Chapter 20: Dawn Stolen

June 24, 2002 – Monday

Little Hangleton, England

Harry's senses were in disarray as he felt his feet slam into the ground, and he tumbled forward, finally letting go of the second Triwizard Cup. Confusion and concern filled him as he raised his head, his voice trembling with worry.

"Where are we?" he asked frantically. "Where's Dawn?"

Cedric shook his head, disoriented but determined. He helped Harry to his feet, and together, they surveyed their surroundings. It was evident that they had been transported far from the Hogwarts grounds, possibly hundreds of miles. The familiar mountains surrounding the castle were nowhere in sight. Instead, they found themselves in a dark and overgrown graveyard, with the silhouette of a small church visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them on their left, and Harry could just discern the outline of an old house on the hillside.

Cedric glanced down at the Triwizard Cup, his brow furrowing, and then looked back at Harry. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" he inquired.

"Nope," Harry replied, his gaze darting around the eerie graveyard as he continued to search for any sign of Dawn. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

"I dunno," Cedric admitted, his voice tinged with nervousness. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"

Harry nodded firmly, his determination unwavering despite the uncertainty of their situation. "Yeah, and let's go find Dawn," he said, his heart filled with concern for his friend.

With wands drawn, Harry and Cedric remained vigilant, their senses heightened in the eerie darkness of the graveyard. Tension hung in the air as they scanned their surroundings, uncertainty gnawing at them.

"Someone's coming," Harry suddenly whispered, his voice filled with urgency.

Both of them squinted through the dim light, their eyes trained on the approaching figure. It steadily made its way toward them, navigating between the graves with purpose. Though Harry couldn't discern a face, the figure's posture and the way it held something in its arms left little doubt that it was carrying something.

And then, Harry's heart clenched with a mix of relief and dread as he saw Dawn. She was bound and gagged, her eyes filled with fear as they locked onto Harry's.

The figure came to a halt beside a towering marble headstone, mere feet away from Harry and Cedric. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, they simply stared at each other in the darkness, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Harry desperately tried to convey reassurance to Dawn through his eyes, silently promising that he would do everything in his power to get her out of this perilous situation. Dawn, in turn, seemed to understand, nodding her head ever so slightly.

"Kill the spare," a chilling voice declared.

Harry's heart raced as he heard the ominous command, his mind racing to comprehend the gravity of the situation. A swishing noise followed, and a second voice, filled with malevolence, screeched the words into the night: "Avada Kedavra!"

In an instant, a brilliant, deadly flash of green light blazed through Harry's closed eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him. The world seemed to stand still for a moment.

Dawn's eyes went wide with horror as she looked at Cedric's lifeless form lying next to Harry, her heart aching with sorrow and disbelief.

The short man in the cloak, the figure responsible for this terrible act, calmly set down his bundle, illuminated his wand, and began to drag Harry toward the towering marble headstone. With deliberate precision, he conjured tight cords, binding Harry from neck to ankles to the headstone, leaving him utterly immobilized.

Dawn's heart whimpered as she watched Harry being tied up, the grim reality of their dire circumstances settling over her. Unless a miracle occurred, it seemed as though their fate was sealed.

"You!" Harry gasped, his voice filled with both recognition and disbelief as he realized the identity of the cloaked figure before them: Wormtail.

Wormtail worked with urgency at the bottom of the cauldron, his wand at the ready. A sudden crackling of flames erupted beneath it, casting eerie, dancing shadows in the dim graveyard.

"Hurry!" commanded the cold voice.

"It is ready, Master," Wormtail replied, his voice filled with both trepidation and compliance.

"Now…" the voice continued.

With a sense of dread pooling in his stomach, Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was concealed within them. Harry's muffled scream was choked by the material blocking his mouth, his eyes wide with terror as he beheld the gruesome sight.

Dawn's heart pounded in her chest as she, too, saw the horrifying revelation. In that moment, she witnessed the shape of a crouched figure, a figure that should have been a human child, but bore no resemblance to one. It was a twisted, grotesque creation, unlike anything Dawn or Harry had ever seen.

Wormtail, driven by dark and twisted loyalty, lifted the abhorrent creature, this unchildlike thing, and lowered it into the cauldron. With a sinister hiss, the creature vanished below the surface, a nightmarish sacrifice to some unspeakable power.

Dawn's heart pounded in her chest as she listened to Wormtail's incantations, her dread intensifying with each word. The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked, and a bone rose into the air as if compelled by Wormtail's command, before softly falling into the cauldron.

Then, Wormtail's demeanor shifted, and he began to whimper and sob uncontrollably. He withdrew a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak, his voice breaking as he stammered through the incantation, "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master."

Dawn couldn't bear to watch any longer. With a deep-seated sense of horror and revulsion, she closed her eyes, unable to witness the gruesome act unfolding before her.

"B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe," Wormtail choked out, his voice laden with despair and dread. The dark ritual was reaching its horrifying climax, and Dawn couldn't help but tremble at the implications of what they were witnessing.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the night, sending a shiver down Dawn's spine. "Robe me. And call Glorificus, it is time she received her Key."

Dawn's heart raced as she heard a commanding voice pierce through the night, instructing them to robe the speaker and summon Glorificus. Her eyes shot open at the mention of the hell-god, and her fear intensified as she realized that Glory was there, waiting for her.

Out of the shadows emerged Glory, wearing a sinister smile as she approached Dawn. "At last, my Key," she purred.

Voldemort, his dark plans aligning with the hell-god's desires, smiled in response. "Wormtail, the portkey."

Wormtail, obedient to their sinister cause, nodded and reached for Dawn's Triwizard Cup, passing it to Glory. Voldemort then explained the activation of the portkey to Glory, instructing her to say "Sunnydale" to return to their intended destination.

Glory nodded in acknowledgment, her grip tightening on Dawn. "Sunnydale," she uttered, and in an instant, they both disappeared.

Harry, left behind in the chilling aftermath, could only stare at the empty spot where Dawn had been moments before. He knew he had to remember everything he had witnessed to convey it to Buffy, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon him.

Quidditch Stadium

Buffy's heart had been pounding in her chest ever since she saw the green sparks shoot up into the sky. Without a second thought, she had sprinted straight into the maze, fueled by a sense of urgency and dread. When she reached the spot where the sparks had originated, there was no one there, and her anxiety only deepened.

She exited the maze, her steps quick and determined, and rushed to find Hermione. The two sisters had waited together, pacing and worrying in tense silence. Neither of them wanted to voice the fear that had settled in their hearts, but it hung heavily in the air.

Then, as if in response to their unspoken prayers, a miracle occurred. Buffy's eyes widened as she watched Harry and Cedric fall to the ground in front of them, holding one of the two Triwizard cups. It was a moment of relief, but it was short-lived.

Buffy and Hermione wasted no time and were already on the move, racing towards Harry's fallen form. They arrived just moments before Dumbledore, who appeared with a sense of urgency etched on his face.

Dumbledore seized Harry roughly and turned him over, his voice filled with concern and urgency. "Harry! Harry!"

Harry slowly opened his eyes, his gaze filled with a mixture of exhaustion and dread. He managed to whisper, his voice trembling, "He's back. He's back. Voldemort! And Glorificus has taken Dawn to Sunnydale!"

Buffy and Hermione locked eyes, their faces drained of color. The nightmare they had feared had become a grim reality. Hermione turned to her sister as Buffy pulled her into a tight, protective embrace.

"What's going on? What's happened?" Cornelius Fudge's voice broke through the tension as he stepped up beside Dumbledore. His shock was palpable as he took in the scene. "My God - Diggory! Dumbledore - he's dead! And where's Ms. Summers?"

Buffy and Hermione exchanged a worried glance, but there was no time for explanations. Dumbledore, his voice filled with authority, addressed the situation. "Harry, let go of him," he said firmly.

Buffy noticed, for the first time, that Harry was hugging the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory, his expression one of shock and grief.

"Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go," Dumbledore urged, his tone gentle but resolute.

Harry's grip on Cedric's body slowly loosened, and he murmured in a voice tinged with sorrow, "He wanted me to bring him back. He wanted me to bring him back to his parents."

Dumbledore's voice was filled with a mixture of concern and authority as he gently reassured Harry, "That's right, Harry…just let go now…" His words carried a comforting weight, like a warm embrace on a cold winter's night.

Fudge's voice, on the other hand, pierced through the air with urgency and worry, his words spoken loudly to convey the gravity of the situation, "He'll need to go to the hospital wing! He's ill, he's injured - Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands…"

Moody's gravelly voice offered assistance, a hint of gruff determination in his tone, "I'll take Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him -"

But Dumbledore, with his calm and measured demeanor, maintained control of the situation, his voice holding a sense of wisdom and authority, "No, I would prefer-"

Fudge nodded, his voice trembling slightly as he pressed for a difficult conversation, "Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running…he's coming over. Don't you think you should tell him - before he sees - ?"

As Dumbledore moved towards Amos Diggory, his expression was a mix of sympathy and responsibility. He acknowledged Buffy and Hermione with a knowing look, silently acknowledging that they had more than one mystery to solve today, and they needed to do it swiftly.

Moody's gruff voice was laced with genuine concern as he reassured Harry, his words carrying a comforting weight, "It's all right, son, I've got you… come on… hospital wing…"

But Harry, his voice thick with emotion, was adamant, "Dumbledore said stay."

Moody, however, knew the urgency of the situation and gently insisted, "You need to lie down… Come on now…"

Buffy and Hermione watched the scene unfold, their worry etched on their faces as Harry was half pulled, half carried away by Moody.

As they moved away, Moody couldn't contain his curiosity and concern, asking Harry, "What happened, Harry?"

Harry's voice trembled as he recounted the harrowing experience, "Both cups were Portkeys. They took Dawn, me, and Cedric to a graveyard… and Voldemort and Glory were there…"

Hermione, with determination in her voice, declared, "We have to find her."

Buffy, her gaze fixed on Dawn's twin, saw tears in Hermione's eyes and couldn't help but promise, her voice filled with determination and conviction, "And we will, 'Mione. I promise you. As God as my witness, we will find her."

Dumbledore returned, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a hint of concern, "Where's Harry?"

Buffy met Dumbledore's gaze and nodded, her voice steady, "Professor Moody took him back to the castle."

Without wasting a moment, Dumbledore set off, and the others, including Buffy, Hermione, Snape, and McGonagall, followed closely behind. As they reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Dumbledore began to explain his suspicions that Moody was not, in fact, the real Moody.

With Buffy taking charge, she burst into the room first, her wand raised and ready, "Stupefy!" A blinding flash of red light filled the room, and Moody was thrown backward onto the office floor.

Hermione rushed over to her friend, her concern evident in her voice, "Are you alright?"

Harry nodded, his voice tinged with relief, "I'm alright, Hermione."

Professor McGonagall, her voice filled with concern, went straight to Harry, whispering reassuringly, "Come along, Potter. Come along… hospital wing…"

But Dumbledore, his voice sharp and unwavering, intervened, "No."

McGonagall, her maternal instincts taking over, argued, "Dumbledore, he ought to - look at him - he's been through enough tonight -"

Dumbledore's response was curt, his determination clear, "He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand." His words carried a sense of wisdom, emphasizing the importance of knowledge in the face of adversity. "Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why."

Harry, his voice filled with disbelief, muttered, "Moody. How can it have been Moody?"

Dumbledore's voice remained quiet but firm as he revealed the truth, "This is not Alastor Moody. You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew - and I followed."

Buffy nods, "He put Harry and Dawn's names in the Goblet."

"I believe so, Buffy." Dumbledore said. "I believe so. Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here."

"We need to hurry, Professor." Buffy said.

Dumbledore nods, "I believe we may have some time to get to the bottom of this. Hermione I want you to go to my office and contact Buffy's friends in Sunnydale. They should know that your sister is missing. Password to my office is butter toffee."

Hermione nodded, "Of course Professor. Should we tell them to expect us?"

Dumbledore nods, "Yes. Tell them we should be there within the hour. Then Hermione I need you to find all the Professors and tell them to watch the students. That Buffy, you, I and Professor McGonagall will be leaving the castle shortly and we will be back as quickly as possible."

Hermione wasted no time and was out the door in a flash, her determination driving her forward. Within moments, she found herself in Dumbledore's office, ready to use the Floo Network. With a handful of Floo powder in hand, she tossed it into the fireplace and spoke with urgency, "Summers Residence, Sunnydale, California."

As the green flames enveloped her, Hermione's face appeared on the other side, in Buffy's living room. She called out, her voice filled with both worry and hope, "Hello?"

A moment later, Willow knelt down in front of the fireplace, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw Hermione, "Hermione?"

Hermione wasted no time and delivered the crucial message, her voice determined, "Willow, get everyone together. Glory has Dawn. Buffy, I, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall will be coming within the hour."

Willow's response was filled with determination and reassurance, "Will do. And Hermione, we'll get her back."

"I know," Hermione said, her faith in their abilities unwavering. With that, she pulled her head out of the green flames and hurried out the door to find the other professors.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dumbledore walked over to the trunk with seven locks, fitting the keys he found in each lock and opening it. As he peered down into the pit-like underground room, a sense of grim determination filled the air. Lying on the floor, some ten feet below, was the real Mad-Eye Moody, thin and starved in appearance, seemingly fast asleep.

With calculated precision, Dumbledore lowered himself into the trunk, falling lightly onto the floor beside the sleeping Moody. He examined the real Moody and deduced the situation, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and analysis, "Stunned - controlled by the Imperius Curse - very weak. Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Harry, throw down the imposter's cloak - he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger."

Harry followed Dumbledore's instructions, tossing down the imposter's cloak, and Dumbledore covered the real Moody with it, tucking it around him with care. Then, he climbed out of the trunk, picked up the hip flask from the desk, and unscrewed it, revealing a thick, glutinous liquid that splattered onto the office floor.

Buffy, sharp as ever, didn't miss a beat, her voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm, "Let me guess, Polyjuice Potion."

Dumbledore acknowledged her insight with a nod, "You are correct, Buffy. Harry, you see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair..." Dumbledore's gaze drifted to the Moody in the trunk. "The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done… on the hour… every hour… We shall see."

Buffy reflected on Dumbledore's words, nodding in agreement. She couldn't recall seeing Moody take a drink in the last hour, and the pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place.

Minutes ticked away in a heavy silence, tension hanging in the air like a shroud. Then, as if the room itself couldn't contain the secrets any longer, the face of the man on the floor began to shift and change. Buffy's eyes widened as she watched the transformation, a sense of recognition dawning upon her.

Snape, his voice tinged with disbelief, uttered the man's name, "Crouch! Barty Crouch!"

Buffy's jaw dropped, the realization hitting her like a lightning bolt. Of course, the man on the floor was none other than the son of Mr. Crouch.

Professor McGonagall, too, was taken aback, her voice reflecting her shock, "Good heavens," as she stared down at the disheveled man on the floor.

Amidst the stunned onlookers, Winky, filthy and disheveled, peered around Snape's legs. Her mouth fell open, and she let out a piercing shriek of anguish and despair.

"Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" Winky cried out, her voice filled with grief. "You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"

"He is simply Stunned, Winky," Dumbledore reassured the distressed house-elf. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"

Snape handed Dumbledore a small glass bottle of completely clear liquid, his expression still harboring traces of suspicion and concern.

Dumbledore, with an air of confidence and authority, got up and bent over the man on the floor. However, before he could proceed, Buffy spoke up, her voice firm and resolute, "Professor, if I may."

Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgment, recognizing that she had earned the right to be involved in this critical moment. He handed her the bottle, and Buffy took charge without hesitation.

She forced the man's mouth open and carefully poured three drops of the clear liquid inside. Then, pointing her wand at the man's chest, she incanted, "Ennervate."

Crouch's son slowly opened his eyes, his face wearing an expression of profound confusion, his gaze wandering aimlessly.

Dumbledore knelt before him, his voice gentle and reassuring, "Can you hear me?"

The man's eyelids fluttered, and he managed a weak, "Yes."

Dumbledore leaned in closer, his tone soothing, "I would like you to tell us how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"

Crouch took a trembling breath, his voice devoid of emotion, as he began to recount the grim tale, "My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other's appearance."

Winky, overwhelmed with fear and grief, shook her head and trembled, pleading with him, "Say no more. Master Barty, say no more, you is getting your father into trouble!"

Crouch's son continued with his grim narrative, his voice unwavering, "The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me."

The man's eyelids flickered, his memories unfolding like a dark tapestry.

Dumbledore, his questions deliberate, asked, "And what did your father do with you when he got you home?"

Crouch's son replied, his voice tinged with resignation, "Staged my mother's death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master…of returning to his service."

Dumbledore pressed further, seeking the truth, "How did your father subdue you?"

Crouch's son's answer was chilling, "The Imperius Curse," he admitted. "I was under my father's control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behavior."

Winky, overwhelmed by fear and desperation, couldn't bear to hear more. She sobbed uncontrollably, her voice pleading, "Master Barty, Master Barty, you isn't ought to tell them, we is getting in trouble."

"Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle as he posed the question. "Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?"

Crouch's response was laden with guilt and sorrow, "Yes."

As Crouch continued to speak, his words painted a harrowing picture of how he had been subdued by his father, his escape, his impersonation of Moody, and his involvement in ensuring Harry reached Voldemort.

Buffy listened intently but couldn't ignore the nagging question that had been weighing on her mind. Her frown deepened as she asked, her voice tinged with worry, "And what about my sister? What about Dawn?"

Crouch began to explain, his voice filled with a sense of remorse, "It was the first day. I saw her glowing green. I reported this to my master. He contacted me and told me to alter the plan slightly to capture her as well. So I put her name in the Goblet. When I took both cups into the maze, I created a portkey out of both to ensure that she, along with Potter, would reach my master. And then he would turn her over to the hell god."

Buffy's heart sank as she realized the gravity of the situation. She pressed on, determination in her voice, "Where did Glory take Dawn?"

Crouch's response was filled with uncertainty, "I do not know. There was mention of a tower in one of my master's messages. But no indication of where it might be."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his decision clear, "Severus, take Mr. Crouch and place him under lock and key. Myself, Minerva, Buffy, and Hermione are going to Sunnydale."

Harry, longing to be a part of the rescue mission, voiced his wish, "I wish I could go with you."

Buffy nodded, understanding his feelings, "I know. You just rest up and let that leg heal. Once we come back, you can throw Dawn a big welcome home party."

Harry smiled, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "Deal."