As the spring term rolled on, Harry and his friends kept returning to the problem of the upcoming third task of the Triwizard Tournament. They'd kept Harry out of the Tournament (give or take a dragon or four), and made it through the first two tasks with no one seriously hurt, but were no closer to ending the danger for good. It seemed inevitable that the third task must bring some new disaster, and using Hermione's Time-Turner to add two extra days to each week gave them plenty of time to worry over it.

During a Hogsmeade visit in the first week in March, Harry and his friends met with Sirius at the Three Broomsticks Inn, but his godfather had no new insights to offer. He suggested that Harry should leave Hogwarts until the Tournament was over, but Harry would hear none of it.

While he was in Hogsmeade, Sirius also planned to meet with Fred and George. Although it was obvious they planned to discuss his investment in their opening of a joke shop, Sirius declined to admit this, so no one would have to lie to Molly if questioned.

The pickup Quidditch games started up again, and continued until one day in May when the players arrived to find a hedge maze growing on the pitch. Hagrid informed them the area was off-limits until after the third task.

Harry and his friends sneaked back to the pitch that night to examine the maze, but weren't able to come up with any useful ideas on how to prevent trouble. They had less information about the third task than they'd had for the second. Everyone knew the champions would have to get past dangerous creatures and other traps as they made their way through the maze, but since the organizers hadn't yet arranged the specifics while Crouch was still part of the process, they saw no need to inform the other competitors either.

Hermione was appalled by how isolated the champions would be once they ventured inside. She complained that the organizers had learned nothing from the second task. Even from the start, the second and third tasks had been ill-conceived from an audience perspective–in a quite literal sense. What was the point of an audience who wouldn't be able to see any of the actual competition?

Of graver importance, once again no one would see if anything went wrong. Even Moody's magical eye had limits, which the deeper parts of the maze were sure to exceed.

Harry said, "At least the isolation is good if we need to interfere using the Time-Turner again, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "Interfering by Time-Turner is never good, but at least with the second task, I knew drowning was the obvious threat to the hostages, to make it look like an accident. This time, the threat could be anything."

Hermione visited the house-elves in the kitchens several times to discuss their place in society. While there, she tried talking to Winky about Crouch, but Winky was still too depressed to discuss her former family.

Harry warned the champions to be on guard against further sabotage. They were at a loss for what more they could do, so Hermione pressed them to focus instead on their school work and studying for final exams.

The third task was scheduled for the last day of their end-of-year exams.

As Neville was filing out of the classroom with the rest of the students after his last exam, which was for History of Magic, he saw Professor McGonagall, Professor Lupin, and Sirius Black coming down the corridor in a hurry.

When Harry's godfather saw him, he broke into a run, leaving the other two to catch up. He called out, "Harry, we've got to get you out of here now."

"Why? What happened?" Harry called back.

Reaching them, Black said, "More chaos with the Tournament. They've postponed today's event."

"I thought the maze and all the creatures were under guard."

"It's not the maze, it's the champions. Krum ambushed Diggory with the Cruciatus Curse."

At the mention of the Torture Curse, gasps came from the students who had stopped to listen. Neville saw darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision, and started taking deep breaths.

Black spoke rapidly. "Diggory's friends saw it and went berserk on Krum. Diggory managed to call them off, but he and Krum are both in rough shape. Krum is claiming he only did it because Delacour put him under the Imperius. They're searching for her now. She and Crouch have both gone missing."

"Hold on. None of that makes sense. Viktor and Fleur would never use Unforgivable Curses."

"I'm just telling you what Dumbledore told me. Maybe it'll turn out someone else is behind it all, using Polyjuice or an Imperius chain or whatever. Whatever this is, I'm getting you out of here. Now."

"The term isn't officially over yet."

"Once everything gets sorted, maybe you can come back. But you can't be here today. This was always the plan. Dumbledore cleared it. I made him promise to contact me if anything else went wrong with the Tournament, so I could pull you out. We'll use the Floo in Minerva's office."

Harry looked at his friends. "I can't run away and put other people in danger in my place." He focused on Hermione. "Especially not if someone is going to try to handle it alone."

"I won't," she promised. "I don't have a plan for anything like this. All my plans were for the maze, and even those were horribly vague."

Ron told him, "You should go, mate. Whenever things go mad here, you always wind up in the middle of it. Let Dumbledore and the teachers handle it this time."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "Go, Harry. We'll be fine."

Harry told Black, "Give me a second, then we can go."

With a wary look, Harry moved several steps back from his godfather, then took out a blank piece of parchment. A tap of his wand and some muttered words caused writing to appear, the ink drifting across its surface. Harry flicked his eyes back and forth between the parchment and Black, then relaxed.

Black seemed to understand the purpose behind this, because he gave Harry an approving nod.

"You did mention Polyjuice," Harry told him, then turned and handed the parchment to Ron. "This will do you more good here. Try to find Fleur with it. Hermione, how's your copy coming along?"

"It still only does short-range, not the whole castle."

"Too bad. Might have been useful today." He paused. "You'll both look after Ginny?"

"You shouldn't even have to ask," Ron reassured him.

"I know. But all three of you need to stay out of whatever this is."

McGonagall and Lupin reached them in time to hear Harry's last statement.

"Excellent advice. They most certainly do," McGonagall told them, giving Ron and Hermione a stern look. She raised her voice to address all the students gathered in the corridor. "Everyone will return to your common rooms now, and remain there until further notice. Hogwarts is going into lockdown. Pass the word along to any students you encounter along your way."

Harry took out the pocket mirror Neville had often seen him use to speak to his godfather. He handed this to Ron as well, who promised to keep him updated. After a last look at his friends, Harry let the three adults hurry him off in the direction of McGonagall's office.

The rest of the students stood around staring at each other, but began moving when McGonagall called back to them, "Return to your common rooms, now!"

Clusters of students chattered in speculation as they walked, but Neville was in too much of a daze to follow the overlapping conversations. He didn't know Cedric Diggory, but the older boy always seemed decent enough whenever he stopped by the Gryffindor table to talk to Harry. The thought of anyone suffering that curse…

"Neville?" Ron called from a short distance ahead.

Neville realized he'd gotten so lost in his thoughts, he'd come to a stop in the middle of the corridor. He hurried to catch up with the other Gryffindors.

Ron and Hermione stopped to wait for him. When he reached them, Hermione put a hand on his arm. "Are you thinking about what happened to Cedric?"

He swallowed and nodded.

"I thought you might be. Don't worry too much. If he was alert enough to call off the other Hufflepuffs defending him, it sounds like he wasn't exposed to the Curse for too long."

"Sorry. I shouldn't be so sensitive. It's not like it happened to me."

"You don't need to apologize for feeling compassion."

They walked along in silence, until Hermione and Ron began whispering to each other. Neville didn't mind. He was used to not being in on the secrets the two of them always seemed to have. Or rather the four of them, counting Harry and Ginny. It always got them in trouble, sooner or later. Except for the times it earned them a bunch of house points. Or both, according to rules which were a mystery to him.

Hermione was quite open in talking about some things (or maybe better to say quite direct), but hadn't shared what she knew about why the Tournament kept going wrong. She had to know something. He'd noticed her running off during the second task, and the wet hair she returned with. And he hadn't forgotten their earlier conversation about Gillyweed.

He'd thought she might include him more after he took her to the Yule Ball. Should he have kissed her that night? It didn't seem proper after only one date, even for a big event like a formal ball. And before he could work up the nerve to ask her to go to Hogsmeade with him for a second date, he'd overheard her making plans to go with her usual friends, so he supposed he'd missed his chance.

How could you tell if a witch even wanted you to kiss her? He doubted he'd be able to tell even with a girl who grew up with the same customs he did, let alone one from the Muggle world, which seemed so different… it had to be, to produce someone like Hermione.

Of course, that led him to thinking about the real difference between him and Hermione–she was a true Gryffindor, like her friends. Like his parents.

Neville liked to think he could be brave, if faced with a situation where he could actually make a difference. He'd grown up hearing people talk about the brave sacrifice his parents made, the night he lost them. He'd never understood it. Shouldn't a sacrifice be for something?

He admired his parents for the times they'd chosen to stand up to Voldemort, but the night that put them in St Mungo's forever had been a senseless tragedy, no matter how much his grandmother tried to give it meaning. Though even as a child, he'd known better than to share his opinion.

He was shaken from these thoughts when they reached the entrance to Gryffindor, to find Professor McGonagall waiting for them there with another unexpected visitor.

"Gran?" Neville asked in surprise.

"Hello, Neville. Thank goodness you're okay. When I heard what happened to that poor Diggory boy, of course I came immediately."

"Head inside, you two," McGonagall told Hermione and Ron, gesturing to the entrance. "This is a family matter."

Hermione gave Neville a sympathetic look, as she and Ron stepped through into the common room.

"I'm fine," Neville told his grandmother. "It's awful that this could happen right here at Hogwarts, but Cedric is going to recover, isn't he?"

He turned to McGonagall for the answer, and she nodded. "We believe so. I'm told he was alert and responsive."

His grandmother said, "All the same, I'm taking Neville home with me."

"I'm really fine, Gran," he insisted.

"Don't argue. My mind is made up."

"You're not being singled out," McGonagall told him. "You know Mr Potter already left, and I expect other parents and guardians may show up, as word gets around. In fact, I need to get back to my Floo in case anyone else calls, so come along now."

Seeing the utter futility of arguing against the united front of his grandmother and McGonagall, he nodded. "Yes, Professor."

They walked the short distance from the Gryffindor common room to McGonagall's office. Once inside, his grandmother ushered him into the Floo first.

Just as the Floo's magic took him and sent him hurtling along, he thought he caught a glimpse of Hermione bursting into the office with her wand drawn and eyes wide. Before he had time to fully register the impression, he found himself stumbling out of the fireplace at home. His grandmother came through right behind him, then turned and shut off their Floo connection.

"Did Hermione show up as we were leaving?" he asked.

"Yes, the poor dear. She's worked herself into a state over whatever nonsense is going on at Hogwarts this time. I left Minerva to deal with it. We have other concerns. Take my arm, there's something I want you to see."

"But–"

"Mind me now, Neville."

He took her arm, and felt himself get carried off by side-along Apparition.

When they arrived, a wave of dizziness sent the world spinning. Traveling by Floo and then Apparition in such quick succession had taken its toll, so it took him a moment to notice their surroundings.

"Gran?" he asked. "Why are we in a graveyard? Do we know someone buried here?"

The whole place was overgrown and poorly tended. Moss and ivy covered many of the graves. A sickly-looking yew tree stood nearby.

"Of course not," she told him. "This is a Muggle graveyard."

"Then why–"

"War is grim business, Neville. I can think of no better place to discuss it. You do understand that another war is coming, don't you?"

"I know Harry is always mixed up in some sort of trouble, but… Another war?"

"Yes, Neville. Forget the Potter boy. You have your own part to play. You know which side your parents would expect you to take, don't you?"

"Yes, Gran," he answered dutifully. He was in for another one of those conversations, then. Though she'd never been this… theatrical about it.

"Look me in the eye," she demanded, "and tell me the Dark Lord is your enemy."

He met her stern gaze. "Of course You-Know-Who is my enemy. But he's gone. Isn't he?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." His grandmother maintained eye contact for a long moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Very good. I can see you truly mean it. In a war, it's important to be clear which side you're on."

She drew her wand and pointed it at him. "Stupefy."

When Neville came to, he couldn't move. He opened his eyes to find himself bound tight to a gravestone.

A pale, freckly man with a lined face and unruly hair was adding ingredients to a huge stone cauldron simmering over a large fire.

"Who are you?" Neville demanded. "Where's my grandmother?"

"Dear old Augusta is right where she's been all day–safely tucked away at home. Tied up of course, much like you are, but otherwise quite well. In fact, she struck me as remarkably spry for an older lady."

Neville struggled against the ropes binding him. "If you hurt her–"

"Don't worry about her. She's already served her purpose. Or rather, taking her place allowed me to serve mine." He drew out a large knife and pointed it at Neville. "You should give more thought to your own situation. It's nearly time for you to play your part in a great moment in history. You'll have to be patient though. I have several ingredients left to add. I've been rather busy at Hogwarts today, and had no one else I could trust with something this important."

Neville stared at the blade. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

The man put the knife away to return to his potion-making. "You don't recognize me? Too bad. That would have made this revelation far more dramatic. To be fair, the years have taken their toll since the last time anyone cared to take my picture."

Neville studied him. "No. Barty Crouch Junior died in Azkaban. You're still using Polyjuice. Who are you really?"

The man sighed. "I suppose a certain lack of trust is the price I pay for all this trickery. Though it does take some of the fun out of things when the big dénouement falls flat."

Neville struggled against his bindings again, and called out, "Help! Someone help!"

The man cast a Silencing Charm, and Neville found himself unable to make a sound.

"Although no one of consequence is likely to hear you, it would be inconvenient to deal with any more nosy Muggles in the middle of the ritual. We're ready to begin."

A voice hissed from somewhere nearby. "Yes, the ritual. Enough talk. Do it now!"

"As you command, master," the man calling himself Crouch said, as he knelt to unwrap a bundle on the ground.

At first, Neville took the unwrapped form to be an infant, and his heart clenched at the idea of the man using a child as part of whatever obscene ritual he had in mind. Then he saw its flattened, snakelike face, and gleaming red eyes. This was no child.

The man lifted the monstrous creature with a bizarre attitude of reverence, then lowered it into the cauldron.

What followed was a jumbled nightmare of Dark ritual and pain, as the man summoned bone fragments from one of the graves, then used the knife first on himself, then on Neville. Each unclean ingredient went in turn into the cauldron.

This disgusting perversion of magic was mere prelude to the horror of the now fully-grown figure emerging from the cauldron, arising in new and terrible flesh.

Few had dared to take pictures of You-Know-Who during the war; sensible people fled at his approach. But a handful of distant, blurry photos existed, as well as sketches drawn from terrified recollections provided by the rare survivors of encounters with him.

Resurrection had not improved his appearance. If anything, his skin had turned even more unnaturally pale, as white as chalk now. His features had grown more reptilian. Despite these changes, the dark scarlet eyes left no doubt that Voldemort had returned.

Neville didn't know how he'd become a part of this unholy madness, but he knew he'd never escape it alive. He wouldn't even get a chance to fight back, tied up like this. Not that he could have done much against Voldemort. But at least he could have tried, could have stood up for something that mattered. He could have spent his last moments defying Voldemort just once, like his parents had done several times, instead of being an unwilling participant in bringing about his return.

But no. He'd never get his chance to even try to make a difference, to live up to being his parents' son.

I'm sorry, grandmother. Sorry, mum. Sorry, dad.