Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground; his face was pressed into grass; the smell of it filled his nostrils. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric's body. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let go of either of them. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting . . . waiting for someone to do something . . . something to happen . . . and all the while, his scar burned dully on his forehead. . . .
A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. . . . He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. . . .
Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over. "Harry! Harry!"
He opened his eyes.
He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was crouched over him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his head reverberating with their footsteps.
He had come back to the edge of the maze. He could see the stands rising above him, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above.
Harry let go of the cup, but he clutched Cedric to him even more tightly. He raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist, while Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus.
"He's back," Harry whispered. "He's back. Voldemort."
"What's going on? What's happened?"
The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Harry; it looked white, appalled.
"My God — Diggory!" it whispered. "Dumbledore — he's dead!" The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them . . . and then others shouted it — screeched it — into the night — "He's dead!" "He's dead!" "Cedric Diggory! Dead!"
"Harry, let go of him," he heard Fudge's voice say, and he felt fingers trying to pry him from Cedric's limp body, but Harry wouldn't let him go. Then Dumbledore's face, which was still blurred and misted, came closer.
"Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go."
"He wanted me to bring him back," Harry muttered — it seemed important to explain this. "He wanted me to bring him back to his parents. . . ."
"That's right, Harry . . . just let go now. . . ."
Dumbledore bent down, and with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin, raised Harry from the ground and set him on his feet. Harry swayed. His head was pounding. His injured leg would no longer support his weight. The crowd around them jostled, fighting to get closer, pressing darkly in on him — "What's happened?" "What's wrong with him?" "Diggory's dead!"
"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Fudge was saying loudly. "He's ill, he's injured — Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands. . . ."
"I'll take Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him —"
"No, I would prefer —"
"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running . . . he's coming over. . . . Don't you think you should tell him — before he sees — ?"
"Harry, stay here —"
Girls were screaming, sobbing hysterically. . . . The scene flickered oddly before Harry's eyes. . . .
"It's all right, son, I've got you . . . come on . . . hospital wing . . ."
"Dumbledore said stay," said Harry thickly, the pounding in his scar making him feel as though he was about to throw up; his vision was blurring worse than ever. He tried to use his Occlumency to reduce the pain, with only limited success.
"You need to lie down. . . . Come on now. . . ." Someone larger and stronger than he was was half pulling, half carrying him through the frightened crowd. Harry heard people gasping, screaming, and shouting as the man supporting him pushed a path through them, leading him back to the castle.
"Moody," a familiar voice called out. "Where are you taking him?"
"To the Hospital Wing, Black," Moody's voice called out from the person carrying him.
"I'll accompany you," Sirius's voice came from the other man.
"You don't need to do that," said Moody. Harry felt the man's arm move.
"I insist," said Sirius. "That's my godson, afterall."
Before Sirius could say more, Moody launched a spell at him. Sirius, apparently anticipating that, blocked the spell. A red flash of spell-light came from a different angle that impacted Moody. He collapsed like a puppet whose strings got suddenly caught, bringing Harry down with him.
A figure much smaller than Moody proceeded to help Harry up. The long mane of fiery hair gave away the identity of the other spellcaster. It was Ginny.
"Sorry about that," she apologized sheepishly. "Didn't want him to successfully abduct you again."
"How - how'd you know he was taking me away?" Harry asked, Occlumency finally pushing the pain away for now.
"Ben was keeping an eye on you," Sirius replied. "He alerted us about that and went with Ron, Hermione, and Remus to alert Dumbledore."
Just as he said that Dumbledore, followed by Remus, McGonagall, and Snape, exited the stadium. As soon as he caught a glimpse of his face, Harry fully understood for the first time why people said Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. The look upon Dumbledore's face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody was more terrible than Harry could have ever imagined. There was no benign smile upon Dumbledore's face, no twinkle in the eyes behind the spectacles. There was cold fury in every line of the ancient face; a sense of power radiated from Dumbledore as though he were giving off burning heat.
"Thank you for apprehending him, Sirius," Dumbledore said, voice hard.
"Ginny was the one who knocked him out," Sirius replied. "I think that he was completely distracted."
"Come along, Potter," McGonagall whispered. The thin line of her mouth was twitching as though she was about to cry. "Come along . . . hospital wing . . ."
"No," said Dumbledore sharply.
"Dumbledore, he ought to — look at him — he's been through enough tonight —"
"He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand," said Dumbledore curtly. "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."
"Ben mentioned the possibility that Moody was behind it," Harry said. "We laughed at the time, partially because he was a bit serious."
"It's not Moody, Harry," Sirius replied.
It took a moment for Harry to get it. "Polyjuice?"
Sirius nodded. Snape and McGonagall both looked at Harry with a more severe look before Harry interrupted. "Tell me who it is, Sirius. I think that going to the Hospital Wing is the best option."
Dumbledore looked at him for a moment. Harry squirmed a bit as it felt as if Dumbledore was looking through him. "Alright, Harry. If you're sure."
Harry nodded.
"Minerva, could you escort Mr. Potter and Ms. Weasley to the Hospital Wing? 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. Sirius, Remus, if you could help me take this imposter to a more isolated area."
The four adults nodded as McGonagall led Harry and Ginny to the Hospital Wing. They walked in silence, Harry spending his time reinforcing his Occlumency to block out his pain. Harry was only vaguely aware of them entering the Hospital Wing and that he was laid on a bed. He returned his focus outside when a flash of fire near his head. Fawkes appeared on his headboard singing a song of hope as he hopped to Harry's leg. As Madam Pomfrey handed Harry a goblet full of some purple potion, Fawkes started crying into the wound.
"You'll need to drink all of this, Harry," she said. "It's a potion for dreamless sleep."
Harry took the goblet and drank a few mouthfuls. He felt himself becoming drowsy at once. Everything around him became hazy; the lamps around the hospital wing seemed to be winking at him in a friendly way through the screen around his bed; his body felt as though it was sinking deeper into the warmth of the feather mattress. Before he could finish the potion, before he could say another word, his exhaustion had carried him off to sleep.
-Break-
The next day, after being briefly awoken to an argument between the Minister and Professor Dumbledore, which Ben prevented him from entering, Harry was walking to Dumbledore's office with Sirius.
"You sure you're up for this, Harry?" Sirius asked again.
"Yes, Sirius," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore needs to know what happened."
The pair entered the office and sat on the chairs in front of Professor Dumbledore.
"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry," said Dumbledore.
As Harry took a deep breath, he remembered the events of the previous night. After Cedric had been killed by Dolohov, he was tied to the headstone of Voldemort's father. It pulled Harry to the moment after he took in the environment of the graveyard.
He explained how Dolohov added the ingredients to the cauldron and how he remembered a conversation between Ben and Ginny he overheard years ago. As Dolohov was approaching him with the knife, he relaxed and thought to himself, I freely give my blood for this ritual. After Dolohov added his blood to it, the liquid within turned, instantly, a softly glowing white. Dolohov, his job done, had started kneeling in deference. After Voldemort returned to the flesh and summoned the Death Eaters to him, he started monologuing at him. The effects of him messing with the ritual didn't manifest until the duel. When Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse a second time, Harry noticed the intensity started fluctuating. Voldemort only showed his surprise briefly. He eventually reached the part where the golden beam of light had connected his and Voldemort's wands. He was a bit choked up before he could explain about the ghosts that came out of Voldemort's wand.
He was glad when Sirius broke the silence.
"The wands connected?" he said, looking from Harry to Dumbledore. "Why?"
Harry looked up at Dumbledore again, on whose face there was an arrested look.
"Priori Incantatem," he muttered.
His eyes gazed into Harry's and it was almost as though an invisible beam of understanding shot between them.
"The Reverse Spell effect?" said Sirius sharply.
"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact," he added, and he pointed at the scarlet-and-gold bird, perching peacefully on his perch.
"My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" Harry said, amazed.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."
"So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" said Sirius.
"They will not work properly against each other," said Dum- bledore. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle . . . a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed — in reverse. The most recent first . . . and then those which preceded it. . . ."
He looked interrogatively at Harry, and Harry nodded.
"Which means," said Dumbledore slowly, his eyes upon Harry's face, "that some form of Cedric must have reappeared."
Harry nodded again.
"Diggory came back to life?" said Sirius sharply.
"No spell can reawaken the dead," said Dumbledore heavily. "All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand . . . am I correct, Harry?"
"He spoke to me," Harry said. He was suddenly shaking again. "The . . . the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."
"An echo," said Dumbledore, "which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared . . . less recent victims of Voldemort's wand. . . ."
"An old man," Harry said, his throat still constricted. "Bertha Jorkins. And . . ."
"Your parents?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Yes," said Harry.
Sirius's grip on Harry's shoulder was now so tight it was painful. "The last murders the wand performed," said Dumbledore, nodding. "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows . . . what did they do?"
Harry described how the figures that had emerged from the wand had prowled the edges of the golden web, how Voldemort had seemed to fear them, how the shadow of Harry's father had told him what to do, how Cedric's had made its final request.
At this point, Harry found he could not continue. He looked around at Sirius and saw that he had his face in his hands.
"I must say," said Dumbledore. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. I think, now, that you should spend time with your friends and family. The Weasleys are welcome to keep returning to the castle until the end of term, as are Sirius and Remus."
Harry nodded his thanks before he and Sirius left Dumbledore's office.
AN: Sorry for the long wait, this chapter was giving me trouble. The next unknown amount of chapters are going to be a departure from Book 5, as a whole bunch of the plot points are or will be invalid, so that may adjust my writing timeframe from where I'd like it to be.
Uploaded Feb. 26th, 2023, Edited Jan 10th, 2025