Ten minutes later, Professor Snape bustled in, levitating the still‑unconscious Mad‑Eye Moody through the door of the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey, ever swift, flicked her wand to erect shimmering dividers around his bed, murmuring about temperamental Aurors and the nuisance of healing screens.
"What in Merlin's name happened at the Third Task?" Adrian whispered, voice taut as a tightened bowstring.
Eleanor shook her head, her brows knitted. "I haven't the foggiest. It looked as though Pomfrey had been crying buckets."
No sooner had Mad‑Eye settled than the great doors were flung wide again. Mrs Weasley swept in, skirts swirling, with her olders son, Ron and Hermione trailing helplessly behind her.
"Where is he? Where is that poor boy?" she demanded, her voice cracking like a whip.
"Madam Weasley—please," Pomfrey interposed, hands pressed together. "There are other patients here."
"I won't be silenced!" Mrs Weasley sobbed. "After all he's endured—after that dreadful ordeal—where is Harry?"
A small, weary voice answered from the doorway. "I'm here, Mrs Weasley."
Albus Dumbledore stood framed in the archway, Harry at his side and, to Eleanor's astonishment, a great black dog padding in behind them.
"Oh, Harry!" Mrs Weasley tried to fling herself at him, but Dumbledore gently steered her back.
"Molly, he's been through unimaginable terror—reliving it, I'm afraid," he said softly. "He needs rest, peace, and quiet. You may stay if he wishes it, but no questions until he's ready to answer them."
With one last glistening nod, Mrs Weasley retreated, motioning her brood to follow. Pomfrey turned to Dumbledore.
"And the dog, sir?"
"Ah, yes—you needn't fret. He'll guard Harry through the night. Perfectly trained, utterly faithful." Dumbledore offered Eleanor and Adrian a reassuring glance—one that lingered a second too long on sleeping Berenice—before he swept away to fetch the Minister.
The dog settled at Harry's feet, and Pomfrey fussed until he'd swallowed a sleeping draught and drifted off. Adrian, frowning, sought Eleanor's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"I'll see what went on," he murmured. "Stay with Bunny."
He slipped away, casting a meaningful look at the oldest Weasley. The boy nodded, murmured to his mother, and padded over to Berenice's side, perching on the stool by her bed.
"We missed it all," he said. "Can somebody fill us in? Who won? What happened to the other champions?"
Bill glanced downcast, running a hand through his hair. "Frankly, nobody's talking winners any more. Delacour and Krum never made it to the Cup—they were waylaid in the maze. Then Harry… Harry appeared on the field clutching the Cup, and…"
Adrian leaned forward. "And?"
Bill's voice dropped. "And… Cedric Diggory."
Eleanor gasped, hand flying to her mouth as tears pricked her eyes. Cedric—gentle, steadfast Cedric—dead.
"What?" she breathed, voice barely a whisper.
"We don't know how," Bill continued, voice trembling. "Something in the maze… killed Cedric. His parents are with Professor Sprout now."
Adrian gathered Eleanor into his arms. "Shh, Nell… shh."
"We were his classmates," he explained to Bill. "He was a good friend."
Bill's eyes brimmed. "I'm so sorry."
Madam Pomfrey bustled back, her kindly face grave. "Miss Seymour, Mister Pucey—it's late. You should return to your dormitories. Miss Yaxley will be cared for."
Adrian helped Eleanor to her feet. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." They gave the other Weasleys a solemn nod as they passed.
Outside, Eleanor buried her face in Adrian's chest. "Please don't leave me. I can still hear her prophecy—it chills me to the bone. Hold me."
He kissed her temple. "Always." He led her to the sixth‑year boys' dorm, where Jennings and Clark slept soundly. Eleanor slid into bed beside him, and he wrapped her in his arms until sleep claimed her.
Before breakfast the next morning, Eleanor and Adrian slipped back to the Hospital Wing. Berenice sat propped up, silver hair mussed, dark circles under her eyes.
"How did you sleep?" Eleanor asked gently.
"Like the dead," Berenice murmured.
"Do you recall anything from yesterday?" Adrian leaned close.
Berenice's gaze flickered to Harry's bed at the far end. "Vaguely… the prophecy. I need to hear the exact words."
Adrian cleared his throat. " 'He shall rise again, cloaked not in faith but in flesh…' "
Berenice closed her eyes. "Yes. I See more now. You, Eleanor—you're at the very heart of it. And one thing I know… the Dark Lord has returned."
Adrian's eyes widened. "You mean—You‑Know‑Who?"
"Aye," Berenice replied, voice bitter. "He came back last night. His followers felt it since summer; the Dark Mark has grown strong again. My father's back-up plan lies with the Beauforts—a haven should all else fail."
Adrian sank onto her bed's edge. "The Dark Lord… we're all doomed."
Eleanor took his hand. "Then we must stand together."
Berenice nodded. "Eleanor—stay close to Rosier. Make sure he trusts you."
At breakfast, the Great Hall felt hollow. Eleanor spotted Emil Rosier comforting his tear‑stained sister Thea at the Slytherin table. Summoning courage, she approached and seated herself beside Thea.
"I cannot believe it," Thea whispered. "How did this happen? Dumbledore assured us everyone were safe."
Emil squeezed his sister's hand. "I promise—there will be a full Ministry inquiry. I will discover what truly transpired in that maze."
He glanced at Eleanor with fierce protectiveness before rising for the High Table.
Berenice's vision proved all too true. A few days later, at the final feast before term's end, Professor Dumbledore rose once more to address the school. In measured, solemn tones he recounted the harrowing events within the maze. Not a sound stirred in the Great Hall as he spoke; even the flicker of candlelight seemed to pause in reverence.
When the feast concluded and the four house tables had emptied, the Slytherin Common Room crackled with uneasy energy. Some of the older purebloods exchanged fearful whispers, convinced that Dumbledore's words would bring their families to scrutiny. Others, steeped in scepticism, dismissed the Headmaster's account as Potter's folly, circling the rumours of the Boy Who Lived's supposed instability. Yet beneath both fear and disdain lay a quieter question: what fate awaited Slytherin, the House of Dark Lords, in the days to come?
Eleanor, her heart still heavy with loss, turned her mind to the long summer ahead. She would need every scrap of her mother's wisdom now more than ever. On the journey back to London, Berenice buried herself in an early copy ofThe Prophetic Eye, Adrian rehearsed chess moves as his only companion, and Eleanor gazed out upon the glistening fields, her thoughts tangled in uncertainty. When a familiar shock of red hair flickered past on the platform, she stiffened—but could not bring herself to stand.
At Hogsmeade's farewell, Emil Rosier had pressed a final, lingering kiss upon her lips—promise and warning intertwined in his touch. Eleanor knew, with a cold certainty, that the Rosiers would rally behind the rising Dark Lord. What did that portend for her?
At last the train rattled into King's Cross. Eleanor rose, smoothing her robes, as Adrian reached for her trunk. He leaned close, voice soft as the south wind. "Are you ready?"
Eleanor drew a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and offered the world her brightest smile. "As ready as one can ever be."