Confusion washed over Harry as he and Cedric tumbled across the ground. The cup had been a portkey, that much was both known and obvious, but its destination was less so. Righting himself, Harry scanned the area. He was in a graveyard, several tombstones lined up in rows with statues of angels standing in on some places.
"You in one piece, Harry?" Cedric asked, pulling himself up off the ground.
"Feels like it. You have any idea where we are? I thought we were supposed to be on the winner's podium." Harry said, taking in more of the dark scenery. Night had well and truly fallen wherever they were, lending an air of terror to the locale.
"Graveyard obviously, but the where I'm not sure of." Cedric said. He kneeled down next to the portkey. "Looks like the Portkey's been messed with. Someone layered a new destination over the first one. Guess they wanted us to be here. Good news is, we'll just need to activate the portkey again to head back."
"Let's get out of here then, I don't like this place." Harry said, taking a step back towards the cup.
"I'm afraid you'll be going nowhere Potter." A voice came from the shadows, as Harry felt his body freeze.
"Cedric, run!" Harry got out, as his body dropped to the floor.
"Somnus." The voice said, as Harry's vision darkened, hoping that Cedric had heeded his advice.
Harry awoke, and found himself tied to a large angel statue. In front of him, four cloaked individuals surrounded a boiling cauldron, smoke emanating from it. The smell hit Harry hard. It was an awful thing, rotten eggs, tar smoke, and decay. Every caustic smell Harry could imagine emerged from the cauldron, the smoke blowing into his eyes as the wind pushed it towards him. In the dim light of the fire, Harry could see silver masks under the hoods the figures wore. He'd seen them before at the Quidditch World Cup, and they sent the same shiver down his spine now as they did then. He knew why now though, he knew what they were: Death Eaters.
"He's awake." The voice from earlier said, and Harry realized it was familiar. He couldn't place it initially, but that wasn't true anymore.
"Professor Moody?" Harry's voice came almost subconsciously, hoarse from breathing in this thick smoke.
"As far as you'd know lad." Moody said, pulling his hood up and taking off his mask. "You won't be living long enough to tell anyone, nor will it matter. I'm not ol' Mad-Eye. That was quite the ruse I had though, an act for the ages. Perhaps in the Dark Lord's new world, I'll make my living as an actor. I managed a convincing enough performance to fool countless old friends of Mr. Moody. My potion will be wearing off soon, I want you to see my real face before my master kills you."
Moody's face began to contort and shift, something Harry recognized as the effects of Polyjuice potion. When his features settled, a much younger man stood in his place. He appeared to be in his late 30s, although perhaps a bit older. He bore a familiarity about him though, features that lined up with someone Harry had seen many times before.
"Bartemius Crouch Junior. You've been dealing with my father all year. It's been ever so amusing to hide under his nose. He never once suspected his long deceased son would be so close. I had wanted to kill him, but the Dark Lord told me to wait. His death would draw too many eyes… and I had my task. You exceeded our expectations though Potter. We thought I would need to hold your hand through the tasks, provide guidance. No, you didn't need me. You prevailed all on your own. Impressive, truly. Now, you get to witness something truly great. You get to watch as the Dark Lord is reborn." Crouch said, as he turned to the others. "Begin the ritual."
Another one of the cloaked figures stepped forward, carrying a small bundle in his arms, he lowered the bundle into the cauldron, removing it from the wrap as he did so.
The thing inside the bundle was infant-like, Harry thought, although it was horribly deformed. There was nearly no fat on the creature, its appearance gaunt and skeletal, with horrible red limbs, and scales that covered patches of its body. A hiss emerged from the creature as it entered the liquid of the cauldron, and a soft thud was heard as it hit the bottom. "Bone of the father, unknowingly taken, you will renew your son." One of the others levitated a bone from within a nearby casket, one that had escaped Harry's notice. It sat in front of a headstone that gave Harry another chill as he read it. 'Tom Riddle'.
There was no longer any room for doubt, no room for hope that things were different. That name had removed all of that. This ritual… would somehow revive Voldemort. Would revive Tom Marvolo Riddle.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given. You will revive your master." The speaker said, brandishing a knife and severing his own hand into the cauldron. The scream that the speaker let out as he did so was deafening, a cry of anguish Harry couldn't imagine. Such fanatical devotion these Death Eaters had for Voldemort, that they would mutilate themselves in his name. It made Harry sick, and this was not helped by the dripping sound that emerged as the blood from the speaker's stump trickled on the ground.
That sickening sound though, edged closer to him, as Harry heard another, one that made his skin crawl. "Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."
That's why he was here, Harry realized. They needed his blood, as Voldemort had no truer enemy than Harry. They wanted his blood, they NEEDED to take it from him for this ritual to work. Harry didn't want that, he wanted this to be over, but one thought crossed his mind. A horrible desperate thought that echoed through his soul. Harry had studied rituals, they were required reading for his arithmancy classes. Rituals had adverse effects if not performed exactly as intended. Harry couldn't resist, there was nothing that could make him not take his blood, but the wording of the ritual… forcibly taken… what if Harry gave in?
Harry didn't struggle, he focused his mind, willing his magic to accept what was about to happen. Harry accepted the dagger as it dug into his skin, the silver blade sending a burning sensation that fired every nerve ending in Harry's arm. Harry relented though, and sent one thought forward, trying to convince his very soul that it was the truth, because, in great fear, it was. Harry gave the blood willingly, accepting the sacrifice. If this small bit of pain was something that would cause Voldemort even the smallest amount of trouble, Harry would gladly accept it a thousand fold.
The speaker gathered Harry's blood in a small glass vial, before bringing it to the cauldron and pouring it in. Harry could feel the air permeate with magic as sparks shot forth from the cauldron, the smoke billowing and rising as it formed twisted figures. Harry sent out his desires to the atmosphere, trying to feed the universe with his one desire. Let the ritual fail, let what would happen fail, let Voldemort be unable to rise. Some issue, some complication, some flaw. Let there be something that causes this to have all been in vane.
"Robe me." Came a voice from within the cauldron, as a tall figure began to step out of it. It was bald, with skin a pale white that seemed to be unnaturally smooth. The light of the flame, now slowly dying, revealed patterns of snake-like scales that crossed over sections of his body. The speaker draped a robe over the figure, as it turned to look at him.
Harry would not have recognized the face that approached him as Tom Riddle. He'd seen it on the back of Quirrel's head but three years ago, and attached to his memory only two. This face seemed wholly unlike them. Prominently, it lacked a nose, and the eyes in their sockets were not the brown that Harry had seen before, they were a deep red that seemed to glow in the night.
Voldemort looked down, seeing the kneeling figure of the speaker, as well as the large snake that Harry had failed to notice up to this point. "My dear followers, I am flesh once more. I thank the four of you for your devotion. You have earned your place at my side as we reshape this world. Yaxley, rise."
The one who had conducted the ritual, Yaxley apparently, stood up.
"Present your arm to me." Voldemort said, as Yaxley moved the stump. A wave of Voldemort's bone-like wand conjured a new hand, unmoving and silver, and grafted it onto the body. "A mark of your servitude. Wear it proudly." Voldemort turned to look at the others. "Lucius, it pleases me to see you here. A lesser dark lord would find fault in how you avoided capture, how you cowered and plotted. I am not such a dark lord. I know how useful your machinations have been in returning me this day, and how your work will continue."
The figure Voldemort turned to took off his mask, revealing the face of Lucius Malfoy. Harry felt a deep anger well within him as he saw the man's face, but the ropes stopped him from doing anything about it.
"I thank you my lord. I hope to serve you further." Lucius said, dipping his head low.
"Nott, I see your age has not eroded your loyalty. I see how your knees buckle as you kneel, yet you still do. I will not fault you for succumbing to the rigors of age, it comes for all of us, as even one who is immortal like myself still feel its touch. You will retire in luxury once the world bends its knee to me. A life fit for one who devoted themselves so fully." Voldemort said, before turning one more time to Crouch. "And Bartemius, your work has been exemplary. It was you who found where my body had reformed itself, you who uncovered the ritual for my new form, and it was you who planned this encounter, leading my greatest foe to be helpless before me. You have earned your place as my right hand. Among all my followers, only Bellatrix has shown more devotion and competence. Rise and stand at my side, as I speak with young Harry."
"Yes, my lord." Crouch said, standing from his kneeling position.
Voldemort's gait was odd, as he seemed to float from his position by the cauldron to stand in front of Harry.
"Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Thirteen years ago, you, through the sacrifice of your foolish mother, managed to destroy my body. Three years ago, you destroyed my wraith with merely a touch. Now though…" Voldemort said, stroking Harry's cheek with his bony spider of a hand. "I can touch you. Your blood runs through my veins now, a crucial part of my ritual. Your mother's protection can no longer distinguish me as the man who you killed that night."
Harry held eye contact with Voldemort, glaring at the man with all the hate and anger he could muster.
"That fire in your eye, don't think I do not see it. It is truly a pity you seem to despise me so. You could have a place amongst my army. A position second only to myself, should you prove yourself more capable than Bartemius or Bellatrix. You could have everything you want, yet I know you would not take it." Voldemort said, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "You view me as evil. Resent me for the deaths of your parents. Perhaps this is fair."
Voldemort stepped away, creating some distance between the pair. "But the world is not fair. Good and Evil are not in balance, and do you know why?" Voldemort asked, the question hanging in the air. "Because there is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to take it." Voldemort turned to Harry again. "I can tell you are powerful. Even at your young age you are a match for some of my more veteran Death Eaters. Your potential is great. You could take that power, bend the world to your will. I could teach you, mold you into something far greater than you could ever be alone. You would not eclipse me, as you could never, but you could be close. You could be viewed as the second most powerful being to ever walk the Earth." Voldemort studied Harry for a moment as he paused. "Yaxley, Bartemius. Undo his bindings."
The pair paused for a second, confused, but moved to do as their master said.
"Bartemius mentioned to me that you are quite the proficient duelist. That you have managed to win a championship, and have shown skills far beyond your years. Such skill would be necessary to survive the TriWizard Tournament at your age after all." Voldemort said, as levitated the cauldron he had emerged from away, opening the space around them. "We will have a duel, and then, once you realize how superior I am to you, you will surrender. You will watch as I take over the world, and perhaps, you will realize that it is better to stand at my side than against me." Voldemort looked to Harry again, a pleased, yet determined expression on his face. "Return Mr. Potter's wand to him. Then we will begin our duel."
Crouch handed Harry his wand, and Harry stepped down off of the plinth he had been tied to. His limbs were stiff, and he tried to stretch them in the moments between. If Voldemort intended to duel him, even if Harry had no chance, he was going to give it all he had.
"It is customary to bow before we begin." Voldemort said, dropping into an exaggerated bow. Harry bowed back, before falling into his dueling stance.
"Begin." Voldemort said, as he fired a spell at Harry, no incantation, and little wand movement accompanied the spell, as a red bolt of energy shot forth.
Harry dodged to the side, retaliating with a call of "Stupefy!" the white missile shooting forth from his wand and bouncing off of the magical shield that Voldemort seemed to hold up.
Harry recalled all of the dueling tips he had learned, from Flitwick, from Fleur, from Viktor and Ivan, and from Marianne.
How the best defense against a spell was to not be there when it hit. Which Harry used to his advantage as he dodged Voldemort's spells, the elder wizard having difficulties keeping up with the younger one, likely due to an unfamiliarity with his new body.
How an opponent's shield could be used against them. Flames poured from Harry's wand, the burning blast hitting against Voldemort's shield. The attack was ineffective, but Harry knew that. This bought him time that Voldemort couldn't be on offense, as dropping the shield meant that the flames would take him.
And how to spot a weakness. Voldemort, for all his power, had a body he wasn't used to. It didn't respond to his commands quickly. In comparison to Harry, he was sluggish, and while the wizard had an advantage in power and skill, he lacked two things Harry had: ingenuity and youth.
Letting up on the fire spell, Harry apologized to those buried here for what he was about to do. Pointing his wand forward, Harry summoned one of the tombstones to slam into the back of Voldemort's legs.
The initial tombstone landed, its stone exterior slamming into the back of Voldemort with a loud crash. It's substantial weight meant that Harry hadn't been able to make it move very quickly, but even it just falling against Voldemort should have hurt badly.
"Ah! Interesting tricks Potter. A very Slytherin move." Voldemort said, as he cast another spell. His body seemed to coat itself in a glowing aura, and Harry imagined future attempts to hit him with projectiles would be less effective.
The pair traded spells, Harry maintaining his pressure by constantly mixing up his avenues of attack. Sometimes he fired stunners and piercing spells, as well as a few more lethal spells that Viktor and Ivan had taught him, and sometimes he used the tombstones and their fragments as projectiles. Harry's mix-up of magical and physical attacks seemed to please Voldemort, who had a grin on his face.
"You are an excellent opponent Potter. To think one such as you could stand up to me so long. Even though I am going easy on you, I would expect many of my senior members to fall to the onslaught I have subjected you to. A shame for this to end so soon." Voldemort said, before he raised his wand in the air. "While I would have left you alive… I can tell you would not bend to me. You would fight me to the bitter end. I shall end this now then. Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry incanted, as the two spells connected in the space between them.
Harry's red beam fought against Voldemort's green one, the two magical bolts connected in a game of tug of war. Voldemort seemed surprised by this, but pushed forward nonetheless.
Harry pushed forward with all of his magic, sending as much energy as he could out of his wand, reinforcing his beam. Deep inside of him, Harry knew that he could not allow Voldemort's spell to reach his wand. As doing so would kill him.
"A fruitless effort Potter! I am stronger, more experienced. You stand no chance. I've toyed with you long enough! Begone!" Voldemort said, pushing forward with his wand.
Harry saw the green energy shoot towards him, overwhelming his spell. He was giving everything he could… but it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.
Harry thought for a moment as time slowed down. He thought back to Hermione, his first friend, one of the girls he loved so dearly. He thought about how he'd never get to hold her hand again. How he'd never see her furrow her brow when she faced some challenging puzzle.
He thought of Padma, how he'd never get to hear her play the sitar like she'd promised on their first Hogsmeade date. How he'd never get to meet her other family and see their home in India.
He thought of Daphne. How he'd never get to feed her chocolate frogs again, how he'd never get to see her complete her collection of chocolate frog cards… and how his card would never be the centerpiece of her collection.
He thought of Susan. How he'd never get her to view herself as the gorgeous and intelligent witch he knew she was, how he'd never get to watch her hold the child he knew she wanted with him so badly.
He thought of his little Luna. How they would never get to tell her mother's grave about how they were married, how he'd never get to stand with her as she told the world of her discovery of the crumple horned snorkack.
He thought of Fleur, how he'd never even get the chance to fall completely in love with her. How he would never get to tell her that he loved her.
He thought of the Tonks, who he would never be able to thank for being his family. Who he would never get to tell them just how much he needed them.
He thought of the rest of the Sphinx Club, who he would never get to watch grow into the wonderful witches and wizards he knew they would be.
And finally, he thought of James and Lily Potter, who he supposed if he had lived a good life, he would finally see with his own eyes finally.
"Not yet, Harry." Came a voice that he recognized. Deep in his soul, he knew this voice.
"Mum?" Harry choked out, opening his eyes to see the faces of James and Lily Potter floating in front of him.
"You aren't meeting us yet sweetie. As much as we want to see you, we want you to live more. We gave our lives so that you would live a long and healthy one. You will not be dying in this graveyard tonight. Pull deep within yourself, push with everything you have. You aren't alone Harry. We're with you." Lily said, as she laid her hand on his, focusing his wand.
"We're with you." James said, smiling at his son as he too placed his hand.
Harry's red beam pushed harder against Voldemort's, the progress of the green energy slowed significantly.
"I'm with you." Hermione's voice came, as Harry felt her hand on his.
"I'm with you." Padma's voice echoed.
"I'm with you." Daphne.
"I'm with you," Susan.
"I'm with you." Luna.
"I'm with you." Fleur.
"We're with you." The Tonks.
"We're with you." The Sphinx Club.
"Now push with everything you've got!" Their voices all rung out at once, as Harry felt the dam in his body burst open, magic pouring out of every pore.
Harry shoved his wand forward, the red bolt of energy tearing through Voldemort's spell, knocking his wand out of his hand.
"PULSARE MAXIMA!" Came Cedric Diggory's voice, as a loud shockwave sent everyone in the clearing flying back.
Harry saw as Cedric grabbed his arm, and pulled the TriWizard Cup between them "Portus!"
And the pair felt a hook pull them through a tube, as they landed on the winner's podium at Hogwarts.