Harry allowed himself a couple of days after the Quidditch match to bask in the glory of being the school hero. Beating Krum's team had granted him near-mythical status in the castle among the other students, as just about everyone he passed greeted him with high-fives and words of praise. He even signed a couple autographs for younger students! It was like being the Boy Who Lived all over again, except this time, it was for something he'd actually worked hard for and accomplished himself.

But suddenly it was June, and Harry had a Third Task to prepare for. Students once again moved on, having their own end-of-year exams to worry about. Even Katie was unable to spend much free time with Harry, her O.W.L. exams looming large in just a couple of weeks.

That was fine by Harry. It allowed him to buckle down and focus on his preparations without distraction. He spent far more time in the library than he ever had in either timeline, researching every possible magical beast they could throw at him in the maze and how to deal with each one. He even did a bit of digging into the darkest creatures imaginable, but eventually came to the conclusion that they would never make the Champions face a Nundu or a Chimaera and focused on the tamer breeds.

It was clear he wasn't the only Champion feeling the crunch. Harry entered the library on a rainy Sunday afternoon and spotted Fleur at a table by herself, perusing a heavy tome called 'Brutal Beasts of Britain and Beyond'. He redirected his path and sat across from her.

"Don't think you'll find much of use in there," he grinned. "No way they'll throw something that dark at us."

"Don't be so certain," Fleur sighed, setting the book down in front of her. "Madame Maxime insists zat I prepare for all possibilities."

"I highly doubt they'll make us fight a Lethifold," Harry chuckled, indicating the page she'd been reading and the horrifying hooded carnivore depicted upon it. "They were expelled from Europe centuries ago for a reason."

"All ze same," Fleur shrugged, closing the book. "What are you up to?"

"Same as you, I reckon," said Harry, pulling out a few books of his own from his bag. "Want to compare notes?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Is zat allowed?" she wondered aloud.

"Don't see why not," Harry shrugged. "What're they gonna do, force us to duel instead? Though I suppose that's on your agenda as well."

"Indeed," Fleur grinned mirthfully, looking over the books he'd procured. "Very well. I 'ave read two of those already. I took notes—"

Fleur dove into her own bag, and soon they were quietly chatting over their combined notes, brainstorming on the kinds of beasts they might be expected to face. Harry could feel many curious eyes upon them from around the library, no doubt wondering what two rival Triwizard Champions might be discussing. The truth would no doubt shock them.

The murmurs eventually rose to a crescendo, and Harry sensed a third party lurking nearby. "Pardon me," Krum announced himself awkwardly. "May I have a vord, Harry?"

"Hello, Viktor," Harry greeted the older man. "Please, join us."

Krum quirked an eyebrow curiously, looking to Fleur for confirmation. She nodded her agreement, and he took the empty seat beside Harry, intensifying the whispering all around them.

"I vish to apologize on behalf of my countrymen," Krum said sincerely to Harry. "I vas aware of the way they treated you, and vish that I had spoken up earlier."

"That's alright," Harry shrugged. "I think I handled them alright on my own."

"Not all at Durmstrang share such disgusting blood purity beliefs," Krum said darkly, a shadow of anger crossing over his face. "I vill not stand for such talk in my presence ever again."

"I appreciate that," Harry said, shaking the man's hand. "I never thought you believed that nonsense anyway. You wouldn't be dating Hermione otherwise."

"Indeed no," Krum chuckled. "My own father vas surprised when he heard, but I set him straight."

Harry once again felt embarrassed about his actions in the last Quidditch match. "Honestly, Krum, I shouldn't have said what I said about you and her," he said. "It was out of line."

"All's fair while in the air," Krum recited with a grin. "It is a common saying in Quidditch circles. I know you are not so cruel in real life."

"Good," Harry sighed with relief.

"However, I vill do you a favor and not mention this to Hermoninny," Krum smirked. "She vould not be so forgiving, I think."

"You're probably right," Harry grinned sheepishly.

"So, vat are we discussing here?" Krum asked, looking around the table at the scattered books and notes.

Harry and Fleur shared a look at this. Then, Harry drew his wand and cast a Muffling Charm around their table, ensuring they would not be overheard by the many curious bystanders trying to listen in.

"We are preparing for ze Third Task," said Fleur. "Discussing creatures we may 'ave to face in ze maze."

Krum narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Preparing...together?" he frowned. "But why?"

Harry sighed, and launched into an abbreviated version of the story he'd told Fleur months prior. By the end Krum looked shocked and surprised.

"You believe your Dark Lord is involved?" Krum asked. "Karkaroff vas one of his followers...he vill not like to hear this."

"I'm sure Dumbledore has tried to warn him already," Harry reasoned. "And no, he wouldn't be happy to know the truth."

"Karkaroff vas never the most popular Headmaster," Krum chuckled. "Even among pure-bloods some of his views are seen as...extreme."

"Glad to hear not everyone agrees," Harry nodded. "When war breaks out, we'll need support from as many people as possible."

"You speak as if war is inevitable," Krum said worriedly. "Do you truly believe it?"

"It's coming one way or another," Harry muttered. "Whether in a month, a year or longer, Voldemort is out there scheming, and we need to be ready."

Krum and Fleur took this in soberly, looking concerned. "Well, I came in here to prepare for the Task as well," Krum sighed. "May I join you?"

"Certainly," said Fleur. And the three of them began talking in hushed tones about the various threats the maze might pose. It must have been quite the odd sight for passers-by, seeing three of the four school Champions working together. It was rare enough to see any two of them interacting in passing, much less conspiring in secret.

Surely it would appear oddest of all to Neville Longbottom, who happened to walk past their table half an hour later. He stared in bewilderment at the scene, as the other three Champions paused their conversation and stared up at him. Harry gave Neville a little smile of reassurance and beckoned him over, but the boy merely narrowed his eyes in suspicion and hurried off, no doubt to inform Ron and Hermione of this latest development.

Why won't he trust me? Harry lamented. Of course, coming across such a scene would do him no favors – it would certainly appear that the other three Champions were scheming without him. But Neville wouldn't understand that it was for self-preservation...he was not the one the impostor would be targeting once the Task began. And Harry didn't know how to begin to explain that to him.

He would need to be warned sooner or later, of course. Harry contemplated approaching Hermione about the problem, or perhaps the Weasley twins again. It frustrated Harry to no end that Neville was so obstinate in his denial of the true threat that was out there. He had successfully pinned all of his problems on Harry and wouldn't hear otherwise. Hopefully Dumbledore can talk some sense into him, Harry thought.

As the day of the Task rapidly approached, Harry also devoted more time to his dueling practice in the Room of Requirement, wanting to keep his combat skills sharp. In addition to any human resistance he might face in the maze from the impostor, he still could not shake his nightmares of the graveyard. He felt he'd done a good enough job of heading off that particular threat, but in case everything else went wrong, he wanted to be able to think sharply in a fight.

Fleur and Krum joined him for a few of these sessions, which proved less useful for Harry than he'd hoped. They were fine duelists, though painfully by-the-book and unwilling to adapt their styles to the brutal conditions of actual warfare. Both of them were intent on standing in one place, as though in a sanctioned duel, as Harry repeatedly tried to urge them into movement. Standing still on a battlefield was certain death.

But Harry stuck with it, hoping to drill better instincts into them. Things would be easier for him in the maze if he didn't have to worry about the other two succumbing to their unseen threat (and becoming a threat themselves). In turn, he learned a few useful spells from the other two, which weren't taught in the Hogwarts curriculum. That at least made their sessions worthwhile, and gave him hope that things would go smoothly for the Third Task.

Ultimately, Harry knew the night would only be a success if the adults around him were able to intervene properly. He wrote a letter to James the week before the Task, providing more details from his "dreams" and insisting that the Little Hangleton graveyard needed to be monitored carefully. If the worst were to somehow happen, Harry could always send off a Patronus and alert the proper authorities where Neville had been taken. That, coupled with the preparations he'd already made in the graveyard, should hopefully sabotage Voldemort's plans.

And as loathe as Harry was to admit it, there was no one he trusted more to handle the threat than Dumbledore. The man may be worthless when it came to preventing tragedies from happening to begin with, but he was rather adept at disrupting them once already in motion. So on the night before the Third Task, Harry headed up to the Headmaster's office to swallow his pride and share what he knew.

"Enter," Dumbledore called when Harry knocked, and Harry walked into the room. The Headmaster was seated behind his desk, hands folded together, as though already anticipating Harry's arrival.

"Good evening, sir," Harry said, sitting in his usual armchair. "I'd like to discuss the Third Task with you."

"I expected you might," Dumbledore nodded. "Have you had any visions about the event you wish to share?"

"Yes, several," Harry said. And he launched into a detailed explanation of how he expected the evening to go. The Cup being turned into a Portkey, the kidnapping plot, and the resurrection ritual – all told through the lens of vague dreams and visions Harry had 'experienced.'

"You paint a very troubling picture for the evening," Dumbledore muttered, having hardly reacted at all to Harry's lengthy tale. "Though I do wonder what Neville has to do with this particular plot of Voldemort's at all. Assuming all you have told me is true, what would he stand to gain from Neville's presence at the ritual?"

Harry paused before answering, unsure if it was wise to spell out Voldemort's exact logic, lest he reveal that he knew far more than he was letting on. "That's the part I was hoping you could fill in, Headmaster," he sighed. "Why would Neville need to be involved at all?"

"I admit that I am unfamiliar with the specifics of dark rituals like the one you describe," Dumbledore mused. "Though we can draw some inferences. I imagine you know, for instance, that Tom Riddle's father and grandparents are buried in the Little Hangleton graveyard?"

"Yes," Harry nodded, knowing it was futile to deny it. Dumbledore knew he'd gone to the village multiple times by now.

"As such, the decision to hold a ritual there may be pivotal," said Dumbledore. "Using the bones of a close relative could, in theory, strengthen any attempt Voldemort makes to regain a body."

"I may have, erm, dealt with that possibility already," Harry admitted. "I dug up Tom Riddle Senior's grave and Vanished his bones."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at this. "Some would look down upon such an act as inhuman, Harry," he remarked impassively.

"Yeah, well, I figured Riddle would rather that happen than whatever his son had planned with them," Harry huffed.

To his surprise, Dumbledore smiled at him. "I would be inclined to agree with you," he said. "I happen to be of the belief that the souls of the dead care not what becomes of their physical forms once they depart. During the war, Voldemort performed some heinous acts on the bodies of the dead...creating Inferi, mutilating corpses to send gruesome messages. Your actions are a far cry from such monstrous deeds."

"But could Voldemort come back by using somebody else's bones?" Harry asked worriedly. "If, say, I moved somebody else's coffin into his father's plot of land?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "That I cannot be sure of. But knowing how intricate and exact such rituals can be, I imagine using the remains of a non-relative could prove disastrous for Tom."

"So you think I've done enough to prevent his plan from happening?" Harry asked hopefully.

"We are acting under the assumption that things will play out exact as you have foreseen them," Dumbledore said cautiously. "I remind you that this hasn't always been the case. I appreciate you coming to me with this, as we may indeed arrive at the truth by association. Kernels of truth can always be found in every vision, even if they appear inaccurate at first blush."

Harry nodded at this. It was as close to reassurance as he was going to get from the Headmaster. "And what about the Portkey?" he asked. "Can we be sure that the Cup won't be tampered with?"

"That will be trickier to ensure," Dumbledore sighed, "but not impossible. Once Bagman places the Cup in the center of the maze, the judges are forbidden from approaching it, for fear of tampering with the integrity of the Tournament. There will be staff members patrolling the perimeter of the maze at all times, though we are only permitted to enter if a Champion calls for assistance."

"And you will check to make sure nobody tampered with the Cup before Bagman places it?" Harry asked.

"I will try," Dumbledore sighed. "I do not know if it is permitted by the rules. The other schools may view it as an attempt to give Hogwarts an unfair advantage in the Tournament."

"To hell with the rules!" Harry said exasperatedly. "Neville's life is on the life here – surely the rules can be bent, just like they did to allow a fourth Champion to compete!"

"I understand your concern, Harry," Dumbledore said placatingly. "I will share these concerns with Mr. Bagman and the other judges. I am certain they will not object to an examination of the Cup before it is placed."

Harry couldn't help but feel like Dumbledore was patronizing him. Did the Headmaster truly believe this plot was real? Or was he just assuaging Harry's worries, assuming his visions to be misleading once more? Harry couldn't care less about the integrity of the Tournament at this point...he was of half a mind to sneak out of the castle later tonight and burn the entire maze down to prevent the Task from happening in the first place.

"Well, that's all I can really say," Harry sighed. "And I don't suppose you have any leads on who the impostor in the castle is?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore grimaced. "Though I will be keeping a close eye on everyone on my own staff when the Task begins."

"Well, that's a relief," Harry said sardonically, standing to leave. "Good to know you're on the case once again. Surely everything will go as smoothly as it always does."

"I would remind you who you're speaking to, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said warningly. "Your help is appreciated. Best of luck tomorrow – focus on what you need to do, and we'll take care of the rest."

Unlikely, Harry thought, but he held his tongue. He crossed the room towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"Does Neville know about all this?" he asked, turning back to the Headmaster. "Shall I let him know in the morning? Just so he is aware of the danger?"

"I would imagine he won't receive it well coming from you," Dumbledore said with a knowing, sad smile. "Leave it to me, Harry."

"Fine," Harry shrugged, and he turned to leave. Dumbledore was probably right on that front: Neville was far too suspicious of Harry to take anything he said seriously. It would be far more impactful to hear from Dumbledore, a man Neville clearly respected and looked up to. Hopefully that would finally instill in the boy that this was a matter of life and death, not of fame and glory as he still seemed to believe.

Harry didn't sleep well that night. Old nightmares from a past that never happened continued to plague him, replaying in his mind. Cedric, dead...that at least seemed to be off the table now. A Dark Lord, emerging from the bones of the father...hopefully prevented as well. But the possibility of a graveyard showdown continued to worry Harry, and he felt maddeningly in the dark about how the evening would play out.

He was exempted from his lessons that day, left to his own devices wandering the grounds, pondering his game plan for the evening. Get to the Cup first. If you don't get there first, alert Dumbledore and Apparate to Little Hangleton. Or should I alert my father and the Aurors? Activate the claxons and deal with Wormtail. Or should I ignore Wormtail and focus on getting Neville out first?

Too many possibilities rattled around in his brain, contingent on everything else that led up to whatever situation Harry found himself in. The only things he knew for sure was that the impostor at Hogwarts would be helping Neville reach the Cup, and that Dumbledore and the Aurors were keeping a close eye on Little Hangleton. Which force would prove superior to the other? How successful would the kidnapping plot ultimately be? Too many questions with wide-ranging implications for Harry's liking.

He badly wanted to let off some of his pent-up energy in the Room of Requirement, but forced himself to rest instead. He had a feeling he was going to need to conserve as much energy as possible for the evening. He doubted it would be a simple race through the maze and nothing else – every instinct screamed at him that things would somehow go very, very wrong in a myriad of ways.

He sat with his fellow Ravenclaws at dinner, their words of encouragement bouncing off of him as he forced himself to eat something. Fleur sat at the opposite end of the table, her Beauxbatons faithful hyping her up around her. Over at the Slytherin bench, a similar scene was playing out around Krum and Neville, each at opposite ends of the table, their nearest supporters whispering platitudes in their ears.

The Hall began to empty as students poured out onto the grounds towards the maze. Harry put it off for as long as possible, sitting and pretending to eat more as those around him got up and wished him good luck before departing. Finally, satisfied that he could be alone, he got up, took a deep breath, and marched out to face whatever the night had in store for him.

Harry arrived at what was once the Quidditch pitch, coming upon an eerily familiar scene. Grandstands had been erected for students and visitors, as everyone cheered and chanted excitedly for the start of the Third Task. Tall hedgerows, nearly twenty feet tall, loomed overhead, extending off into the far distance. It gave Harry an unwelcome feeling of deja vu.

Ludo Bagman spotted Harry approaching and hurried over towards him. "Harry, my boy, you made it!" he beamed. "Come, your family is already here."

Bagman hustled Harry over to one side of the stands, where James, Lily, Sirius, Remus and Alessia were waiting for him.

"There he is!" James laughed, pulling his son in for a hug. "Excited for the big day?"

"You could say that," Harry muttered. "You got my letter, I hope?"

"I did," James said seriously. "And the Aurors are on standby in case anything goes wrong. You have nothing to fear."

"You'll do wonderfully, dear," said Lily, embracing Harry in a tight squeeze. "Do your best and keep yourself safe."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, eh, pup?" Sirius grinned devilishly.

"As if that means anything coming from you, Padfoot," Remus quipped, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Good luck, Harry."

Dahlia hurried over, already dressed in her white Healer trainee robes. "Just wanted to request you don't blow yourself up, idiot," she deadpanned. "We're running low on burn ointment."

"I'll try to avoid the Blast-Ended Skrewts, then," Harry smirked, accepting his sister's hug. He then watched as she tentatively approached Neville to wish him luck as well. Not completely over him, then, are we? he thought bemusedly to himself.

Then Katie threw herself into his arms, rushing down from the stands. "Please be safe," she whispered in his ear, sounding incredibly nervous.

"I will," Harry assured her. She gave him a needy kiss, only breaking off when an irritated Filch shuffled over to direct Harry towards the other Champions near the entrance to the maze.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Ludo Bagman announced with his magically-amplified voice. "Today's task is simple: the Champions must navigate a maze, which is filled with dangerous traps and tests of skill. At the center of the maze lies the Triwizard Cup...the first person to touch it will be named the winner!"

Harry glanced around at the other three Champions. Fleur and Krum eyed him warily; he nodded in reassurance to them. He tried to make eye contact with Neville, but the boy was pointedly avoiding his gaze, merely stretching and staring resolutely ahead at the maze.

"The Champions will enter the maze in the order of their placement in the previous two tasks," Bagman explained. "Neville Longbottom of Hogwarts will enter first, followed by Viktor Krum of Durmstrang in second place, Harry Potter of Hogwarts third, and finally Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons. Ready, Champions? On my mark!"

Neville stepped forward, looking determined. He'd better not get a completely free pass to the Cup, Harry thought worriedly. This was the risk he'd taken in not trying harder to win the first two tasks: he was powerless as he watched Neville jog ahead into the maze, getting a head-start in a challenge that would already be rigged in his favor.

Krum stepped up next. He gave Harry one last look and nod that said, I'll look for him. Bagman gave him the signal, and Krum also entered the maze, disappearing into the darkness.

Finally, it was Harry's turn. He was tempted to just run ahead early and sprint off in search of Neville, but he forced himself to wait for the signal. At Bagman's mark, he rushed ahead, the sounds of the crowd almost instantly extinguished by the towering hedges swallowing him in darkness. He was on his own now.

Harry did not slow down at the first fork in the road, immediately turning left. He had no real strategy in mind; he could only do his best to retrace his steps from the previous timeline, based only on the vague memory of that fateful night five years prior. And he had good reason to believe he would not have it so easy this time around…

And he was right. He rounded a corner and found himself face-to-face with a large snake, hissing and spitting at him. If only I was still a Parselmouth, Harry lamented as he leapt backwards out of striking range. The snake coiled itself into a defensive position, blocking his path forward.

Harry scrutinized the snake closely. It had shimmering purple scales and frightening green eyes, eyeing him suspiciously. An Ashwinder, Harry recognized. It was immune to fire and most curses, making it a tricky foe to conquer for the unprepared. Luckily, it had one glaring weakness.

Harry unleashed a torrent of water at the Ashwinder, cascading over the snake like a flood. The Ashwinder hissed its displeasure, or perhaps that was the sound of its fiery scales reacting to the dowsing they received. The snake turned and slithered away desperately; Harry carefully directed the stream of water to the right, down a side corridor, forcing the snake to flee in that direction. He then canceled the spell and sprinted past, raising a small stone barrier behind him to ensure he could not be chased from behind.

The eerie quiet settled over the maze again, as Harry continued creeping forward. He contemplated firing a ball of light into the air to illuminate his path, but did not want to give the impostor an easy way of locating him. He also muffled his footsteps for good measure, stealing forward through the night like a ghost, hoping to avoid any more encounters…

But it was not to be. He nearly walked face-first into a mass of spider webs, its maker clicking pincers at him along with three of its best friends. Hagrid and his acromantulas, Harry groaned to himself. He wondered how Aragog was faring in the Forbidden Forest these days...but that was a question for another day.

The solution was much simpler than the Ashwinders. Harry unleashed a massive wall of flame, burning through the corridor and sending the acromantulas screaming away. It also had the side benefit of burning away the cobwebs, giving him a clean path forward. All it cost was the smell of burning silk and singed hedges left behind.

Unfortunately, fire would do Harry no good for his next obstacle: a massive Blast-Ended Skrewt, parked right in the middle of the path. It spotted Harry and scooted forward towards him, spewing bouts of flame at him. Harry backed up, waiting for an opening. The Skrewts could theoretically be taken down by magic, but the easiest thing would simply be to avoid them.

He waited until the Skrewt fired another ball of flame at him, then made his move. He sprinted towards the Skrewt, casting a Springing Charm on the ground in front of him before jumping. He sailed ten feet over the Skrewt's shell, landing in a roll safely on the other side. He quickly raised another stone barrier to prevent the Skrewt from following him...it would eventually break through, but he was already long gone, winding his way through the dark hedgerows again.

Minutes later, Harry came across another fork in the road. "Point me," he whispered, placing his wand flat atop his open palm; it spun around and pointed straight forward, into the hedge blocking his way. No real help in making a decision. He glanced left and right, unsure where he was within the maze, trying to determine the best path forward.

Then he heard a loud shout of alarm from somewhere to his right. Definitely a male's voice – too deep to be Neville's. The impostor must have gotten to Krum, Harry thought. He remembered the Bulgarian being Imperiused in the last timeline, and figured the same must have just happened. Harry headed in the direction of the sound, hoping to head Krum off before he could attack Fleur (or himself).

The silence seemed louder than usual as Harry crept forward through the maze. He kept his ears strained, listening for any sound of struggle or movement. He did not encounter any more creatures or obstacles for the next several minutes, concerning him greatly. He felt as though he was only halfway through the maze or so, and could only imagine things would get tougher as he got closer to the Cup.

Soon Harry got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He'd long learned not to discount such instincts, especially now that his senses were heightened by the Ritual of Ontogenesis. He carefully checked each and every corner he passed, half-expecting the impostor (or a bewitched Krum) to leap out at him. His sense of paranoia grew, and he resolved to just push onward and keep his eyes peeled for any—

"'Arry."

Harry spun around. Fleur Delacour was standing twenty feet away from him down a hedge row, an odd expression on her face. "Fleur?" he called out. "Are you alright?"

"I know you want me, 'Arry," Fleur purred, and she began to walk slowly towards him.

"Sorry, what?" Harry said, bewildered. He felt her Allure assaulting his senses, a powerful blast that he struggled to Occlude away.

"You can 'ave your way with me, 'Arry," Fleur said seductively, hips swaying invitingly as she sauntered towards him. "Your leetle girlfriend could never compare to me."

"Fleur, what the hell's gotten into you?" Harry asked nervously. She was now unbuttoning the top of her shirt, exposing more skin than he was comfortable seeing. Something was very wrong here.

"Come now, 'Arry, forget zis silly Tournament," Fleur smiled. "Let us 'ave some fun instead."

Fleur stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight for the first time. Harry saw at once that her normally blue eyes were gray and devoid of features. Imperius Curse, Harry realized at once.

His wand flashed through the air at the same time as Fleur's, their spells colliding in mid-air with a mighty bang. Harry rolled to the side, raising a Shield Charm to deflect Fleur's volley of hexes. Her seductive expression had melted into one of pure rage, as whoever was controlling her forced her on the offensive.

Harry fired a careful selection of spells at her, including Stunners and a Disarming Charm. She easily swiped them away, firing a much more dangerous selection of curses his way. His training with Moody assisted him mightily, as he was able to stand tall against the hazardous spells and block them precisely.

But Harry knew he was at a disadvantage here. He did not want to harm Fleur or find himself in a prolonged duel. He had one more trick up his sleeve, one that he hoped would bring things to a mostly-painless conclusion.

He dropped his Shield and fired a volley of hexes at Fleur's head. She raised a Shield of her own, her attention diverted from the small glass object Harry tossed at her feet. She turned her attention back to Harry, lip curled in a snarl, raising her wand to attack once more—

"Reducto!" Harry bellowed.

Fleur once again prepared to Shield herself from the spell, but it was not aimed at her. The curse instead smashed into the Auror's Toolkit at her feet, causing it to explode violently, sending a shower of pulverized glass up into the air. Along with it was the last remaining potion within the toolkit – the Thief's Downfall – which coated Fleur from head to toe.

Fleur coughed and spluttered from the murky liquid, dropping her wand as she wiped the substance from her eyes. Harry summoned the wand to him as he cautiously stepped forward. "Fleur…?" he asked cautiously.

Fleur looked up at him in alarm, her eyes back to their natural blue state. "'Arry?" she asked tentatively. "What 'as happened? How did I get here?"

"You were placed under an Imperius Curse," Harry explained. "I just lifted it."

Fleur winced as she felt her face; tiny shards of glass were embedded into her skin from the Auror's Toolkit, causing pinpricks of blood to appear all over her face, chest and arms. "Sorry about that," Harry muttered, using a modified Summoning Charm to remove as much of the glass from her body as possible. He then conjured a small cloth and handed it to her, allowing her to wipe the blood, sweat and potion from her face.

"Thank you," Fleur muttered. She looked down and hurriedly re-buttoned her top, looking embarrassed. "I 'ope I did not harm anyone else."

"You may have gotten to Krum," Harry said apologetically. "But I doubt you did any lasting damage. Remember, we aren't the primary target of this plot."

"Yes, right," Fleur nodded, taking a deep steadying breath. "'Ave you seen Longbottom?"

"Not since the start," Harry sighed. "We'd best hurry to get to the Cup before he does."

"We?" Fleur asked, raising her eyebrows. "You do not wish to part ways?"

"And risk one of us getting Imperiused again?" said Harry. "No chance. We're in this together now, Delacour."

He handed Fleur her wand back. She looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

"Lead the way, voyageur," she sighed.

Harry did so, pressing forward into the darkness once more. He felt marginally better with Fleur behind him, but not much. The true threat was not the unseen enemies trying to take them down – it was the unaware fourteen-year-old elsewhere in the maze, oblivious to the danger, rushing forward to claim a prize that would be his ruin.

Harry and Fleur encountered a few more beasts along the way, but fortunately none too difficult to deal with. Another Ashwinder, a few acromantulas, and a Skrewt which Fleur cleverly encased in ice long enough for them to slip past. Harry was correct that the path to the Cup was far more difficult this time around, with the impostor throwing as much in their path as he could to slow them down. But thus far, they were managing just fine, thanks in part to their extensive research together in the weeks prior.

They were only forced to stop in their tracks when they reached the sphinx, sitting in their way and smiling mysteriously at them. "You are close to your goal, young ones," said the sphinx. "And you are not the first to reach me. Will you turn and find a different path like the other, or answer my riddle?"

"Let's hear it, then," Harry sighed impatiently. Fortunately, being a Ravenclaw had given him plenty of experience with cryptic riddles to enter the common room each night.

The sphinx smiled wider and recited her riddle:

"I am forged in flame, though cold to the touch,

Something highly coveted, but not appreciated as such.

The result of desperation, something difficult to swallow,

You may have asked for me, but I'll leave you feeling hollow."

"Forged in flame…" Fleur muttered, her eyes scrunched up in concentration. Harry too pondered the clues, though he suspected the flame bit was a misdirection. Metaphorical flames, perhaps...cold to the touch...difficult to swallow...he couldn't think of any object that fit the description. Unless it wasn't an object at all...some kind of idea or concept...a desired outcome, but one with negative consequences…

"A Pyrrhic victory," Harry concluded.

The sphinx smiled and stepped aside for them to pass. Wasting no time, Harry grabbed Fleur's wrist and hurried forward with her, not wanting to waste any more time. Neville could have already found an alternate way through...they had to hurry before he reached the Cup on his own…

Then, Fleur gave a shuddering wail of despair as they rounded the corner. A pale figure was lying sprawled on the ground before them: her sister, Gabrielle, eyes staring vacantly at the sky. "It's alright," Harry reassured Fleur, stepping forward as the prone figure on the ground transformed into his own sister, Dahlia, with a crack. He calmly pointed his wand and muttered, "Riddikulus."

The boggart vanished into the night, and they pressed onward. The maze was darkening the further they went, indicating that they were approaching the center.We have to be near the Cup now, Harry thought. Hopefully Neville hasn't reached it yet. But there was no use in worrying over outcomes beyond his control. He continued onward, sensing the end was near, their goal in sight…

And there it was. Around the next bend, the shimmering Triwizard Cup, not yet claimed by Neville or anyone else. Harry and Fleur paused, momentarily transfixed by the sight.

"There it is," Fleur breathed, staring at the Cup. "It is almost over."

"Not quite," Harry reminded her. "We have to be very, very careful. If it is a Portkey, we'll need to have the judges come to inspect it before we do anything else."

"And 'ow will we know if it is a Portkey?" Fleur asked.

"Good question," Harry muttered. "Perhaps some diagnostic charms will tell us the truth?"

"Pah," Fleur scoffed with a grin. "And you told me zat curse detection would be useless in ze task! Allow me."

Fleur approached the plinth upon which sat the Triwizard Cup. "Be careful not to touch it!" Harry reminded her, slowly following her.

"I know, thank you," Fleur said snippily. She paused in front of the Cup, eyeing it warily. She drew her wand and waved it over the Cup, muttering incantations under her breath. Harry watched as pulses of magic washed over the two of them, providing Fleur feedback that he did not know how to analyze himself. Something to file away for later study, he decided.

"I sense a few enchantments on ze Cup," Fleur announced. "A Flesh-Detection Charm and an Alarm Ward, although ze latter 'as been deactivated."

"Probably meant to alert the judges to who touched the Cup first," Harry reasoned. "What else?"

"Something else," Fleur muttered, frowning as she analyzed whatever her spells were telling her. "Ah, yes, a Portkey. Eet is well-hidden within the other magic of ze Cup."

"Can you tell where it would take us?" Harry asked.

"Non, not exactly," Fleur frowned. "Somewhere very far from 'ere."

"Little Hangleton," Harry muttered under his breath, nodding to himself. "That settles it, then. We call the judges and see what they have to say."

Harry raised his wand and fired red sparks into the air, briefly lighting up the night sky.

"Doesn't zat mean you 'ave forfeited the task?" Fleur asked.

"I don't bloody care," Harry laughed. "I would have forfeited a long time ago if I wasn't trying to protect Neville."

"You are too noble for your own good," Fleur chastised him with a smile. "I suspect you would 'ave wiped ze floor with all of us if you were not—"

There was suddenly a powerful gust of wind, knocking both Fleur and Harry backwards from the plinth. They quickly got back to their feet, struggling against the gale-force winds attempting to push them farther back into the maze. "What is this?" Fleur asked worriedly.

"Our impostor probably isn't too happy we're between Neville and the trap," Harry muttered. He swiped his wand fiercely, sending a rush of wind of his own directly into the gust, neutralizing it. "SHOW YOURSELF, YOU COWARD!" he shouted into the night. "FIGHT US FACE TO FACE LIKE A MAN!"

Whoever lurked in the shadows did not respond – at least verbally. Harry heard a twisting and snarling of vines to his right, causing him to redirect his attention there. The nearest wall of the maze appeared to be retreating from him, leaving him and Fleur in a rather empty stretch of land. "What is 'appening?" Fleur asked nervously.

"Be ready to fight," Harry growled. He didn't know exactly what was about to happen, but he knew it wasn't good.

His suspicions were confirmed when the shifting maze wall retreated abruptly into the earth. Revealing the army of creatures waiting to strike on the other side.

Harry leapt into action at the same time as the waiting beasts. He unleashed a torrent of flames from his wand, causing the acromantulas at the head of the pack to flee in terror. But the flames did nothing to stop the Blast-Ended Skrewts that followed, continuing to charge at the two Champions.

"'Arry, what do we do?" a horrified Fleur asked, her jinxes bouncing harmlessly off the shells of the incoming Skrewts.

"Aim for their underbellies!" Harry shouted, currently preoccupied with dispatching an attacking sphinx by tethering it to the ground with conjured chains.

"I cannot see ze underbellies!" Fleur shrieked with terror.

"Then bloody well expose them!" Harry roared. With a mighty flick of his wand, the earth beneath the Skrewts launched them ten feet into the air. Fleur did not hesitate to begin firing Stunners at the exposed flesh, taking several of them out of commission.

A flash of movement caught Harry's eye in his peripherals. He turned, half-expecting to see another creature sneaking around him for a surprise attack. But what he saw instead horrified him even more: Neville had apparently taken their temporary distraction as an opportunity to make a run for the Cup. Harry saw the look of undisguised greed in the boy's face, the promise of fame and glory shining in his eyes as he sprinted headlong into Voldemort's trap…

"NEVILLE, NO!" Harry shouted, firing a powerful Banishing Charm at the boy. Neville was launched off his feet, colliding with a nearby hedge and becoming entangled by it. Harry turned his attention to the Cup, intending to place a repelling ward around it—

But a scream from behind him diverted his attention once more. A Skrewt had gotten too close to Fleur, lighting the hem of her robes on fire. She panicked, falling to the ground, her attention split between trying to stop the oncoming beast and extinguish the flames, failing at both tasks.

And still all around Harry, more creatures were steadily approaching on all sides. Too many threats to deal with at once. He had to do something drastic to gain control of the situation.

Harry summoned as much magical power as he could muster. With a roar of great effort, he waved his wand around his head, causing chunks of earth, stone and hedges to swirl around him. He configured them into a makeshift dome, encircling the three Champions and the Cup, then swiped his wand downward. The gathered material was transfigured into steel, creating a metallic dome that loomed over their heads.

Creatures banged up against the makeshift cage, screeching their disapproval. Their prey was feet away but tantalizingly out of reach. With the immediate danger out of the way, Harry turned his attention back to Fleur, helping her extinguish the flames that had eaten away at her robes up to her knees.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Fine," she grunted in obvious pain. From the angry red welts on her pale shins, she had sustained significant burns.

A rustling behind Harry made him turn once more; Neville had extricated himself from the hedge and was eyeing him warily. He was closer to the Cup than Harry was, and Harry wasn't sure if he had the strength remaining for another spell to stop him.

"Let me have this one, Potter," Neville shouted defiantly. "It's my victory. I've earned it."

"Neville, you idiot, shut up and listen for once!" Harry bellowed. "The Cup is a Portkey! If you touch it, you'll be captured by Voldemort!"

"You just don't want me to beat you!" Neville retorted. "The great Harry Potter, genius student and brilliant Quidditch player, can't stand to see someone else have the spotlight for even a second!"

"You think I give a shit about the spotlight?" Harry groaned. "I'm trying to protect you, you prick! I have been for the past four years!"

"I didn't bloody well ask for it!" Neville shouted. "Nobody respects me because you always show up and one-up me! And I'm sick of it! Maybe I want to be the one people look up to for once!"

"So you're a selfish, vain moron, got it," said Harry. "I should have just Stunned you and put you in a broom cupboard this morning. Then you wouldn't be making this so difficult for everyone."

"So you have been plotting against me!" Neville shouted in apparent triumph. "I've seen you talking to Fleur and Krum. That afraid of me, are you, that you had to team up with the other Champions to take me down?"

"None of us are enemies in this, Neville!" shouted Harry. "We're all being played by Voldemort, don't you get it? Didn't Dumbledore explain that to you?"

"There's nothing for him to explain," said Neville stubbornly. "Because you're making up fantasies to prevent something good happening to anyone but yourself!"

Bloody Dumbledore, Harry thought, angrily cursing the man for his stupidity. Of course he hadn't spoken to Neville, warned him of the dangers. He probably thought he was doing Neville a favor by sparing him from worrying about the hidden threat that he assumed to be benign. When – if – Harry got out of this maze, he was going to have a few choice words with the Headmaster.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Neville," Harry said, rubbing his temple tiredly. "Now, let's sit here and wait patiently for the judges to arrive, and then we can discuss—"

He was cut off by a loud hissing noise to his right. Harry turned as an Ashwinder wriggled through the bars of the cage, jumping up to snap at him. He dove to the ground to avoid it, then sprayed the snake with water until it retreated, still hissing angrily at him.

Harry got back to his feet and turned just in time to see Neville sprinting towards the Cup, triumph in his eyes. "NEVILLE, DON'T!" he bellowed.

Desperate, Harry thrust his wand forward and used the same Propulsion Charm he'd used in the lake for the previous task. He was lifted off his feet and dragged through the air, approaching the Cup with lightning speed. Neville's eyes widened as he saw Harry's hand outstretch towards the Cup, intending to grab it first. He too dove, fingertips extended to grab hold of it himself…

Neville's finger touched one handle of the Cup at the precise moment that Harry wrapped his hand around the other. Both boys immediately felt the tug behind the navel as the Portkey whisked them away from the maze to a destination far, far away…