The moment Harry stepped into the maze, the roar of the crowd faded away, swallowed by the towering hedges that loomed around him. The cheers and claps from the stands were replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves in the darkening sky above. The maze seemed alive, the shadows between the thick walls of greenery twisting and shifting as Harry moved cautiously forward.
His heart pounded in his chest, every step sending a shiver down his spine. It was disorienting, and every corner looked the same, adding to the sense of dread that gnawed at him. His wand was clenched tightly in his hand, but the further he went, the more he felt like it might be useless. There was no sound except his own breathing and the steady crunch of grass beneath his feet. The hedges stretched impossibly high above him, blocking out most of the fading light.
Harry moved through the winding paths, trying to steady his breathing, but there was no shaking the cold, creeping fear that crawled up his spine. The maze was playing tricks on his mind, whispering promises of danger at every turn. He kept his wand raised, ready, but there were no creatures here—no obvious threats, just the oppressive feeling of being utterly alone.
Idly, he thought about how utterly pointless the tournament must have been for the audiences. Sure, the first task surely was a spectacle to behold. Fighting dragons, and whatnot. The second? Staring at the cold grey surface of the lake for an hour? Who even came up with that? And here he was inside a maze with hedges magically insulating him from the outside world. Were the audience just sitting there, looking at shrubbery for who knows for how long? How utterly pointless..
Every so often, a distant crackle of magic told him one of the other champions had triggered something—perhaps a spell, or a trap—but it only made Harry walk faster. The sense of urgency was building inside him, pressing against his chest like a vice.
After what felt like an eternity, Harry rounded a final corner and came to a halt. His breath caught in his throat.
There, in the center of a small clearing, stood the gleaming Triwizard Cup, illuminated in a soft, silver glow. There was a faint feeling of disappointment, intermingling with everything else. That's it?
It looked almost peaceful in contrast to the dark, twisted maze surrounding it. But Harry knew better. His heart pounded as he took a step forward, then another. Every instinct in him screamed to stop, to turn back, but he knew this was it. The real test wasn't surviving the maze.
It was what came next.
The cup was only a few feet away now, its surface reflecting the faint light of the moon above. Harry's chest tightened. Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind—the only way to defeat Voldemort is by surrendering willingly.
He stopped just short of the cup, his hand hovering in the air, mere inches from it. His breathing was shallow, and he could feel the tension building, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him.
If he touched the cup, it would begin. A ritual that would bring Voldemort back. And Harry knew that if he wanted to stand any chance at defeating him—at ruining his ritual—he had to go along with it. He had to let them take him, let them draw his blood willingly.
Harry's hand trembled as he reached out toward the cup. His heart was racing now. He looked quickly at the watch Dumbledore had given him. The safeguard, that would ensure that no matter what, he would always have an out.
But in this, he really had no choice. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.
With a final deep breath, Harry's hand closed around the handle of the Triwizard Cup.
There was a hard pull at his navel, and the world spun violently before Harry's feet touched solid ground again. His vision swam, and for a brief, confusing moment, he thought they had been returned to Hogwarts. But the familiar comfort of the Quidditch pitch was nowhere to be found. Instead, the first thing he saw was not tombstones or a graveyard, but a pair of glowing red eyes. They belonged to a snakelike face that sneered down at him, its lips twisted in a cruel, taunting smile. Voldemort was already back.
Before Harry could react, a quick wave of Voldemort's wand left him disarmed, wand ripped from his hand.
Harry looked around. They were on some kind of stage, but it wasn't man-made. It was a natural feature, a rocky outcrop that rose above a massive crowd of hooded, masked figures—Death Eaters, their faces hidden behind cold, expressionless masks, watching with gleeful anticipation. High above them, the stars shone.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest. With a viciously quick motion, Voldemort slashed his wand across the air and a searing pain shot through Harry's wrist, the portkey fell uselessly to the ground, clattering at his feet..
Mockingly Voldemort whined in a babys voice, "Help me..." His red eyes gleamed with cold amusement. "Old fool."
Voldemort turned from Harry, addressing the crowd of Death Eaters surrounding them. His voice, dripping with mockery, filled the air.
Voldemort's cold, high-pitched voice broke the silence. "Welcome, Harry Potter." The words were drawn out, mocking, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years.
Harry's mind was reeling, shock gripping him tight. "What... what is this?"
Voldemort's smile widened. "What, were you expecting something different?" he hissed, his voice dripping with derision. Laughter echoed through the crowd, low and chilling.
"This... this isn't how—" Harry stammered,
"But—the stars.." his thoughts racing back to what Dumbledore had told him would unfold. The stars weren't supposed to be aligned yet.
Voldemort's grin sharpened. "Ah yes, but of course—the stars." he mocked.
The crowd of death eaters burst out into raucous laughter.
Voldemorts red eyes glinted with amusement. He faced his audience, "Naturally, I will rely on the stars.."
He continued in mock thoughtfullness,
"I wonder what else about this plan Dumbledore told you about, was nonsense.."
"To catch you all up to speed," Voldemort began, "Dumbledore, the greatest wizard—blah, blah..." He rolled his eyes, holding up a hand.
"Relied on my 'grand plan' to be, let's see..."
He extended one spindly finger,
"Have the office of international magic cooperation arrange a game for school children.." He ticked off the first finger.
"Kidnap the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—a renowned Auror, by the way.." Another finger. Voldemort gave a short, derisive laugh.
"Replace him with a Death Eater, neccessitating fooling Dumbledore for months, just so he could put the boy in the tournament."
Another finger.
"As a ruse to kidnap the Boy-Who-Lived when he… inevitably won. And then…"
He extended the last finger, his smile twisting with amusement.
"Use his blood for some silly wiccan woodland witch ritual."
Out of fingers, Voldemort flicked his hand dismissively, as if swatting away a fly.
"How do you even come up with something so convoluted? Do we dance naked in the moonlight, too?"
His laughter cut through the air, cold and cruel, joined by the sniggers of the masked figures surrounding them.
Harry's stomach twisted with dread. It truly did feel silly, now that Voldemort had laid their assumption of his plans out bare.
With an air of showmanship, Voldemort swung back around to face Harry, his pale face illuminated by the flickering light of torches. "Tell me, Potter," he sneered, "your relationship to Dumbledore. Would you call him a father figure? A mentor?"
He paused.
"That is some role model for you there, knowingly delivering you right into my hands."
Harrys throat felt tight, his thoughts frozen.
"But the impostor," Harry managed to croak, his voice faint.
Voldemort let out a sharp, contemptuous snort. "He died playing a silly game. Do you think I concern myself with schoolyard tricks? Junior came to me last summer, wanting to settle a score with his dear old Auror friend. I let him play his little games." Voldemort's lip curled in a sneer. "Do you think I deign involve myself with school games for children?"
A sickening sense of dread settled deep in Harry's chest. His mind racing.
"We would have taken you at kings cross regardless, end of term.. But having Dumbledore deliver you was just too delicious. It seems Juniors silly game paid off for us after all.."
Almost as an afterthought, Voldemort lazily waved his wand in Harry's direction,
"Crucio."
Harry screamed. He screamed for a long time, and when the pain subsided, the ambient noise, he realized, was the laughter of the death eaters relishing his torture.
"Can you imagine what Dumbledore must be thinking right now?" Voldemort's voice was casual, almost amused, as he strolled leisurely around Harry. Another flick of his wand sent a new wave of agony through Harry's body. It felt as though his bones were splintering inside him, snapping and grinding with every fresh pulse of pain.
Harry gasped, his vision swimming as he writhed on the cold, damp ground. The world around him blurred, but Voldemort's voice remained clear, cutting through the haze of agony.
"The Aurors," Voldemort continued, his voice almost lighthearted, "sent by him to search a graveyard, no sign of anything, and yet, his treasured golden boy—gone."
Another curse tore through Harry's body. Crucio. The pain was indescribable, like fire and knives ripping through his nerves, but worse. Far worse. His muscles seized, and he twisted on the ground, trying to fight it, trying to hold on. He could hear the distant sound of Voldemort's mocking laughter, and the crowd of Death Eaters stood in utter silence, watching with blank, expressionless faces beneath their masks.
"Nobody," Voldemort's voice dropped to a hiss, "save that dog uncle of yours, knows you're here. Because you were a good boy, and kept your friends in the dark, weren't you?"
Harry clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out Voldemort's words, trying to escape into the darkness behind his eyelids. He could feel his body shaking, his heartbeat erratic. He couldn't think—he could barely breathe.
"No, no…" Voldemort's voice came again, and this time, softer. "Imperio."
He opened his eyes mechanically, staring straight ahead, no choice but to meet his tormentors red eyes.
"That's better," Voldemort said with satisfaction. "Crucio."
The pain hit again, raw and vicious. His body convulsed on the ground, twisting and flailing as the curse ravaged him. His screams filled the silence, echoing in the empty air.
"I think my point has been made," Voldemort said softly, his voice cold and final. He raised his wand, his eyes gleaming with that terrible red light. "Avada Kedavra."
A blinding green flash, brighter than anything Harry had ever seen, filled his vision.
