. "My, what would Dumbledore say about his saviour if he could see you now?"

Harry shrugged.

"I'm not Dumbledore," he returned simply. "I'm not my parents nor anyone else you and that lot have murdered. Ask Malfoy what happened when he and his friends tried to kill me at the World Cup. They got me, but I'm still here. Death is not done with me yet, but all of your days are numbered. Don't tell me you can't feel it, the coldness in the air around us. Pettigrew's soul will be taken soon enough, and before we are done, others will join him."

Voldemort frowned at Harry.

"There will only be one other!"

Harry was ready this time, and he diverted the oncoming spell into the cluster of Death Eaters. Most managed to avoid or shield against it, but one was not so fortunate.

The man tore off his mask, and Harry looked on with morbid fascination as the skin on his face began to drip like hot wax from a candle. Crabbe's screams filled the air as his brethren broke apart to take cover, and Harry immediately went back to work.

Chaos would be his ally with being so outclassed and outnumbered, but he still needed to locate the cup.

"Crucio!"

He managed to avoid being subjected to torture once more, but he stepped directly into the path of a pair of cutting curses, one opening a deep gash on his left shoulder and the other a similar wound across his thigh.

Harry cursed himself for being led so easily, and as he felt the warm blood trickle from each of the wounds, he realised he'd gotten lucky.

There were certainly much worse curses he could have been hit by.

Nonetheless, although he stumbled, his movement continued and he again returned fire with a piercing hex, a blood-boiling curse, and ended the sequence with two blasting curses and a particularly tricky shredding curse.

That was one he had learned from the books Nicholas had gifted him and would give anyone pause in their desire to continue fighting.

He had tested it on a training dummy, and the wooden figure had looked as though it had been hacked at with a blunt blade.

Voldemort, however, was evidently familiar with it, and he did not appreciate such a spell being used against him. He roared in fury as he retaliated, and Harry was forced to shield against the plethora of spells sent his way, the force of the blows sending him backwards inch by inch.

As well as he believed he was doing, there was no doubt in his mind that he was not ready to face the Dark Lord. Harry not only lacked experience, but Tom was faster, and more powerful.

The one saving grace was that the man seemed to focus only on using the Dark Arts. Whether this was the norm, Harry didn't know, and if truth be told, he was not so keen on seeing what the man could do should he decide to become more creative with different magics.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The very curse that had ended his mother's life hurled towards him, and Harry felt the wave of coldness Death brought pass him by as he ducked beneath the curse within a hairs breadth.

That had been too close, and again, he could not avoid the follow up, he felt himself launched through the air, and his shoulder his already bleeding torn from the socket from the spell.

Harry hit the ground with a dull thud but forced himself to stand without hesitation.

Another killing curse was already heading his way, and as Harry moved out of its path, he tripped backwards on something, and was met with the bloodshot eyes of the now dead Pettigrew.

The position he found himself in was unfavourable to say the least, and as Voldemort stalked towards him, Harry winced.

"Avada Kedavra!"

With a flick of his wand, Wormtail's corpse was used to shield Harry from the curse and he almost laughed as the Triwizard Cup fell from within his robes and bounced a short distance away, the gentle glowing blue becoming a beacon of hope.

Nonetheless, Voldemort was only half a dozen feet away from him now, and Harry knew he would be cut down before the portkey would activate.

In an act of sheer desperation, he levelled his wand towards the Dark Lord and a gout of black flames shot towards the man.

To Harry's relief, it was something the man was either unfamiliar with or had not been prepared to face, and he was forced to shield, giving Harry the second he needed to act.

"ACCIO CUP!"

Still grasping on to Pettigrew's robes, he snatched the portkey out of the air, the final sound he heard being the frustrated scream of the Dark Lord he'd yet again managed to escape the clutches of.

It was only a moment later that he was slammed hard into the ground, and with the wind knocked out of him, he stood to find himself back in the centre of the maze, injured, yet with only the thought of getting to Katie running through his mind.

(Break)

With how gravely serious the situation had become, Albus had finally had the spectators escorted to back to the castle and placed within the Great Hall under firm instructions that none were to leave until further notice.

Much to his relief, Amelia Bones had arranged for several more aurors to oversee this, leaving him to concentrate on the missing teen.

The headmaster had wracked his brains for anywhere Harry could have been taken, and yet, even if he had any indication, getting to the boy was another thing entirely.

With each passing minute, his fear only grew, and it did not help that there were several people who had refused to leave the stadium.

Cedric Diggory had evidently only been stunned, as had Fleur Delacour. Viktor Krum, however, remained unconscious in the medical tent, his injuries considerably more significant.

Aling with the champions, the Gryffindor Quidditch team remained in the stands, as did young Ronald and Miss Granger.

Alastor was supervising them whilst the rest of the aurors and other professors could only stand by and wait for something to occur.

Minerva was still in the maze on the off chance that Harry returned there, and Albus could scarcely look away from the entrance, praying to see the boy emerge from within.

The prospect grew bleaker with every second that went by.

It had to be close to an hour after Alastor had informed him of what seemed to have occurred that Albus felt a disturbance from the wards, and only seconds later that an explosion rent the air, followed by a gout of fire that was tearing through the dozens of hedgerows.

Albus, along with the aurors drew their wands in anticipation, and what emerged gave each of them pause.

Although he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the boy, it was short-lived as he took in his appearance.

Harry was caked in blood, much of it his own if the way he was limping was anything to go by. His left arm hung limply, and yet; his expression was thunderous.

Covered in blood as he was, it gave him the look of one that had lost their mind, and despite the obvious pain he was experiencing, he limped on with his wand in hand.

"WHERE IS SHE?" he roared.

Albus had never seen the boy so apoplectic, and he thought perhaps it would be best to subdue him before he did something he would regret.

"KATIE?"

Albus frowned as a shaken Minerva exited the smouldering maze, levitating a body in front of her.

"Pettigrew!" Albus gasped.

Just what had happened that led to this?

It was a question that would have to be pondered later as Albus was distracted by a sudden bout of laughter.

He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of his long-time friend pointing his wand at Katie Bell's throat, his other hand grasping a clump of her hair to keep her upright. What surprised him most of all, however, was that the girl did not seem to be struggling to escape.

The Imperius.

What had been a grave situation had quickly evolved into something outright alarming and Albus was thoroughly confused.

"Alastor, what are you doing?" he asked.

The man ignored him, an almost euphoric expression focused only on Harry who stalked towards Moody.

The aurors were as confused as Albus, some pointing their wands at the injured boy and others at their former colleague.

"I knew you could do it, Potter," Alastor chuckled. "I knew you would make it out. STAY BACK!" he barked as the Weasley twins drew their own wands and pointed them at the man.

Albus's own was in his hand and it took only a moment of pondering to realise what was happening.

There was no conceivable way that this was the Alastor Moody he knew. No, this was someone posing as him, but who?

Whomever it was had done an admirable job in their impersonation. Even Albus had been fooled.

"Tell me, Potter, did he make them suffer? Did he punish them?"

Albus's confusion only grew, and the surrounding aurors along with Amelia Bones were none the wise to what the man was talking about.

"MOODY, STAND DOWN!" Amelia commanded.

The man simply laughed, his expression of one completely unhinged.

"You don't get it, do you?" he asked. "No, and you never will."

"Let her go!" Harry interjected dangerously.

Albus didn't know what to do.

The man was deranged and would not see reason. If only Albus had any indication of who he was dealing, perhaps there was a solution that could be reached.

However, he could think of no one alive that would act in such a way.

Undoubtedly, Tom was behind this, but what agent was acting on his behalf? The most devout were locked in Azkaban, and those that had escaped imprisonment would not be so foolish.

What Albus did know was that this was not Alastor Moody, and it appeared that Amelia had reached the same conclusion.

"I will speak with Potter only. I want the rest of you to leave."

"That isn't going to happen," Amelia returned, her wand fixed on the man.

"Then you will receive no answers and the girl will die!"

"Fucking hell, just go!" Harry snapped.

"We cannot leave you with him, Potter," Amelia huffed irritably.

Albus's heart sunk into the pit of his stomach as Harry turned towards the aurors, still bleeding, yet his grip tightening around his wand.

"Harry, no!" the headmaster pleaded.

The boy froze, his usually calm demeanour giving way to an expression that showed a myriad of emotions; anger, resentment, and anguish being the most prominent.

Albus could only hope he did not act on those impulses.

He looked towards Minerva and the broken body of Peter Pettigrew, and the hope only faded. Whatever Harry had endured had undoubtedly been harrowing, and this would only serve to push him over the edge.

It was quite the impossible situation to resolve, and Albus feared it would only end in disaster if common ground could not be reached.

"We cannot leave you alone with him. There must be another suitable alternative?"

The man posing as Alastor looked at Albus and smirked.

"No, the outcome was always going to be the same."

He tightened his grip on the girl's hair and turned her towards Harry mockingly. A trickle of blood poured from the smallest of wounds, but the Katie Bell remained as unresponsive as ever.

Even if she was capable of fending off the curse, it would likely only make the situation all the more volatile, and Albus was already anticipating the worst. There was nowhere for the man to flee, and he would not be allowed to simply take his leave of the grounds.

No, in his heart of hearts, Albus knew that this would only end in disaster.

(Break)

It felt as though she was drowning in her own mind.

She could see what was unfolding around her, but Katie had no control of that nor her own body. She screamed internally at herself to move, to do anything to escape what was happening, to no avail.

It seemed that the more she tried to resist, the more difficult it became, and as she looked at the horrified expression of Harry, it broke her heart to see him so broken.

She felt a sharp pain in her neck, and a tear roll down her cheek as she tried to speak some words of comfort to the boy.

He looked terrible, almost as bad as when he had exited the lake, but it was not that Katie's eyes focused on. In this moment, she simply stared at him, remembering the better times they'd had together, and even as her vision began to swim, she did not take her eyes off him.

(Break)

Harry had never faced such a dilemma.

Behind him stood several aurors who could do nothing to remedy the situation, and to his right was Dumbledore who looked as equally defeated as he felt.

Harry wished only to help Katie, and if necessary, he would fight any who stepped in his way until his dying breath.

"You played your part perfectly, Potter," Moody praised. "How many did you manage to kill? TELL ME!" he added, wrenching Katie's head backwards and exposing her neck.

"Two!"

"I was hoping for more," Moody grumbled irritably. "Never mind, I'm sure you will continue to add to that tally. I have every faith that you will want them all to suffer."

The man grinned, unleashing a spell, and allowing Katie to fall from his grasp.

"NO!" Harry roared.

Even before his own spell had left the tip of his wand, Moody was hit by no less than a dozen courtesy of the aurors and Dumbledore.

With the injuries he'd suffered, he was not the first to reach the girl, and even as he approached, a large, dark-skinned man stepped in his path to prevent him reaching Katie.

"There's nothing you can do for her," he said sympathetically. "Come on, Potter, don't make this worse."

Harry peered around the man to be met by Katie's lifeless gaze. The blood pooling around her neck only made him want to be closer to her, but as he began fighting against the resistance of the auror, a flash of red obscured his vision before the darkness took him.

(Break)

Barty had never felt so euphoric as he did in this moment.

From his vantage point, everything had been so clear. He'd even seen the exact second that something within Potter had snapped at the sight of the girl's throat being slit, and better yet, none knew it was him that had orchestrated the entire evening.

The Dark Lord would be proud, though furious Potter managed to escape.

The end, however, justified the means.

Potter would be broken for some time, and even if he did pull himself together, he would be the monster Barty had moulded.

Nonetheless, it was not the time to revel in the anarchy. It was time for him to take his leave from Hogwarts for good. There was just one loose end left for him to tie up.

"There will be no further use of you," he murmured, ramming a knife into Alastor Moody's sternum.

He watched as the man bled out. In truth, Moody was barely clinging on to the final vestiges of life and Barty only needed him to survive until his plan had born the fruit he desired.

Using his father to act as the former auror had been a stroke of genius, and as he listened to the death rattle of the man he had tormented for the best part of a year, Barty smiled to himself.

Finally, he could be where he belonged.

Moody was dead, his father was dead, and even Potter's girlfriend was dead. Potter was alive, for now, but the boy would not survive when the Dark Lord inevitably caught up with him.

The very thought of Potter at the mercy of his master was almost too much for Barty, and he felt drunk on the highs of the evening.

His plan had gone off without a hitch, and as he made his way towards the forbidden forest beneath his invisibility cloak from the maze, he knew he would relish it for the rest of his days.

(Break)

"No, Barty Crouch wouldn't do this," Amelia murmured as she examined the man who had been Alastor Moody only a moment ago.

Albus nodded his agreement, swallowing deeply as he did his utmost to compose himself.

He'd had to stun Harry to prevent him acting further on his emotions, and he'd watched as Minerva and Poppy had levitated him towards the castle so he could receive the medical attention he needed.

What good it would do for the mental scars was another thing entirely.

This would change the boy, and not for the better.

"He locked up his own son for supporting the Dark Lord. He would never willingly be a part of something like this."

"He would not," Albus agreed.

"What a mess," Amelia sighed. "I do not even know where to begin."

"I will send for Miss Bell's parents," Albus explained. "Might I suggest you secure Mr Pettigrew's body?"

"Pettigrew was supposed to have died thirteen years ago," Amelia said confusedly.

"I believe it is a story for another time. Needless to say, Sirius Black was innocent of the crimes he was imprisoned for. Pettigrew betrayed Harry's parents and killed the muggles. I will leave you to piece it all together, Amelia."

The woman nodded tiredly, the truth of the matter not registering in light of what had just occurred.

"I will need to speak with Potter," she declared. "I want to know every last detail of what happened tonight."

"When he is ready," Albus said firmly. "He is in a poor state, and when he wakes, he will be grieving. When he is able to be moved, I will be sending him away from the castle. I am asking that you give him time, Amelia."

Although she did not seem pleased, she nodded once more.

"Were they…?"

"They were rather fond of one another," Albus replied sadly. "He will not take this well. If you will excuse me, there is much I must attend to. Please, send for me if you require me further."

With that, Albus turned to leave, allowing the tears he had been fighting back to break free.

This evening, and the tournament itself had been nothing short of a catastrophe, and now, he could not even begin to consider just what the future held.

"Headmaster," Severus greeted him darkly as he reached the Entrance Hall, raising the left sleeve of his robes.

Albus swallowed deeply, realising immediately what the prominent mark meant.

"He is calling for you?"

Severus nodded.

"Then there is no time to waste," Albus murmured. "I will send for some old friends after I have addressed what needs to be done immediately."

"She is dead?"

"She is," Albus confirmed before heading towards his office.

There was much to attend to, but he first needed to break the news to the bells. How he would do so, he did not know, but it appeared that from here on out, there would be much darkness to confront in the world.

Lord Voldemort was back, and this would only be the first of many dark days, reminiscent of those they'd lived a little over a decade ago.