Fifth floor.
Harry ultimately lost to Moody.
The gap between them couldn't be bridged even with Command Seal-enhanced bursts.
Initially, Harry had managed to hold his own using several non-verbal spells and some magic taught by Grindelwald.
But the disparity in magical power and experience was too vast. Their duel ended swiftly.
Seizing Harry's momentary rigidity during Flame Shield activation, Moody cast the Cruciatus Curse, successfully interrupting his magic. Ropes then emerged from the ground, binding Harry tightly like a rice dumpling.
Panting heavily, Moody produced a disc, yanked Harry's hair, and pressed the disc against his face.
Activating the Portkey, both vanished.
After an indeterminate period of flight, Harry struggled desperately, but his face seemed fused to the disc. Only when his legs hit the ground did the plate separate, shattering upon impact.
"Where are you taking me?!"
Darkness surrounded them amidst overgrown weeds. Moonlight revealed numerous tombstones. In the distance stood a small chapel, with a hill to the left bearing an elegant old house.
"Where you belong – to make your final contribution." Moody grinned. "Potter, soon you'll witness history."
Harry couldn't comprehend his words, attempting to discern Moody's true identity while buying time. He trusted Wayne and Dumbledore would notice his disappearance; a prolonged delay increased his survival odds.
But Moody ignored him, dragging Harry deeper into the graveyard.
A distant figure approached through the night and thick mist. Although the features were obscured, the posture suggested something was carried.
As they neared, Harry saw a hooded cloak concealing the figure's face.
His scar erupted in unprecedented agony, as if his skull might split.
Moody threw him aside, kneeling fervently.
"Master! I've completed your task – I've brought Potter!"
"Well done, Barty." A cold voice feigned warmth. "My most reliable child. I knew you wouldn't disappoint."
"Master... I'd do anything for you!" Moody's face burned with fanaticism.
Gritting teeth, Harry strained to look up: Voldemort.
Finally, he saw the speaker.
A grotesque, infant-sized creature cradled by the hooded figure, its face adult-like yet hideously contorted.
"Potter – no, Harry. Allow me this familiarity, given our... special connection."
"Our second meeting. Last time included your parents. Pity they can't attend today."
Harry detected unexpected emotion in Voldemort's words – perhaps joy, perhaps lament.
Closing his eyes, Harry asked, "You've resurrected?"
"You call this form 'resurrected'?" Voldemort's voice turned utterly emotionless.
"I never truly died. So how could I resurrect? You should call it... a return. Yes, I have returned. With one final step remaining, you shall witness me grow even more powerful."
"You can't defeat Wayne."
Harry sneered, "And you certainly can't defeat Dumbledore. Otherwise, you wouldn't have gone to such lengths to bring me to this godforsaken place. You're afraid, aren't you?"
"Ha." Voldemort let out an ambiguous cold laugh. "I'll send them to meet you soon enough."
"Whether it's Dumbledore or Lawrence, I'll kill them all."
With that, he lost interest in further conversation and issued a command.
"Begin."
The cloaked man conjured ropes with magic, binding Harry tightly to the tombstone. Harry caught sight of the name inscribed on it — Tom Riddle.
Harry recalled the name that had materialised from the diary's shadow during his second year.
Voldemort's true name?
Seeing Harry still struggling, the hooded man struck him. Harry noticed the man's missing index finger and cried out in shock:
"Wormtail?"
Wormtail didn't respond, merely stuffing a black mass into Harry's mouth before retrieving a steaming cauldron from behind the tombstone. Finally, he began digging up the grave.
Suddenly, there was movement in the distance. Harry's expression brightened — was someone coming to rescue him?
Wayne or Dumbledore?
"What's happening, Barty?" Voldemort asked irritably.
"Master, that idiot Potter couldn't even win the tournament. I had to drag him here by force. Someone must have used the Cup to follow us."
"Also, my father was in charge of today's awards ceremony. I tampered with the medal – I wanted to kill him before you, to prove my loyalty..." Moody said reverently, sending chills down Harry's spine.
Killing his own father?
What kind of person would do something so cruel...
Voldemort issued a cold command: "Then go and deal with them."
Moody – no, Barty Jr. – rose without hesitation and hurried towards the direction of the newcomers.
Fudge and Vladimir staggered to a stop.
"Where is this?!"
"Why was the medal a Portkey? Vladimir, is this part of the competition too?"
Fudge looked around in terror, his face pale from the eerie tombstones, his ample flesh trembling uncontrollably.
"Minister Fudge, this is Britain – your territory. Surely you're not asking a student for answers?"
Vladimir's expression was disdainful as he clutched the Cup tightly, scanning their surroundings warily.
"There's light over there. Let's check it out."
Vladimir pointed ahead where blue light flickered.
Fudge swallowed hard, all his usual composure and dignity gone as he actually obeyed a student's instruction.
They hadn't gone far before encountering Barty Jr.
"Moody? Is that you?" Fudge exclaimed in surprise, though inwardly relieved. Feigning anger, he continued:
"What on earth is Dumbledore playing at? The tournament's over – what's all this about?
"Take us back at once, Moody. I'll have strong words with Dumbledore about this."
Instead of an explanation, Moody responded with a spell.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green beam grazed Fudge's scalp as it shot past. He stood frozen in terror, while Vladimir beside him screamed and scrambled away in panic.
"I expected Crouch to come, not you," Moody sneered. "How wonderful that a Minister for Magic should witness the Dark Lord's return."
Finally snapping out of his daze, Fudge shrieked, "Mad-Eye, have you gone mad? I'll have you thrown in Azkaban for using the Killing Curse on the Minister for Magic! This is treasonous conspiracy – I'll lock you away for life!"
"Shut your mouth, you fat pig!" Moody roared, firing several more curses in quick succession. Protective enchantments flared around Fudge as his defensive items activated, blocking each spell.
Of course, the Minister would have Ministry-issued protective gear – not just any, but the finest quality and in the greatest quantity. Yet no amount of protective items could compensate for years of pampered incompetence.
Fudge flailed desperately, shouting random incantations he barely understood. Not a single spell came close to hitting his attacker.
Soon his protections were exhausted. A Crucio struck true, sending Fudge writhing and screaming on the ground.
Ignoring his agony, Moody dragged him before Voldemort. "My Lord, see what I've brought you?" he announced proudly. "Cornelius Fudge, current Minister for Magic. If you were to kill him..."
Voldemort spoke lazily: "Interesting. I've never killed a Minister before. Well done, Barty. Toss him aside for now. After I deal with Harry, we'll send Dumbledore a special gift."
Moody kicked Fudge aside and conjured ropes to bind him.
"Wh-who are you people?" Fudge stammered, utterly bewildered. Spotting Harry tied to the tombstone, he cried, "Harry! Tell me what's happening!"
Harry answered in despair, "Voldemort's returned. Where's Dumbledore?"
"I don't know!" Fudge screamed. "Get me back to the Ministry! How could Voldemort return? You're lying, aren't you? Mad-Eye, let me go! I won't press charges – none of this happened!"
Harry couldn't bear it. "Minister, didn't you hear Voldemort call him Barty?"
"Barty... Barty Crouch? I knew he still wanted my position! Damn you, Crouch, you—"
"Crucio!"
Fudge's words dissolved into shrieks as he convulsed in agony.
Just then, the Polyjuice Potion wore off. The false leg and magical eye fell away, revealing a pale-faced man in his thirties.
"Take a good look, Fudge. Who am I really?" Barty grabbed Fudge's head, forcing him to look.
"Barty Crouch Jr.?" Fudge weakly recognised the features resembling the younger Crouch. "But you're dead!"
"My glorious master saved me! He gave me new life!" Barty spat. "Enjoy your final moments, Fudge."
Seeing that Peter Pettigrew was already prepared, Barty Crouch Jr. couldn't be bothered to speak further with him. He approached Voldemort and begged humbly, "Master, please use my flesh..."
"No, I still need your power." Voldemort refused mercilessly, saying coldly, "Wormtail is weaker than you and lacks your loyalty, but his flesh will suffice.
"You have more important uses."
Peter Pettigrew trembled under Barty Crouch Jr.'s icy gaze. First, he threw the infant into the cauldron, then raised his wand:
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
A wisp of dust answered Wormtail's call, flying from the grave and gently landing in the cauldron. The liquid turned blue.
He then drew a dagger from his cloak, sobbing, "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master."
He extended his right hand, gripping the dagger tightly with his left before swinging it down violently.
A piercing shriek tore through the night. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hearing something drop into the cauldron as the blue glow instantly turned crimson.
A sense of foreboding rose in his heart. Wormtail's ragged breathing grew closer until he stood right beside Harry.
"Blood of the enemy... forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"
Harry finally understood why he'd been brought here. He struggled desperately, but the dagger had already pierced the crook of his arm. Blood streamed down his robes, collected in a glass vial, before Wormtail poured it into the cauldron.
A plume of white steam billowed upwards. Then, Fudge and Harry watched in horror as a tall, thin figure slowly rose from within the vessel.
But when the figure was only halfway formed, Harry heard a shrill cry.
"Blood, flesh, bone... I, Voldemort, have returned..."
'It's over,' Harry thought, his heart turning to ice.
"It's over," Fudge nearly fainted.
The figure rose higher, its oppressive magical power threatening to burst forth at any moment.
Just then, three distinct voices echoed from afar, carrying a chilling intent to kill, reaching Harry and Fudge's ears.
"Avada Kedavra!"