Thickets of hedge loomed high, they churned and twisted as though they were not plants but instead a mass of snakes reaching out to strangle anyone who walked by. Moments before, they had been just that. Harry’s legs still burned. They had only just made it, and now Harry was doubled over and wheezing, the boy beside him only barely less exhausted.
“That was close.” Cedric Diggory said. His dark hair had been carefully arranged for the audience and for photos before they entered the maze. Now it lay flat, matted and encrusted in dried sweat and dirt.
“Ced- Diggory.” Harry said abruptly. How hadn’t they noticed? On a roughly hewn stone plinth perched the Triwizard cup, a trophy made of crystal glass. It was etched and sculpted to look as though it was made of a thousand monsters. The handles were like dragons, jaws wide as they roared silently, the rim a many-legged snake creature eating its own tail. Tiny flickering runes were etched across the surface.
Cedric stood up straight, his eyes widening.
“You should take it. You deserve it, way more than I do,” Harry said after a long pause. Cedric was the real Hogwarts champion, the one the Goblet of Fire had deemed worthy. Harry had been forced against his will. It only made sense that Cedric should win.
“But that’s not fair. You say it first, and you didn’t even want to compete,” Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Cedric continued to speak, “You’ve faced all sorts of dangers that could have killed you. You didn’t sign up for any of this. Harry, you’ve shown real bravery, real skill that none of us could match. You should win.”
For a long moment, he thought he might take it. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t right.
“No. You take it, you’re a way better wizard than me and you would have won fair and square if you hadn’t-”
“You saved me from Krum! And the acromantula. That’s twice you’ve saved my neck, and it’s three if you count warning me about the dragons. I wouldn’t be here without your help.”
“Well if we’re going to do that, you told me how to solve the egg, and then you told Dumbledore what happened down in the lake. We’re even!” Harry insisted. Why couldn’t Cedric see that he was far more deserving of the cup? Hufflepuff didn’t get enough of its own glory, and this was his chance.
“I wasn’t exactly clear though, was I? I kept thinking that, you know. I should have just told you to listen to it underwater.”
Harry frowned, shaking his head.
“Please take it. You don’t need to be a noble Gryffindor over this, I really don’t mind.”
But Harry knew he couldn’t take this from Cedric, not after he’d knowingly risked his life to win. Not after he’d worked so hard. It wouldn’t be fair to take away that effort. Harry looked back to the cup, and had an idea. One that might work.
“Hang on… What if we both take it? At the same time, I mean. It’s still a Hogwarts victory no matter which of us takes it, so what if we make the most of that?”
Cedric’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Harry was sure he would laugh at the idea or insist that Harry take the cup himself. Cedric’s face lit up in a smile, and for a moment he was sure it would be the former.
“Yeah. Yeah, I like that idea. A double win for Hogwarts,” He said, and Harry let out a sigh of relief. They both walked towards the plinth. “On the count of three?”
Harry nodded, eyes wide. He was very close to Cedric now, they were almost touching and Harry felt his heart racing with anticipation. The cup seemed to glisten even brighter now. It was like it could sense them, and there was an inexplicable pull towards it. It took all his strength not to grab it right away. And then Cedric started to count.
“Three…”
What if he didn’t grab it? He could just let Cedric take the cup and win himself. But imagining how disappointed the older boy would look if he did that made his stomach turn.
“Two...”
It was just a stupid tournament. Maybe the judges would be angry, they would definitely accuse Dumbledore of having staged this. But it didn’t matter. Like they’d said, it would be a Hogwarts victory. That was what mattered.
“One.”
That moment felt like it stretched out for eternity, neither of them moving for what must have only been a split second. And then Harry grabbed the trophy, his hand wrapping around the cold crystal dragon that made up one of the handles. For a moment nothing happened and it all felt stupid. What had they expected to happen? Harry glanced at Cedric's hand, wrapped around the other handle and opened his mouth to speak. But as if mocking him, their eyes both widened as a heavy jerking sensation pulled them forwards at a nauseating speed. The hedges rushed past, the distant forbidden forest and the mountains surrounding Hogwarts all slid away into the distance as they were transported out of the maze entirely.
Seconds later, though it felt like it had taken an hour, Harry felt his feet slam into the ground sending a wave of pain up his injured leg. He buckled and fell to the ground. A loud thud next to him told him that Cedric had landed just beside him. Having fallen face-first onto the ground, Harry raised his head.
“Where are we?” He asked.
It was dark. They were definitely not at Hogwarts anymore, it didn’t seem to be anywhere near the castle at all. The familiar highland mountains had been replaced with country hills, though they still seemed quite steep. They appeared to be in a dilapidated graveyard, with an abandoned looking manor house looming over them from the top of one of the hills.
They weren’t at Hogwarts. Wherever this place was, it didn’t seem to be anywhere near the castle. The familiar mountains were replaced by soft country hills. A vacant-looking manor house perched just across on the next hill, looming over the dilapidated graveyard they had found themselves in. Amongst crumbling headstones were masses of overgrowth that swayed in a cool summer breeze. There was a church a little way from them but the lights were off. Nobody had set foot here for a long time.
“Did anyone tell you the cup was a portkey?” Cedric asked, reaching his hand out to help Harry up. He grabbed it and was pulled upright. Cedric was warm.
“Nope,” Harry said, “But this doesn’t feel right. This whole tournament hasn’t felt right.”
“You’re right. Someone obviously put your name in the goblet… And in the maze… Krum wasn’t acting like, well, himself.” Cedric said, squinting at the gate to the churchyard.
“Speaking of, don’t you think the third task was way too easy?” he asked, and Cedric nodded. It had hardly been a cakewalk, but the maze had not been as dangerous as Harry had expected. The way the third task had been described made it sound far more difficult than it had actually been.
Though he wasn’t sure why he was so glad that Cedric agreed with him, Harry let out a shaky sigh of relief. He supposed it was one thing for his friends, Ron and Hermione, alongside Sirius to share his suspicions. Having it validated by someone else, someone with whom he wasn’t close friends with, made everything feel much less scary. Harry turned his attention to their surroundings. The graveyard was quiet, only the soft rustling of bushes and trees in the wind could be heard, but it did nothing to assuage the eerie atmosphere. Even knowing he couldn’t see anyone, Harry felt like he was being watched.
“I don’t think this is part of the tournament.”
“Wands out d’you think?” Cedric asked.
Harry nodded, glad he wasn’t the one to suggest it himself. He might have looked paranoid. They both took their wands in hand and shuffled along. Cedric went off to investigate where the cup had landed, just next to an unruly hedge a few metres away. While he was busy, Harry turned his attention to the gravestones. They were aged, almost crumbling and some were toppled over. Anyone could be hiding behind them. But Harry could see nothing in the dark, only able to see his surroundings in the faint blue glow of the Triwizard cup, and the silence dragged on for what felt like forever. Tension was thick in the air, but nothing was happening. This was stupid. They should just grab the cup and-
“Do you see that? Someone’s coming.” Cedric whispered urgently. Harry only just caught it, and turned his head to see who it was. In the distance was a cloaked figure, face obscured by a low hood that made identifying them impossible. They gave the impression of a dementor, but there was no depression or coldness accompanying them as they passed a cluster of what might have been yew trees. Harry ducked behind the nearest headstone.
The figure strode ever closer, carrying a bundle of cloth that could have been a baby. They stopped abruptly, and at that precise moment Harry fell forwards as his scar exploded with searing hot pain. His vision blurred and he felt like he was about to throw up, it was like somebody was drilling into his head. His skull was about to burst. It was being crushed.
“Harry! What’s-”
“GO! GET BACK TO THE CUP!” Harry roared, his voice breaking.
But before Cedric could respond, a high and raspy voice emanated from the bundle.
“Kill the spare.”
Harry heard a wand swish, and a violent orange spell shot through the air. Cedric screamed. There was a loud crash of branches as he toppled into the hedge. Another much faster swish was accompanied by a cruel, horribly familiar voice proclaiming “Avada Kedavra!”
A flash of green light washed over the graveyard, burned through his eyelids which had been clamped shut. The hedge shook loudly as though it was in a hurricane.
“CEDRIC!” He cried out, but Harry was too afraid to force his eyes open. Cedric couldn’t be gone. This wasn’t happening. He pleaded with himself to wake up, this was a dream. It couldn’t be happening. Harry scrambled in the direction of the hedge. Cedric had to be alive, he would be fine if Harry could just get to him, see that he could be saved.
A hand wrapped around his arm, yanking him along. Harry opened his eyes in shock. The cloaked figure smelled filthy up close. He tried to wrench himself free but then a second hand grabbed him, hoisted him up. He fought and struggled, but he couldn’t free himself as he was dragged kicking and screaming to a tall marble gravestone. The name carved upon it was faint, but bile rose in his throat when he saw the name. His fear had been confirmed.
TOM RIDDLE
His back was slammed hard against the rough stone and all at once, the shallow wheezing breaths made by his attacker seemed sickeningly familiar.“YOU!” Harry hissed. It was Peter Pettigrew. “Wormtail! It was you! You murdered him! Just like you murdered my parents, you slimy, foul, disgusting rat!”
But his fury had no effect on Wormtail as he strapped Harry to the stone so tightly that breathing became painful and his ribs felt like they might crack. His mouth was stuffed with a wad of filthy fabric that tasted like mould and sweat all at once. He spat it back out the moment the rat turned.
“IF YOU’RE THERE CEDRIC! GET HELP!” Harry shouted. Twisting his head against the gravestone was painful, but he thought he saw a rustle in the hedge out of the very corner of his eye. Was Cedric alive? He knew he couldn’t say anything, he could not afford to let Wormtail know. He could not afford to let Voldemort know, for Harry knew that the bundle must have been him because the splitting pain in his head seemed to dull as Wormtail carried the bundle further away. It writhed and bulged as though it was full of maggots. Harry was glad it wasn’t anywhere near him.
Wormtail set the bundle in the air and it hovered in place as though it sat on an invisible table. Harry watched as Wormtail used his wand to peel away masses of foliage to reveal a large cauldron. Every struggle to break free of the ropes seemed to make them tighten further so all he could do was watch. A fire was now blazing underneath the cauldron and Wormtail was filling it with some sort of liquid using his wand. Harry tried desperately to turn his head again to the hedge Cedric had fallen into, but couldn’t see anything at all. When he turned back to the cauldron, Wormtail was just seizing the bundle out of the air. He unwrapped it and Harry felt bile rise in his throat.
The creature was putrid, red sore skin stretched taught over bones that threatened to tear through it. It had deep wrinkles which seemed to ooze a dark liquid that dripped onto the ground – blood, or something worse? He couldn’t tell, nor did he want to because the very sight of it was wrong. An affront against nature. It felt as though the sight of it was being burned into his mind, and he knew he would never forget this. The thing was forbidden, it should not exist. The thing looked like it should have been a baby, but if it was, ever had been, magic had corrupted it in ways that should never have been possible. He was glad he didn’t get a glimpse at its face before it was dropped into the cauldron, bubbling and hissing like the basilisk had sounded only a few years before.
Wand raised, Wormtail recited; “Bone of the father… Unknowingly given. You will restore your son.” A trickle of dust rose out of the soil underneath Harry, it felt like sand as it scratched at him. The pulverised bone floated up, over towards the cauldron. It dropped inside and began to sizzle as Wormtail continued.
“Flesh… of the servant… Willingly given… You will revive your… Master.” With the horrible realisation of what was about to happen, Harry barely managed to screw his eyes shut as Wormtail took a silver knife from his pocket and swept it down across his wrist. The splash was barely noticeable over the curdling scream that followed. Harry worried he was finally going to be sick, but it soon abated as the snivelling, whimpering man began to speak again.
“Blood of the enemy,” Harry’s eyes opened immediately, “forcibly taken… You will resurrect your foe.” He had no idea how Wormtail managed to walk over to him, his hand was missing and blood poured onto the ground. It didn’t seem to weaken him, so magic must have been used to keep him from bleeding to death. The magic did not stop pain. Wormtail weeped as he pressed the knife into the crook of Harry’s elbow, overpowering the dull throbbing pain of his scar. The blood oozed onto the glistening knife, and collected into a vial hastily pressed against his arm. Harry tried to struggle, force himself away from the gravestone and the ropes dug into his body like razor wire.
Into the cauldron the vial of blood was poured, and it bubbled with a roaring ferocity that Harry had never seen before in a potion. It burst alight with flames, and for a second he dared to hope that the potion had gone wrong. The creature had drowned, it would burn up, the potion wouldn’t do anything. No such luck. A skeletal figure rose from the cauldron, shrouded in milky-white mist. Harry’s scar exploded with pain and he retched, coughed, tears and mucus streamed down his face like rivers. For a time he couldn’t hear a sound, but he knew it was silent save for the spitting and bubbling of the cauldron and Wormtail’s whimpering cries.
A grotesque, serpentine man stepped out of the cauldron. He looked dead, his skin tightly pulled across his bones as it had been on the horrible creature that he had inhabited before. The man revelled in exploring his new body, caressing every corrupted inch of it from his sinister, snake-like face to his spindly legs.
“Robe me.” He said finally in a cold, high voice.
Wormtail had been trying to stem the bleeding of his arm further, but almost dropped his wand in panic at being addressed. He pulled a robe up from the grass and clumsily forced it over Voldemort’s body. The man pushed him aside, sprawling onto the ground as he weeped.
“Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived… At last.”
Voldemort had returned.
Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion but way too quickly at the same time as Harry scrambled across the graveyard towards Cedric. Pins and needles shot through his limbs with every movement and he could feel his muscles jerking and twitching, it was as though the Cruciatus curse had never ended. His hand closed around Cedric’s arm. Warmth. When his wand had done… He didn’t know what it had done. He had seen his parents, he had seen others. People who should be dead. Cedric had not been among them. He was alive. A fiery red spell flew over his head as he threw himself flat against the ground.
“Accio!” Harry croaked, his wand pointed at the Triwizard cup. Voldemort let out a howl of frustration as the cup shot into his outstretched hand and the portkey activated, wrenching Cedric and himself out of the hedge.
The pair of them travelled for what felt like hours, violently slamming into each other as the world rushed past. Harry did not dare loosen his grip even a little. Cedric let out a shuddering yelp as they thudded hard into the grass face-first. The Triwizard cup flew out of his grip and landed somewhere nearby, but he did not see where. Neither could muster the energy to move, nor to speak. In an instant the crowd erupted into cheers. A mockingly joyful chorus of celebration began, but it did nothing to ease the horror he felt at what had just happened in that cursed graveyard. Cedric was alive, but he may be dying. Whatever spell had hit him and sent him careening into the hedge had left him unable to speak, unable to show Harry that he hadn’t been killed. The world felt distant as he continued to grip Cedric’s arm. The grass felt like it was stabbing into his skin, still tingling and twitching from enduring torture, almost dying. Moving would undo it all, he was sure. They would be thrust back into the graveyard. They would die.
It had been maybe a minute when someone, a girl he thought, let out a scream that pierced through the celebration and it all fell quiet. Gasps. Footsteps, someone was walking towards him. He felt someone try to pull him away, prising his iron-grip off of Cedric. Harry couldn’t tell who it was, his eyes couldn’t focus on the growing mob surrounding him.
“He’s back!” Harry choked out, “Voldemort, he’s back!” His chest hurt with every word, and murmurs erupted from the crowd as soon as he finished speaking. Someone, probably Fudge, had started shouting to the crowd and somebody was guiding him off to the side, away from Cedric.
“Harry’s right. He’s back!” Cedric said, his voice shaking like a quivering mouse as he tried to roll over and sit up. When he saw the state of him, Harry almost threw up on the spot. Cedric’s right leg. It was gone. The fabric of his trouser leg seemed to have unravelled, the flesh beneath was putrid and oozing disgusting black fluid as though it was rotting away. There was nothing below his knee.
“Mr Diggory! My god, keep everyone in their seats!” Fudge’s voice broke out over the growing commotion from the stands, he seemed to be trying to shield their view but it was no use. An anguished cry caught his attention.
“My boy! Let me through- That’s my son!” It was Amos Diggory, shoving his way between the professors surrounding them. Cedric’s father collapsed to his knees before him, the look of horror on his face was haunting.
Someone wrapped their arm across his chest, and Harry couldn’t resist as he was guided away. A horrible lethargy had started to set in, his tingling legs felt like they were being dragged through thick mud as he stumbled along in the strong grip of the man. He was talking to Harry, but the words sounded alien. Everything was foggy. Suddenly he was inside, but he didn’t care. They were alive. The two of them had faced Voldemort, watched him return. And survived.
Jack stepped into the kitchen, making a beeline for the sink. Normally he enjoyed getting together with his friends but now he was regretting coming over to Tommy’s house. It felt like he had sandpaper stuck in his throat, scratching away at the drying walls while his head throbbed with dull pain that heralded an oncoming cold. It had lasted for days and nothing seemed to make it better. He picked up a clean glass from the draining board and filled it with cold water. Several painful gulps later, his throat felt a little less horrible.
Above the sink was a window that overlooked onto the vast park outside Tommy’s flat. Although it was dark, he could still make out the densely packed trees. Islands of light broke through the canopy along a meandering path that led to a small playground on the other side, looping around a gnarled oak tree on the way. That tree seemed ancient and gnarled. It sprawled out as though pushing away all the other trees and cast long shadows across the asphalt path. The view was far nicer than anything at Jack’s flat.
Somewhere in the other room he could hear Tommy and Tubbo laughing, but he paid it no mind. A moment of peace was exactly what he needed with this headache. He continued to look out over the park, sipping the cold water to soothe his throat.
Out of the corner he saw something move. He couldn’t tell what, and scanning the boundaries of the park revealed nothing - it was an island of darkness boxed in on all sides by the brightly lit city, one of the last remaining forests in the county. He supposed someone could be walking through it along the dark path, but he thought that unlikely given how late it was. Even he avoided late night walks. Everyone did. An odd prickling sensation grew on the back of his neck as he looked over the tall silhouettes of trees.
It was by the oak tree that he saw it. It stood tall, clad in all black so that it almost dissolved into the shadows of tree branches and leaves, but it was unmistakably a person. His stomach twisted when he noticed its face. There was no face. He leant forwards, breath hitching as the cold water sloshed over the rim of the glass and drenched his hand. The person… That thing. It looked exactly like the figure from that internet series he had watched only a week ago on stream. Marble… Something about Marble, though he couldn’t recall the name in that moment. There was no way it was real, he thought, rubbing his eyes and blinking hard.
The longer he stared the worse he felt. The prickling on the back of his neck felt more like fingernails scratching, digging into his skin as he came to a horrifying realisation. It knew he was watching it. It was watching him. A loud buzzing seemed to fill his mind, blocking out everything else as he continued to gaze upon the unnaturally tall figure. His vision seemed to close in, and no matter how hard he tried he could not look away. Pure hatred emanated through the window, hitting him like a speeding lorry. The buzzing seemed to grow louder and louder until he felt like he had become an electric pylon, and yet he knew with absolute certainty the sound was not real at all. Bile was rising in the back of his throat.
Was this really happening? Jack felt dizzy and he began to sweat as his mind began to spiral out of control. If this was real then it meant the videos were too, it meant that he was in horrible danger. But even as he stared right at it he could not shake the thought that this was just a hallucination, despite the absolute terror he felt. He had to look away. This thing was wrong, it was forbidden - something nobody was ever supposed to witness. Pain exploded through his head as though the figure was searing itself through every single cell in his brain.
Footsteps crept up behind him, “Are you alright? You’ve been here a while.” Tommy asked.
With a jerky sort of flinch, Jack spun and almost sent the water in the glass sloshing over the sides again. They stared for a long moment, not quite in silence for the buzzing still droned on like television static in Jack’s head. He could hear Tubbo laughing in the other room, muffled and distant as though he was underwater. Tommy had started to look concerned and Jack realised they had been silent for a little too long.
“I’m fine!” Jack said, attempting a chuckle which did not feel entirely convincing, “I’m just really thirsty, you know?” He took a large gulp of water to emphasise this.
Tommy continued to stare for a moment, before smiling and nodding. When Jack was alone again, he glanced back out the window at the park. That thing was gone.
The buzzing slowly turned back into an odd prickling until it faded entirely. It was as though all the heat had been sucked from Jack’s body as he stood there in shock. There was no way that could have been real, he knew it had to have been a sick joke by one of his friends who had watched the Marble... Marble Hornets stream. Or maybe he was just freaking out over nothing, he had been struggling to sleep recently.
Jack let out a long sigh and emptied the glass of water into the sink. As he walked back into the living room he could not entirely shake the feeling that something terribly wrong was going to happen.
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