Warm honey filled the little kitchen. Mariel perched at the rough pine table, heels hooked on the lowest rung, while her father tore open a fresh loaf. Steam drifted up from the soft center. He nudged a chunk her way, crumbs tumbling onto the worn board. She added a spoonful of honey and let the syrup sink in.
Their minds brushed. Still tastes like childhood, she teased, sending the thought across the tiny space.
Damien's eyes crinkled. I keep waiting for you to get tired of it.
Never. She took another bite, the crust crackling under her teeth. Outside, a gold strip of sunshine slid across the window ledge. Dust motes floated in lazy spirals, the whole cottage breathing in time with them.
One log wall wore a coat of deep forest-green paint, the opposite shone in warm brick-red. Between them, old pine beams crossed the ceiling like friendly arms. Three photographs hung in a neat row above the sideboard: the first showed a laughing woman with loose dark curls, the second caught her mid-spell, sparks popping around her hands, and the third froze her in a quiet moment, cheek pressed to baby head.
Damien poured tea. Chamomile and mint swirled together, soft as quilted blankets on winter nights. He sipped, then settled back. Silence sat with them like an old friend, content and unhurried.
Any sign of sick animals near the bend?
Mariel licked honey from her fingertip. Not today. Everything felt normal.
Good, yet the rot keeps creeping. Old Mira lost three hens yesterday, feathers gone black.
Has the village chief done anything?
Damien shook his head. He hides in the council hall. Each week more folk fade, and they whisper the earth itself is turning on them.
We are better out here, Mariel thought, warmth blooming in her chest. Let the village chafe behind its walls. We have the river and the sky.
Damien lifted his mug in a quiet toast. Lucky exiles.
Mariel wiped honey from her thumb, carried her mug to the sink, and glanced toward the door. A curl of excitement tugged at her ribs.
Go on, Damien thought, half smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Back before lunch, she promised, already sliding into her boots.
Outside, the world bloomed. Mariel walked the soft trail that hugged the tree line. Pine needles cushioned each step while squirrels bounced among the branches, thoughts bright and jumpy.
Morning, little rush tails.
Tiny sparks of delight flicked back as the squirrels raced higher, trading acorn gossip.
Farther on, the path dipped toward the river. She knelt, fingertips skimming the stream. A school of minnows scattered then circled again, curious silver glints.
All clear today?
Quick pulses answered, only hunger and motion, no hint of sickness. Relief.
A brown hare peeked from a curtain of fern, nose twitching. It carried a thin ribbon of worry, last night's cry of an owl still fresh. Mariel wove calm into the air. The hare groomed its whiskers, tension sliding off like water, then hopped into the green.
She rose and followed the bend. Every few strides her awareness fanned outward, brushing birds on branches, beetles under bark, even the slow sip of sap inside the oaks. Being an Empath made all those threads easy to feel.
Empath. Both a blessing and a curse. Living in harmony with nature adds a grace ordinary people will never understand. That gift was also why they were cast out of the village. The village chief, hungry for control, could not accept that Damien and Mariel simply knew more than others because it lay in their very being, the heart of their curse. How can you explain to someone who barely grasps magic, just because he carries a wand, that power lives in everything and can be guided with knowledge and patience? You cannot. People have become too arrogant and full of themselves. To understand, you first need humility.
Mariel followed the path and felt the forest tilt. Birdsong thinned to nervous chirps, twigs snapped where no foot should tread, and every heartbeat around her beat just a little too fast. The closer she drew to the river the worse it tasted. A jay burst from a limb with a harsh cry, and minnows darted for deep shadow. Something bad sat ahead and every animal knew it.
Mariel stopped at the water's edge and let everything go quiet. She pulled in one slow breath, let it roll out, and sent her focus through the soil. Life pulsed back in a thousand tiny beats, yet one throbbed wrong. Human.
She spun toward that signal and ran. Branches snagged her sleeves; she didn't slow. A wall of willow parted, revealing a boy sprawled in the shallows.
When she reached out with her gift she felt only a dim cloud of confusion, fading fast. She splashed closer and saw a deep cut at his temple, blood pumping into the water. He was slipping away.
Dad, south bend, boy down, losing blood, hurry. The reply snapped back five seconds later. On my way.
Mariel stepped into the river, cold biting her shins. With a lift of her hands the current obeyed, rising in a smooth sheet that cradled the boy and guided him onto the grass.
Exhaustion flooded every part of her. Mariel sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. In that moment she understood why her father had banned her from using magic this way: her reserves were pitifully small. Yet the boy was dying, and she could not walk away.
Hurried footsteps broke the hush. Mariel turned, relief flooding her chest as her father slipped down the bank.
Who is he?
No idea.
Damien knelt beside the boy. The cut across the scalp still pumped a slow, dark ribbon. He shot Mariel a quick look, lifted both hands, and let a soft melody roll free.
"Sanare corpus, sanguinem sistere, mens salva sit."
"Sanare corpus, sanguinem sistere, mens salva sit."
Power flared bright around his fingers and poured straight into the boy. Mariel felt it sizzle across her own skin, so much raw energy it made her jaw clench.
Typical Dad, hoarding magic like a dragon and never even breaking a sweat.
The bleeding stopped. The boy's breathing evened out into a steady rhythm. Damien sat back on his heels, his eyes tracing the lines of the stranger's pale face. He looked too young to be out here alone.
They lifted him together, his weight manageable between them. The walk back was quiet, the only sound the crunch of their boots on the path. The forest felt watchful. A jay cried out from a high branch, its call sharp with a warning they'd learned to heed. The usual chatter of squirrels was absent, leaving an uneasy silence in the air.
The quiet is getting deeper, Mariel thought as they walked. The rot is closer to the river now.
Damien's grip tightened on the boy's shoulders. I know. His attention fell to the strange scaled fabric of the boy's hoodie. This isn't from any land I know.
He doesn't feel like the sickness, Mariel observed. He feels… clear.
That's what worries me. Why is something pure appearing now, as everything else turns foul?
They reached the cottage and laid the boy on the bed. Mariel covered him with a blanket while Damien stood back, his arms crossed. His eyes never left the unconscious figure.
If he's not from the village, and not from any valley we know…
Damien finished it for her. Then he's from somewhere else and that can mean anything. He stepped closer to the bed. Check his pockets.
Mariel's fingers found a hard, smooth length of wood tucked inside an inner pocket of the boy's trousers. She pulled it out. It was a slender stick, pale and strangely warm, with a handle that seemed shaped for a specific grip. A low thrum of energy vibrated against her palm.
She held it up. Her father went very still. The color drained from his face.
You know this object. It wasn't a question. His shock was a cold splash against her senses.
It's a focus, he thought back, the words sharp with disbelief. A powerful one. I've only seen pictures in forbidden texts. He finally looked from the wand to the boy's face, his own expression hardened by a new, grim understanding. This changes everything. Wake him. Now.
The first thing Harry Potter knew was that he was not dead.
This was, historically, a good start, but it came with its own set of immediate and pressing problems. Consciousness returned not as a gentle dawn but as a single, stark light switch being flipped on in a dark room, illuminating every aching part of him at once.
He was lying on something soft. A bed. His head throbbed a steady, dull rhythm against his temples, and a sharper ache bloomed across his ribs with every breath. His fingers twitched, instinctively searching for his wand. His holster was empty.
His eyes snapped open.
He was in a small, low-ceilinged room. Daylight, soft and grey, filtered through a single window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. And there were two people staring at him.
A girl, about his age maybe, with serious eyes and hair the colour of wheat, stood a few feet away, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. An older man with a weathered face and tired eyes sat on a stool beside the bed, leaning forward. He wasn't smiling. He was just looking, with an intensity that felt less like a threat and more like a diagnosis.
Harry shoved himself upright, his back hitting a cool wooden wall. His muscles screamed in protest. He was in a stranger's house, weaponless, injured, and being studied like a particularly interesting bug.
"Where," he said, and his voice came out rough, scraped raw from river water and panic, "am I?"
The man and girl looked at each other in that careful way people do when they're trying to decide how much truth someone else can handle.
"You're in our home," the man said. "I'm Damien. This is Mariel."
…safe for now…won't hurt him…
Harry blinked hard. The words had appeared in his mind like thoughts that weren't his own. Great. Either he was going crazy, or something much worse was happening.
"My wand?"
Mariel picked it up from a shelf nearby.
…different kind of magic…never felt before…
"Thanks," Harry said, taking it. The familiar wood should have been reassuring. It wasn't. Because now he was absolutely certain he could hear them thinking. Not everything - just bits and pieces, like trying to read a book with half the pages torn out.
We should tell him about the river.
Yes. He needs to know.
Harry gulped. That had been clear as crystal, a conversation happening entirely in his head. Or their heads. Or everyone's heads.
"How are you doing that?" The question came out smaller than he meant it to. "The talking. Without talking."
Mariel froze. Damien leaned forward.
You can hear us?
"Yes," Harry said. "And I really wish someone would explain why."
They didn't answer right away. Mariel looked at Damien and Harry got the feeling they were having an entire conversation right there in front of him, just not in a way he could follow. He stayed quiet, unsure if he was supposed to wait, or if waiting made him look stupid. Finaly they turned their attention back to him.
You're a wizard, Damien's thoughts came slow and careful. But you're something else too.
Harry watched them both. Their clothes reminded him more of the illustrations in "Tales of Beedle the Bard" than anything he'd seen at Hogwarts - no robes, just simple tunics and worn leather. They moved differently too. McGonagall's stern elegance seemed stiff in comparison.
"I don't understand."
"You're an Empath," Mariel said out loud, then caught herself. Her thoughts spilled over instead. Like us. You can feel the threads between things. The connections.
"I'm a what?"
Damien shifted on his stool. There was something almost gentle in the way he looked at Harry now, like finding a lost thing you'd given up hoping for.
We thought we were the only ones left. The village cast us out because of it. Because we could sense too much, know too much.
Harry's head hurt. Not from the injury - from trying to process how casually they were rewriting everything he thought he knew about himself. "Look, I'm just here because of the tournament. The Goblet sent me into this… place. Whatever it is."
Tournament? Mariel's confusion rippled through his mind.
"The Triwizard Tournament. I'm from Hogwarts." Harry paused. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
They didn't. He could feel their bewilderment like a physical thing.
"Okay." Harry took a breath. "I'll explain everything. But first - this Empath thing. What exactly does it mean?"
It means you can feel the truth in things, Damien thought. The life in the forest, the bonds between people, the rot spreading through the land.
"Rot?"
Mariel's face darkened. The corruption. It's killing everything slowly. The animals feel it first. Then the trees. Then people.
"Is that why that wolf looked wrong? All melted and strange?"
Yes.And it's getting worse.
Harry sat there, memories of Krum hitting him like a bad joke. Of course there was some dark corruption involved. Because apparently, he couldn't have one normal year at Hogwarts. Last year dementors, then whatever this was. He almost missed the days when his biggest problem was Snape's essays. Almost.
The thought of Hogwarts sent a different kind of ache through his chest. Hermione would know what to make of all this - empaths and corruption… She'd probably already have three books open about it.
"I think," Harry said carefully, "I might know why I'm here."
The hill wasn't particularly steep, but Harry's neck screamed like he'd been carrying bricks. He stopped halfway up, pressing his fingers against the knot of pain where his spine met his skull. Two days of rest, and his body still betrayed him. When he finally reached the top, he sank down into the grass, letting the morning air cool his face.
"Look, it's not like some mystical mind-reading thing," Mariel had said yesterday, rolling her eyes when he'd asked about controlling it. She'd picked up a fallen leaf, turning it over in her hands. "It's more like… you know when someone's lying before they even open their mouth? Or when a room feels wrong the moment you walk in? That's what being an Empath is. Atleast on basic level. You're just finally noticing what your gut's been telling you all along."
Maybe that's why it hurt so much with Krum. He'd felt something off, that split second before the spell , but he'd ignored it. Pushed it aside because it didn't make sense, because they were supposed to be allies. He wouldn't make that mistake again. But why had he believed they were allies? Where had that idea come from? Harry glanced at the sky above him and hummed softly.
Cedric was out there somewhere. Maybe Fleur too, if she was still alive. Tomorrow he'd be strong enough to look for them properly. Today, though… today his body demanded rest.
The village wasn't what Harry expected. He'd pictured something like Hogsmeade, with crooked chimneys and warm light spilling from windows. This place felt different. The houses were neatly built, the streets swept clean, but no one lingered outside. A woman drawing water from a well kept her eyes down as they passed. Two men repairing a fence stopped talking the moment they came into view.
Damien walked slightly ahead, his shoulders set in a way that made him seem both protective and closed off. Harry wondered if this was how he always looked coming here, or if today was different.
"People keep to themselves," Damien said, not turning around. His voice was low, matter-of-fact. "They're not unfriendly. Just careful."
Harry nodded, though Damien couldn't see him. He understood being careful. He'd spent years being careful. But this felt like more than that. It felt like fear, the kind that sinks into walls and stains the edges of things.
They passed a small garden where a boy around six or seven was pulling weeds. He didn't look up or wave, just kept his small hands moving in the dirt. His stillness was unnerving. Kids shouldn't be that quiet.
Harry's neck began to ache , a dull throb he was starting to recognize as something more than muscle strain. It was like a warning bell ringing somewhere deep in his body. Something was wrong here. Not dramatically wrong, not dark-mark-in-the-sky wrong, but subtly, pervasively off.
Damien stopped in front of a larger building at the center of the village. It was better kept than the others, with a freshly painted door and a clean stone step.
"This is it," Damien said, finally turning to look at Harry. "Ready?"
Harry hesitated, his hand halfway to the door. "Is this a good idea? I mean, we were supposed to be looking for Cedric."
Damien considered the question, his eyes scanning the quiet street behind them. "The Chief knows things. People talk to him. If anyone has heard about other champions, it would be him." He paused, his expression grim. "I don't trust him, but I don't trust anyone who lives this close to the rot. At least you're doing something instead of just waiting."
Harry nodded slowly. Doing something felt better than waiting. Even if it was probably stupid.
The room was a long hall, and it was full of people. Dozens of villagers knelt on the stone floor, heads bowed. Some were whispering, their words a low, frantic hum. A woman nearby was weeping quietly, her shoulders shaking. It felt less like a meeting hall and more like a vigil.
At the far end, on a raised platform with a heavy, carved chair, sat a man. He had to be the Chief.
"Harry Potter," the man said. His voice was clear and carried easily through the whispers. "Born under fire, twice marked by death. You've come to stir the earth again, haven't you?"
Harry froze, his hand still on the door handle. The back of his neck prickled, a cold sweat breaking out. He could feel Damien go rigid beside him.
The Chief's eyes, from across the room, seemed to glitter in the dim light. He offered a thin smile. "Please, come closer. We don't bite. We offer hospitality to those who walk the lonely paths."
Harry forced his feet to move, weaving through the kneeling figures. None of them looked up. As he passed, he caught fragments of their whispered prayers. "…keep the shadow from the door," one man muttered. From another, a choked plea: "Protect us from the sky."
He stopped a few feet from the platform, feeling small and exposed. Up close, Harry could see the wildness lurking just behind his eyes.
"Sit," the Chief said, gesturing to a simple stool at the foot of the platform. The offer felt less like kindness and more like a command. "You seek the other riverwalker, the one with hair like sunlight. But caution, boy. Sickness often hides in a smile. Loyalty must be proven before it is given."
His tone shifted abruptly, the placid host gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp paranoia. "How do I know you are not the corruption sent to undo us? How do I know your heart is not rotten at the core?"
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. The Chief's eyes were doing something strange. He was getting angry for no reason.
"You stand there," the Chief hissed, his voice turning ragged. "In my hall. With your foreign magic. Asking your little questions." He leaned forward, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "How do I know you…."
"He's with me, Elias."
Damien's quiet voice cut through the tension. "You asked me to bring him. I brought him. Remember?"
Elias blinked. He took a slow breath, his eyes moving from Harry to Damien. The anger faded, replaced by confusion, then recognition. He sank back into his chair, the fight leaving him. "Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies. The days run together."
He looked back at Harry, his composure mostly back, though his smile was weak. "You seek the other riverwalker. The one with hair like sunlight. She asked many questions, too."
"Hair like sunlight? What do you mean, Elias? Where did you see her?"
That's when Harry understood. The riddle wasn't about Cedric. Sunlight. Hair like sunlight. Elias meant Fleur.
The realization felt like cold water. If Fleur had been here, talking to this unstable man, what happened to her?
Elias expression hardened, the brief moment of clarity gone, replaced by a cold, institutional pride. "I don't know, maybe she was difficult. The one with hair like sunlight. She came here with accusations. She looked down on us. She insulted the honor of my most trusted soldier." His tone lost its mystical edge, turning flat and bureaucratic, which was somehow more frightening.
He straightened his back, his fingers giving a single tap on the arm of his chair. A final, dismissive gesture. "We do not take well to that kind of incident. It disrupts the peace. It spreads doubt. In a place like this, doubt is a sickness."
He looked between them, his face empty, as if he had just explained a simple rule of nature. "A decision had to be made. For the good of everyone. She has been taken."
Damien's hand closed around Harry's upper arm, a silent command that needed no words. "Don't." It rang inside Harry's head as clear as a shout.
Harry pressed his lips together. The questions about Fleur, about where she was and why and if she was hurt, crumbled to nothing. He made his face still, copying the hollow calm on Elias's.
"Thank you for the information, Elias." Damien's tone held neutral respect. He gave a small nod. "It clears things up. I appreciate your time."
Elias watched them, head tilted, weighing the words.
"I should return," Damien went on. "I can't leave my daughter alone too long. You understand. A father's duty."
Mentioning Mariel worked. "Of course. The young ones. They are the future. Go. Tend to your roots."
Damien didn't wait. He tightened his grip and turned, leading Harry back through the kneeling villagers. Harry stared straight ahead at the gray light from the open door. He felt unseen eyes on his back but didn't turn.
They didn't speak until outside. Damien kept walking, moving fast, pulling Harry with him away from the hall. "Don't look back. Just walk. Don't run, but walk. Now."
Harry moved quietly through the dark cottage, careful not to wake Damien. He reached for the door, but before his fingers touched the latch, a pulse of thought brushed against his mind.
You're leaving.
He froze.
"I have to," he sent back, unsure if she would hear. For a moment, her emotions wrapped around his own. Fear, pride, and something like faith.
He closed his eyes, holding onto the feeling, then slipped out into the night without a sound.
The forest swallowed him whole. Every branch and stone seemed sharper, louder, alive. He drew his wand and kept it ready, its tip a faint whisper of light. The Empaths' cottage faded behind the trees until it was just another ghost of warmth he was leaving behind.
Somewhere beyond the dark ridge and the whispering trees, Cedric was out there, fighting, surviving, or both. Harry quickened his pace. The forest didn't scare him anymore. Standing still did.
The forest thinned, pines surrendering to skeletal, black-barked trees that clawed at a sky the color of dirty slate. Time meant nothing here. The light never shifted, neither dimming nor brightening. It just hung, a permanent gloom. Frost began to lace the bare branches, a crystalline fungus growing thicker the farther north he trudged. Each breath plumed in the frigid air, small clouds of life in the deepening stillness.
Hunger hollowed his stomach. Fatigue burned cold in his leg muscles. But the silence oppressed him most. No bird calls, no rustle in the underbrush. Only the crunch of his boots on frozen earth and the low whisper of wind through frost-heavy branches. This was a dead place.
A low growl reached him a moment before movement flickered at the edge of sight.
Two wolves emerged from behind a thicket of thorny vines. Their fur hung in clumps, revealing mottled gray skin. One had a milky blind eye. The other moved with a broken gait, back legs dragging. Thick, dark saliva dripped from their jaws, sizzling where it met the frost.
They didn't circle. They charged.
His wand was already in hand. "Confringo!"
The blast struck the lead wolf in the shoulder, exploding flesh and fur outward. The creature stumbled but didn't fall. It shook itself, shattered bone and muscle knitting back together with a wet, sucking sound. Dark tendrils writhed across the wound, pulling it shut.
The second wolf lunged. He dropped and rolled, its jaws snapping shut on empty air. The stench of rot choked him. He came up firing. "Incendio!"
A jet of flame caught the wolf across its haunches. It yelped, scrambling back, batting at the fire with a paw. The smell of burning hair and scorched meat soured the air. The first wolf, its shoulder a mess of half-formed tissue, lunged again.
He threw a slicing hex. "Diffindo!" It carved a deep gash across the beast's muzzle. Black blood flew, but the cut sealed over in seconds, leaving a shiny pink welt.
They healed too fast. Ordinary spells were useless.
He backed against a tree, mind racing. Fire. Only fire.
The blind wolf gathered to leap. He aimed low. "Incendio!" He swept his wand in a wide arc, not at the wolf, but at the ground before it.
A wall of fire erupted, devouring dry frost and dead leaves. The wolf hit the flames and recoiled, howling. He fed the spell, pouring his will into it until it roared between them. The second wolf paced at the edge, snarling.
He focused on the burning one. Flames climbed its legs, caught its fur, engulfed its torso. . It stood, burning, until it collapsed into ash and charred bone.
The remaining wolf stared at the ashes. A low whine escaped it. Then it turned its milky eyes on him and charged through the dying flames.
He braced, letting it come. At the last second, he sidestepped and thrust his wand like a spear into its open mouth.
"Incendio!"
Fire erupted from within. The wolf convulsed, limbs thrashing. Light glowed from its eyes and ears as it cooked from the inside. It fell, twitched once, and lay still. This time, it did not rise.
Harry stood panting. A deep tremor vibrated up through his boots.
He followed it, a dark seam in the mountainside ahead pulsing with the same lurid orange light he'd seen from the wolves. Each tremor that shook the ground was answered by a concussive thump and the sharp, clean report of a spell.
The cavern stretched vast and dark. In the middle, a monster made of stone and glowing red embers took heavy, shaking steps that rumbled through the ground.
But it was the wizard who truly stunned Harry.
He moved faster than anyone Harry had ever seen. His robes were torn, but he fought with a power and focus that made dueling club look like child's play. A flick of his wand sent a curse cracking into the monster's leg. The creature stumbled. Another flash of light sliced a chunk right off its arm.
The monster roared, a loud, angry sound of breaking rocks. The arm didn't bleed. Instead, a thick, black goo, glowing with orange light, bubbled out of the wound. It hardened instantly into a new, jagged arm with a fist made of sharp, black rock.
The fighter didn't stop. He cast another spell, a whip of red light that cracked against the monster's head. Harry watched, holding his breath, pressed against the cold cave wall. He felt like he was watching something he wasn't supposed to see.
The golem swung its new arm.
The move was faster than it looked. The huge fist smashed into the wizard's chest.
There was a terrible cracking sound. The wizard was thrown backward through the air. He hit the cave wall with a heavy thud and slid down to the ground, right next to Harry.
The wizard slumped against the rock. He coughed, a horrible, wet sound, and blood trickled from his mouth onto his robes.
Harry froze. He didn't know whether to stay hidden or help.
The wizard's eyes, cloudy with pain, focused. They locked onto Harry.
Harry stared back.
The guy's face was dirty and bloody, one eye already swelling shut. But Harry recognized the jawline, the shape of his eyes… it was a face he saw every day at school.
Harry was stunned. Cedric looked just as shocked to see him. "Potter?" Cedric whispered.
Harry didn't think anymore. He scrambled out from his hiding spot and knelt beside Cedric. His hands were shaking. "Don't move," he said. He pointed his wand at Cedric's chest, trying to remember any healing spells. "Episkey. Vulnera Sanentur. Please work."
A soft, warm light came from his wand. The bleeding on Cedric's face slowed a little. Cedric gasped and seemed to breathe a bit easier. He pushed himself up on one elbow, grimacing in pain. He held his own wand and pointed it at his chest, muttering a more complicated spell. A silvery light glowed, and some of the pain seemed to leave his face. He looked at Harry, his confusion turning to a sharp question.
"Harry? What are you doing here?"
"I was looking for you. A lot has happened. We need to talk."
As Harry spoke, both he and Cedric turned their heads toward the growing noise. The golem clearly didn't like being ignored and decided to charge at them. Harry helped Cedric get back on his feet and watched as Cedric quickly conjured a brick wall, then sharp spikes rising from the ground.
The golem didn't seem to care. It crashed into the brick wall, shattering it to dust. The spikes stopped it, though, stabbing deep into its body and holding it in place. Cedric gasped for breath and conjured ice spikes in the air above them. He aimed his wand at the golem, and the spikes shot forward, impaling the creature. The golem let out a roar of pain.
But moments later, its wounds began to seal again. Cedric glanced at Harry.
"Fire doesn't work on it. It actually makes it stronger. Ice hurts it the most, but I haven't found a way to stop that cursed regeneration."
Harry nodded, thinking hard. Cedric was already exhausted and injured.
Harry had to make a difference somehow. What spells could actually help here? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the grimace twisting Cedric's face. The crash into the wall had been hard. His ribs were probably cracked.
Harry raised his wand, thinking fast. "Ossio Restituo."
A soft blue light spread from the tip, wrapping around Cedric's chest. The magic hummed faintly, knitting bone back into place. Cedric exhaled through clenched teeth, the pain leaving his face for a moment.
"Thanks," he muttered, rolling his shoulder once, testing it. His wand lifted again, steady despite the exhaustion. "We have to keep pressure on it. Don't let it recover."
The golem bellowed from the other side of the cave, shards of ice still jutting from its body. It moved slower now, but every step cracked the ground like thunder.
Harry braced himself. "Then we hit it together."
He raised his wand beside Cedric's and focused on the same target — the creature's chest, where the black veins pulsed like molten roots under the stone. Cedric sent another ice blast. Harry followed with a Stupefy, hoping to slow it even more.
The spells struck one after another, light flashing red and blue across the cave. The golem staggered, chunks of frost breaking from its body, but it didn't fall. Its arm swung out wide, crashing through a column and showering them with debris.
Harry ducked, dust filling his lungs. Cedric threw up a shield. Sparks skittered off it like rain on glass.
"This isn't a normal creature. Whatever it is, it looks cursed," Cedric said.
"Yeah. I met wolves with something similar," Harry answered. "I think it's part of the puzzle we're supposed to solve to get through this bloody trial."
Harry knew that Cedric was at his limit. He was probably able to perform the previous combination of spells maybe once, barely twice. I have to buy some time for Cedric, thought Harry.
"Cedric, move aside. Rest for a moment,"
Cedric had already turned to protest, but Harry had jumped down to stand face to face with the golem.
Okay, time to see the effects of my effort, the training at Hogwarts, and also the work with Mariel. Harry took a deep breath, straining his senses and focusing on what his body was telling him. He was very tense.
A second later the golem swung its arm, and from its body shot small stone fragments that flew at high speed toward Harry. He was ready for it. He raised his wand up and shouted, "Avis."
From his wand burst a flock of birds that flew toward the stone fragments, slowing and changing their trajectory, thanks to which Harry easily managed to avoid the attack. He moved forward, running.
The golem stood on two thin legs; earlier he hadn't managed to notice it because of its massive torso and belly. Harry could use that. "Glacius!" he shouted, aiming at the golem's legs.
Its frail legs were wrapped in thick, solid ice. The golem started thrashing and struggling until finally, in fury, it swung its arm and shattered the ice on its feet.
Harry had only been waiting for that. It was the distraction. The golem lifted its head and noticed Harry standing very close with his wand raised. Before it could react, it was already too late.
"Fulmino!" roared Harry.
Harry had put a lot of strength into that spell. The blast hit hard. For a moment he thought he had finished it, but the golem still stood. Its whole body was cracked and smoking, large pieces of stone fallen off, yet it didn't collapse. The creature leaned forward, groaning, and thick black liquid started to crawl through the fractures, slowly sealing them.
It was healing again. But slower this time.
Harry turned slightly. Cedric sat in the corner, breathing heavily, his wand resting across his knees. Sweat darkened his robes. He was trying to recover as much energy as possible before the next assault. Good.
Turning his attention away from the golem at such a moment turned out to be very costly for Harry.
When he focused again, the creature already held a huge boulder in its hands.
A boulder nearly the size of a cottage wall.
Run! Cedric's shout reached Harry's ears.
Bloody hell, Harry thought, gripping his wand tighter.
He started stepping backward, but all the effort was pointless - he simply had nowhere to run.
The boulder was already flying, too fast, too close.
Harry stared at the massive ball of stone that was about to end his life.
His heart started pounding hard, yet for some reason he didn't feel fear.
Almost lazily, in focus, he aimed his wand at the rock, already seeing it in his mind's eye its changing shape.
Of course, that spell was meant for small things.
But who was going to stop him?
"Lapidorus lignum!"
The spell barely held. For a second, Harry thought it had failed — the boulder only trembled midair, cracks crawling sluggishly across its surface. Then the stone shifted, twisting and splintering, each fracture turning gray rock into rough wood.
It wasn't a living dragon. Just a hollow shape, a wooden husk with wings like broken planks and a head carved by accident. But it moved.
Harry's hand shook. Sweat ran down his face. The air around his wand shimmered from the strain. He gritted his teeth and forced the spell to obey, guiding the creature's flight like a puppet on invisible strings.
The wooden dragon pitched forward, clumsy but powerful, wings chopping the air. It crashed straight into the golem's chest. The impact shook the cavern, scattering shards of stone and splinters of wood. A shockwave of dust hit Harry's face.
He stumbled back, coughing, eyes stinging. When the smoke cleared, the golem was on one knee, cracks glowing faintly along its torso. Something pulsed deep inside it — a small core of light, rhythmic and steady, like a heartbeat.
Harry's eyes widened. That was it. That was the source.
The golem began to mend again, black ooze crawling to seal its wounds. But now he understood. Destroy the core, and the rest would fall apart.
He turned and ran toward Cedric, who was still pressed against the wall, his wand in one hand, chest rising and falling fast.
"Cedric," Harry called, sliding to a stop beside him. "Listen. I saw it. There's a core inside it… that's what's keeping it alive. We have to hit that, not the body."
"I see," Cedric answered. He looked at Harry with an expression of respect, which completely surprised him.
Before Harry could say anything, Cedric added, "I can do one more spell combination, but after that I probably won't be able to keep fighting. Before you came and saved me I was fighting it for about an hour. If it weren't for you… I'd probably be dead."
"Let's not count our chickens before they hatch," Harry said, glancing at the golem. "Here's the plan. I'll start and catch it off guard, then you unleash your combination, and finally, when its source is exposed, I'll finish it. What do you think?"
"Whatever works for you, Potter." Cedric gave a grim smile.
The boys, now with a plan in mind, stood and got ready to fight. The golem had used that short pause to fully regenerate. Worse, it looked furious now. Steam hissed from cracks around its head, and in its massive stone hands it held two huge boulders.
The moment it turned toward them, it hurled both.
Harry swung his wand toward a large rock nearby and used it as a shield, shattering the incoming boulders into dust midair. The explosion of debris filled the cave with a cloud of grit.
Cedric broke into a sprint, closing the distance fast to draw the creature's attention. The golem's glowing eyes locked on him.
Harry seized the opening. He aimed low again. "Glacius!" Ice crawled up the golem's legs, locking them to the ground.
Before it could break free, Harry aimed higher. "Confringo!"
The blast hit its chest dead center, the explosion echoing through the cavern. Cracks spidered across the creature's torso, and molten black liquid splattered the floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of Cedric — and once again, his spellwork was nothing short of spectacular.
"Glacius. Diffindo. Petrificus Totalus."
Each spell flowed seamlessly into the next, a rhythmic chain of motion and intent. Harry suddenly remembered Flitwick's lecture about spell chaining — linking spells without pause to amplify their power. A true duelist's skill.
But Cedric wasn't finished. He raised his wand higher, and the air around him trembled. This time, dozens of icy spikes burst from the ground, denser and sharper than before. Harry could feel the surge of energy radiating from him — raw, powerful, almost overwhelming. For a moment, Cedric's magic filled the entire cave, a living force fueled by sheer will.
The spikes struck true. They drove deep into the golem's torso and shoulders, cracking stone and tearing chunks from its body. The creature staggered backward, its heavy limbs scraping across the rock.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs across its chest. The light inside its core pulsed faster, brighter, almost panicked. Each flash threw shadows that danced along the walls.
Harry's pulse matched it. He knew this was it. The perfect opening.
Cedric, drained and swaying on his feet, still managed to keep his wand raised, forcing the ice deeper. Harry saw the strain on his face, the tightness around his eyes. He wouldn't hold much longer.
The golem bent forward, one knee crashing into the ground, its torso splitting wider. That same weak glow bled through the fractures — the heart of the monster, exposed and unprotected.
Harry didn't hesitate. All the fatigue, the fear, the frustration of this cursed trial condensed into one fierce, focused spark inside him.
He ran forward, boots pounding against the stone, and aimed straight for the light.
"Fulmino Maxima!"
The spell tore free like a thunderclap. Blue lightning burst from his wand and slammed into the golem's chest. For one blinding second, the entire cave lit up — stone, ice, and fire colliding in a single explosion of sound and light.
The core shattered.
And the golem screamed as its body crumbled apart, dissolving into a cloud of ash and burning dust.
A wave of crushing exhaustion hit Harry all at once. His knees gave out, and he fell hard onto the stone floor. The wand slipped from his hand, clattering beside him, but he still forced his head up just enough to look. He had to be sure.
The golem was gone. Nothing left but a pile of smoking rubble and faint traces of burned frost on the ground. The threat was over.
For a few long seconds, there was only silence. He heard it: a rough, tired exhale somewhere behind him.
Cedric.
Harry turned his head just in time to see Cedric drop to the floor and press his cheek against the ice. His eyes were closed, but a faint, content smile tugged at his lips. Harry whole body shook, but for the first time in what felt like hours, he allowed himself to breathe.