CHAPTER 25: THE ENIGMATIC MAZE CHALLENGE

The daunting hedges of the maze loomed above Harry, casting shadows more than three times his height. A dense, ashen fog enveloped the labyrinth, shrouding it in an eerie ambiance reminiscent of an encounter with dementors - a scenario Harry fervently hoped to avoid. He squinted through the mist, contemplating the possibility of fiendfyre being a more effective defense against those dreaded creatures. Dementors, after all, were loathsome beings.

The spectators in the Quidditch stands erupted in cheers, their enthusiasm resonating through the air as they drummed their hands on the railings.

'All four champions are now present,' Ludo Bagman's voice resonated across the arena. 'Which means it's almost time to commence this challenge!'

Harry cast a surreptitious glance at his fellow competitors. Cedric's eyes were fixed on the maze with a concerned glint, revealing the gravity of the task ahead. Viktor, on the other hand, began a series of stretches, limbering up as though preparing for a rigorous game of Quidditch. Harry quickly refocused his attention on the maze, avoiding any consideration of how Fleur might be faring within.

Viktor Krum rose to his feet and gave Harry an encouraging pat on the shoulder, his grip firm and supportive. 'I have not forgotten the fish, my friend,' he reminded Harry with a grin.

Harry reciprocated with a smile. 'I was beginning to worry that I might have to conjure more if you had.'

Viktor chuckled heartily and delivered a hearty thump to Harry's back. 'That's the spirit! This will be quite an adventure, da!'

Ludo Bagman cleared his throat, signaling the commencement of the proceedings. 'Just a few minutes ago, my assistant and I, accompanied by Alastor Moody, placed the Triwizard Trophy at the very heart of this maze. The first champion to retrieve it shall be declared the winner. Should you wish to withdraw at any point, simply send up red sparks from your wand.'

Cedric inquired about the point system. 'And what about the points?'

Mr. Bagman explained, 'Mr. Krum will enter the maze first, as he currently leads with the most points. For each point that the next champion is behind him, ten seconds will be deducted from their starting time.'

Cedric's brow furrowed. 'That's more than a minute,' he mumbled in realization.

'Is there any information about the maze we should be aware of?' Fleur's azure eyes drifted thoughtfully over the towering hedges.

Ludo Bagman's response was noncommittal. 'I'm afraid I can't provide any details that might give you an advantage.'

Harry, ever inquisitive, stepped closer to the maze's entrance. 'But how is everyone going to watch with all this mist?'

A mischievous grin spread across Ludo Bagman's face. 'A splendid question, Harry. The short answer is, we can't. Once you pass a couple of hedges, all visibility is lost.'

Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow, causing Harry to wonder if Bagman's willingness to assist her was more than mere chance. A shiver ran down his spine. 'He's not the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but perhaps he's placed a bet on me,' Harry mused. After all, Rita Skeeter had once mentioned his reputation as a gambler.

Ludo Bagman turned his attention to Viktor Krum, producing a well-worn, wooden whistle. 'Mr. Krum, are you ready?'

'Yes,' Viktor responded with a determined nod.

Harry focused on the thick mist, pondering his plan. If they lose contact after two hedges, then three should be far enough. He mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead.

'That's about all there is to it,' Bagman concluded with a playful smile, then blew the whistle.

Without hesitation, Viktor darted into the dark maze, displaying remarkable speed.

'Thirty-five. Thirty-four. Thirty-three,' Fleur's whispered countdown spurred Harry's heart to race.

When the countdown reached twenty, Harry positioned himself, ready to sprint at the signal. 'On your marks, get set...'

'Twenty-two. Twenty-one. Twenty...'

'Go!' Harry surged into the maze, leaving Bagman's shrill whistle behind.

Within the labyrinth, faint light filtered down through the dense mist. The towering hedges cast eerie shadows, and it felt as dark as twilight. Harry navigated through the maze, stepping carefully over roots and grass, his heart thundering in his chest, his wand tightly gripped in his hand.

As Harry ventured deeper into the maze, he encountered a fork in the path, with fresh footprints leading left. Instinctively, he veered right. It wouldn't be wise to stumble upon Viktor while wielding the deadly fiendfyre.

The path ahead followed a gentle curve, and Harry wasted no time, breaking into a run. At each juncture that appeared to lead closer to the maze's center, he turned left and right, determined to maintain a safe distance from the Triwizard Trophy. But in his haste, he smacked into an unexpected obstacle, crashing into something hard. He was sent careening into the hedge, where sharp branches pierced his back, and small, tongue-shaped leaves tickled his face.

An eerie occurrence unfolded as the maze itself seemed to come to life. Its walls shivered, roots shifted beneath the earth, and Harry found himself inexplicably dragged several meters to his right. With a determined effort, he extricated himself from the hedge, only to confront the original obstacle, which revealed itself to be an acromantula. The giant spider, with eight near-life-size reflections of Harry surrounding it, menacingly clicked its pincers. Harry raised his wand, cursing the day someone had apparently let Hagrid help with this fiendish task.

'Lacero,' he hissed, unleashing a flash of purple light that gouged into one of the reflections. The acromantula, now missing an eye and oozing thick, sticky green liquid, gnashed its mandibles.

Harry continued to cast the curse, but the lines it etched into the acromantula's carapace did little to hinder the arachnid's advance. Harry quickly backpedaled, desperately trying to put distance between them. The giant spider surged forward, and with swift reflexes, Harry dove beneath its menacing pincers, rolled to the side, and disillusioned himself, fading into near-invisibility. The acromantula clicked its mandibles, prowling over the area where Harry had vanished.

'Right, go search somewhere a bit further down so I can sneak off, please,' Harry silently urged the arachnid as it spun a web across the path, effectively blocking his way deeper into the maze.

Harry's heart raced as he assessed the formidable webbing blocking his path. The silk strands were as thick as his bicep, and he knew that spider-silk was stronger than steel cables. He scowled, feeling the weight of the situation. How on earth was he going to get through the impervious exo-skeleton?

His mind raced, and then it struck him. "Skeleton," he whispered, bouncing his wand in his hand. With a flick, he cast the 'Osassula' spell in an inverted 'C' shape. Although the bone-splintering curse missed the spider's carapace, it struck one of its legs. The limb shattered, causing the acromantula to screech and stumble. Harry wasted no time and cast three more bone-splintering curses; two more legs on the same side snapped, sending the spider crashing into the hedge. Writhing in pain, it curled its legs inwards and keened while gnashing its pincers.

Harry gazed down at the injured creature, his moral compass reminding him that injured animals could be incredibly dangerous, especially when cornered. He knew he had to end its suffering swiftly. With a deft transfiguration, he transformed a broken piece of the spider's leg into a long, thin steel spike, which he then banished deep into the acromantula's skull. Satisfied that the creature was no longer a threat, he stepped over its still legs, dropped his disillusionment, and carefully maneuvered through a gap in the webbing.

As he continued deeper into the maze, the path curved towards the center, and the urge to cast the fiendfyre spell began to coil tightly in his chest. However, he knew he needed to bide his time and ensure he was far enough into the maze where no one could see what he was about to unleash.

Suddenly, heavy footfalls resonated up ahead, prompting Harry to once again disillusion himself. What he encountered next was a grotesque hybrid of a scorpion and a lobster, its slimy body coated in a sickly sheen. The nightmarish creature emitted a shower of sparks from its end and charged forward into the hedge, stinger flailing wildly.

Harry sprinted past the grotesque hybrid creature, putting some distance between them as he rounded the corner. He paused for a moment, straining his ears to listen, but the thudding footsteps eventually faded into the distance. 'Whatever the hell that was, I'm sure Hagrid loves it dearly,' he mused under his breath.

As he continued his journey through the maze, a fork presented itself around the next gentle curve, devoid of any footprints to guide him. Harry glanced up into the misty, featureless sky, realizing that he had no clue about the sun's position.

Feeling a bit foolish, he placed his wand flat in his palm. 'Point me north,' he whispered, although it wasn't a formal spell. The ebony wand responded, swaying to indicate the left fork as the correct direction. 'North takes me close enough to the center to use fiendfyre and get the cup before anyone else,' he reasoned.

He briskly covered fourteen steps before the mist thickened, and from its depths emerged a dementor. The grim, skeletal figure, with tattered hood and rattling breaths, seemed to reach out with its withered, skeletal hands.

'I knew it,' Harry muttered as the cold seeped into his very soul. He made the decision to abandon his disillusionment, and in his mind's eye, he conjured the memory of his parents from the Mirror of Erised. 'Expecto Patronum.'

To his dismay, what materialized from his wand was a mere wisp of silver mist, slow and half-hearted, which poured onto the ground and swirled around his feet. Harry couldn't help but question, 'That's not meant to happen. What happened to Prongs?'

A feathered wingtip materialized from the mist at Harry's feet, only to disintegrate into nothingness moments later. The dementor, sensing his internal struggle, shivered and then, in a seamless blur, shifted its form.

Harry's gaze locked onto the emerald eyes, the messy, untamed ebony hair, and the jagged scar hidden behind a pair of wide-framed glasses. But within those familiar features, there was a distant, desolate void—a sense of endless despair. The green eyes bore the weight of a thousand meters of cold, dark water, an overwhelming, crushing force.

'We're nothing,' it spoke with Harry's own voice, but devoid of any vitality, flat and lifeless as concrete slabs. 'We were nothing when we played the hero. We're nothing now. There's no escape. There's nothing more. Whether they understand us or not, they just... don't care.'

Determined and resolute, Harry raised his wand and tore his gaze away from the vacant, numb expression mirrored in his doppelganger's eyes. 'Someone will,' he asserted. 'I'll find them.'

'No. They won't,' the doppelganger responded. 'There are no exceptions. We're all shallow, selfish beings. They'll never be anything different.' It took a step forward, and its eyes began to glow with a soft, hypnotic crimson—a hue identical to the eyes that had peered out from behind the fragment of Harry's soul. 'If they're all going to be selfish, then we'll beat them at it. Winning is all that counts when there's nothing else left. And in the end, even winning means nothing when you're left holding the trophy alone.'

A deep well of hatred surged in Harry's heart. His wand snapped up, and flames erupted from its tip, engulfing the boggart. The searing heat radiated across Harry's face, and a chorus of hungry whispers echoed in the crackling and snapping of the fire.

Determined and resolute, Harry's thoughts were clear. 'I'm done with this maze,' he thought. He inhaled deeply, relishing the scorching air, and smiled as the ashes of the boggart rained down. 'I'm going to win,' he affirmed, his determination unshakable. 'And I'm going to find someone who understands. An equal.'

The flames from the fiendfyre twisted and writhed, taking the shape of a colossal serpent. This white-hot basilisk, with crimson-tipped tongues of fire trailing behind it, lunged forward as Harry directed it with his wand. He strolled through the smoky gaps in the hedge, resolutely heading north, toward the maze's center.

However, his determined march was suddenly interrupted by a chilling scream echoing from ahead. The voice was unmistakable: Fleur. In an instant, a host of dangerous creatures and the harrowing image of the blood-clouded Black Lake rushed through Harry's thoughts. Fleur's desperate look remained etched in his mind's eye.

The fiendfyre serpent twisted aside from its path, its flames blazing like the sun. Harry, his instincts momentarily getting the best of him, found himself crying out, 'No!' and willed the destruction to cease. The serpent collapsed, and Harry sprinted through the floating ashes of the hedges.

He found Fleur sprawled on the path, her silver hair obscuring her face. Her wand lay beside her hand, its glow a testament to the powerful magic she had been wielding. Her chest rose and fell as if she were sleeping, but her body trembled with tiny spasms and tremors.

The realization struck Harry like a bolt of ice through his heart. 'The Cruciatus Curse causes that,' he thought. His wand flickered with green light as he resolved to find and punish the one responsible.

A yellow curse hissed dangerously close to his face, carving into the ground just behind him. 'Viktor!' Harry hissed, twisting around and rising to his feet.

With bone-splintering curses flashing from his wand, Harry attacked the hedges, while Viktor dodged to one side, rolling across the path and swiftly regaining his footing.

'Not me!' Viktor yelled in a panic. 'Not me!'

Harry raised his wand again, his rage and confusion building. 'Then who?'

'Diggory!' Viktor exclaimed.

A searing pain shot through Harry's body, causing him to cry out in agony.

Pain surged through Harry, and he was reminded of the excruciating memory of tearing his own soul. The ink-black mist, the agony, and the echoes of his fractured self haunted him, but he pushed those thoughts aside. 'No,' he told himself, 'it doesn't hurt as much.'

Struggling to his feet, Harry raised his wand and uttered, 'Lacero.' The curse tore a deep, crimson gash along Cedric's cheekbone, causing the Hufflepuff champion to falter. Cedric shook his head, as though trying to clear his thoughts, and muttered, 'Eliminate the other champions... eliminate them however I can.'

The chilling realization hit Harry like a bolt of lightning – this wasn't Cedric. Something was terribly wrong, and it bore the signs of the Imperius Curse.

Diggory screamed, 'Avada Kedavra!' and a flash of green light pierced the air. A sickening thud reverberated behind Harry. His heart sank, and icy dread tightened its grip on him. 'Viktor... This can't be Cedric,' he thought.

Harry threw himself to the ground, visualizing the act of cleaning a window, and whispered, 'Obliviate.' Cedric staggered, his words incoherent, and confusion clouded his eyes.

'Stupefy,' Harry uttered, and the red beam struck Cedric squarely in the chest, causing him to collapse to the ground.

Harry surveyed the scene, knowing he had won the challenge, but a heavy weight rested on his heart. 'No,' he corrected himself, 'I haven't won. Someone else did this, not me.' He took a deep breath. 'Voldemort. It's always him.'

His gaze settled on Cedric. 'But you cast two Unforgivables... They'll send you to Azkaban.'

Harry bent down and picked up Cedric's wand, realizing that Cedric had been manipulated into becoming the instrument through which their adversaries sought to place blame. If it was indeed Voldemort orchestrating these events, then the dark wizard was once again targeting Harry, and Fleur and Viktor had merely been caught in the crossfire.

With a heavy heart, Harry raised Cedric's wand high in the air and sent a burst of bright red sparks shooting into the sky. He then snapped the wand in half and cast aside the pieces. 'Sorry, Cedric,' he muttered, 'I know how much losing a wand hurts, but it's the best I can do. Someone will come find you and poor Viktor.' Harry gazed down at Fleur, his heart aching. 'I can't leave you here.'

He pondered whether he might still be under some form of enchantment, then carefully slid Fleur's rosewood wand back into her belt. Cradling her in his arms, he clutched her to his chest, leaving his right hand free to wield his own wand. 'I'll take you with me, straight to the trophy, then we're both finished with this.'

Steel in his resolve, Harry released a rippling wave of fiendfyre, reducing the hedges in front of him to ash for a hundred meters. He extinguished the flames, but the strain took a toll on him, forcing him to fall to one knee.

'It will end soon,' he assured himself, pushing back to his feet and gently sweeping Fleur's hair off her face. 'Almost done, Fleur.'

A solitary ring of hedge remained on the far side of the field, and within it, a sphinx watched him with an enigmatic expression on her feminine visage.

'I'd like to go through,' Harry spoke to the sphinx, hot ashes swirling about his feet. 'Preferably as soon as I can.'

'I can see that,' the sphinx replied, her beautiful, melodious voice carrying a strange double timbre that tugged at Harry's thoughts. 'You have to answer the riddle, or you can try to force your way through, if you'd rather.'

Harry quickly assessed the situation. 'Fighting a sphinx is probably a bad idea at the best of times, let alone now.'

'The riddle, please,' Harry requested.

The sphinx nodded. 'A silent favour, a priceless gift; worn but not woven, a lipped rift.'

Harry inquired, 'How many guesses do I get? And is there a time limit?'

The sphinx's smile widened as she replied, 'A good question to ask. Normally, if we met by chance, you would only have three guesses, but since I came here especially to test Salazar's descendant...'

Harry felt the sinking feeling return. 'That doesn't mean extra guesses, does it?'

'No, little human. You only get one. I hope you don't disappoint me.'

Harry offered a weak chuckle. 'So do I.'

He thought of Fleur's safety and said, 'If you don't mind, just in case I do disappoint.'

With the tip of his wand, Harry cast Salazar's favorite protective ward-curse on Fleur's skin, then disillusioned her. 'There, anyone who touches her intending her harm in the next few hours will wither to dust.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry apologized with a rueful grin, 'I seem to have forgotten the riddle while casting that.'

The sphinx, her patience not entirely worn, repeated the riddle. 'A silent favour, a priceless gift; worn but not woven, a lipped rift.'

Harry racked his brain for an answer. 'What's silent, a gift, and worn?' he thought to himself. 'Clothes? Shoes? No, clothes probably count as woven.' He let out a sigh. 'This is worse than Divination used to be. At least I didn't actually die at the end of those lessons.'

'I don't suppose you give hints?' Harry inquired, hoping for a little assistance.

The sphinx's smile stretched so wide that Harry thought it might leave her face. 'I'm afraid not.'

'Smile! It's a smile!' Harry's moment of inspiration hit him like a bolt of lightning. He marveled at his own cleverness. 'I'm really rather proud of that.'

'A smile,' he confidently declared.

Suddenly, a searing pain erupted in his head, and Harry clapped his free hand to his face. 'I was wrong?'

'No,' the sphinx responded. 'I was just curious.'

'Legilimency…' Harry began.

'Indeed,' the sphinx confirmed. 'Or, at least, that's the closest your kind can come to what we do.' She leaned to one side, allowing him to pass. 'I will enjoy watching what happens to you, Harry Potter, Heir of Slytherin. For answering my riddle correctly, you may pass. For passing my test, I offer this: a second riddle, of sorts, that might help you in a more troublesome third.'

Harry nodded eagerly. 'Okay. I'm listening. Confused, but listening.'

The sphinx laughed. 'When is victory not really victory? When does falling to your last enemy stop being defeat?'

Harry was left baffled by the cryptic riddle. He watched the sphinx take flight and couldn't help but wonder if it had come for the tournament or if it had simply arrived for him.

Gently cradling Fleur in his arms, he staggered around the corner. The Triwizard Cup gleamed enticingly, a mere five meters away, resting on a marble plinth.

Harry carefully arranged Fleur, leaning her against the plinth with her head resting against the stone to avoid any discomfort. He paused for a moment, contemplating the situation, and then summoned the remnants of his magical energy to cast a warming charm on her.

As he sighed and gently smoothed her silver hair, Harry couldn't help but reflect on the allure Fleur had wielded during the tournament. He whispered softly to her, 'You know, Fleur, I don't know what you did to me with your allure in the room or in the lake, but if I could somehow trade this cup to make you feel I was more important than winning, I'd do it in a heartbeat.'

With a touch of sadness in his eyes, Harry tucked his wand back up his sleeve and reached out with his right hand to claim the Triwizard Cup. 'But I guess wishes like that just don't come true, do they?'

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