Tap. Tap. Tap.
A gentle noise slowly echoed through the room, easily conveying the impatience its creator no doubt felt. Harry, however, was not particularly concerned by this at the moment. He currently lay upon the floor of wherever he was, his eyes still glued shut.
Am I dead?
If he truly was, it wasn't all too bad; he had expected worse. Perhaps a touch of pain, a bit of sorrow, and possibly a few other emotions, if only to spice things up. This, however, was rather dull; it paled in comparison to what Harry had expected death to be.
He was rather grateful for that.
The serenity that enveloped him in his death, unfortunately, did not remain for long. Harry was beginning to remember things, things that were connected to the life he had lived.
Fleur.
She was still alive somewhere, likely worrying about him. He could not leave her, nor did he want to.
There were others as well. They did not hold a special place in his heart, it was true, but they were people all the same. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters - a myriad of different people, all of whom were loved by many. They did not deserve to die; their deaths would hurt far more people than his own would.
Another, quieter portion of him wished to move on. Fleur would join him, in time, for all things died. More specifically, however, there were people to be found within the realm of the dead -if such a thing truly existed - people whom Harry might never see anywhere else.
Mum. Dad.
"They are long gone." said a stern voice, "Do not lose yourself to them. Your headmaster, despite my disliking of him, is correct - it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
Harry's emerald eyes slowly opened, widening as he roughly pushed himself off the ground. The voice was one he would recognize anywhere, including wherever it was that he now stood.
"Salazar." Harry breathed out.
"In the flesh." responded the man tiredly, "Well, not truly, but I suppose it will have to do."
Salazar's clothing was identical to the robes he wore in his portrait, as were the rest of the features. In fact, the only true difference was the lack of a frame to hold him. As far as Harry could tell, the man was just as real as he was.
"How?" questioned Harry, looking curiously at Salazar.
The man shrugged.
"You currently waver between life and death." Salazar informed him, "It has happened to many before, but never in such a way. Either way, it does not matter. It is time for you to make a choice."
"And you're here to, what, guide me?" questioned Harry curiously.
"I am here because you wish it so." stated Salazar, "This is your mind, it is you that decides what happens here."
"So, you're not actually Salazar Slytherin?" said Harry with disappointment, thinking back to discussions he had held with the portrait in the chamber - particularly the one about the founder's soul.
"No, I am not." answered the man, "I am Salazar as you see him, perhaps a figment of your imagination. My soul left your world a long time ago."
"You're just a figment of my imagination? You aren't real?"
"Of course I am a figment of your imagination." snapped Salazar, "But why does that mean this is not real?"
Harry nodded slowly, thinking of the words of his mentor.
"It is something to think about later." said Salazar, "For now, let us walk."
Harry quickly moved over to Salazar's side, looking around as the two walked forward. He was not entirely sure where they were. If he had to guess, he would say King's Cross. There were, however, several stark differences between this place and the train station. The main one being how everything happened to be white. It was almost blinding, reminding Harry of the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts.
"What does this place remind you of?" asked Salazar as they walked.
"King's Cross." Harry answered immediately, "The train station that takes students to Hogwarts."
Salazar nodded slowly, seemingly unsurprised.
They continued onward, their slow pace not increasing in the slightest. After quite some time, the two stopped, having noticed something that appeared to be rather out of place.
Laying upon the ground, obscured by one of the many white benches, was what appeared to be the bleeding corpse of a young child. Its skin was nearly tainted orange by blood, its body twitching, regardless of the lack of life within it.
"It appears as though you have succeeded." said Salazar calmly, "Although there is still much more to be done."
Harry nodded, his eyes remaining upon the broken corpse.
"You will require a new wand." noted Salazar, "It is no longer fit for you, as you have no doubt realized."
Harry nodded once more, having already worked that much out on his own. He had always wondered what it was that tied him to Voldemort, particularly why their wands were brothers. He was not at all surprised it had something to do with the horcruxes.
"They will not believe you, the others." Salazar said, "You know that. Instead of acting upon your words, they will ignore them. They will slander you, no doubt, but it does not matter. As long as you have Miss Delacour, I doubt you will care."
Harry nodded yet again, finally allowing his eyes to leave the remains of the horcrux. As he did so, the corpse vanished, leaving the floor just as spotless as the rest of the station.
"Remember the words of the sphinx." advised Salazar, "A thousand is a powerful number - the first four digit number, and more importantly, the number following the last three digit number. It is a very powerful number, particularly when it comes to any and all forms of sentience - life, if you will. You may not understand it now, but its importance will become clearer in the future."
Harry nodded for the fourth time, reviewing the words of the sphinx in his head.
"Your time approaches." said Salazar softly, "It is a choice that is entirely your own to make."
Harry sighed heavily, rolling his neck. He knew what Salazar meant, but he disagreed, at least to some extent. It was not a choice, for a choice meant there was more than one option.
Here, however, there was only one true option. To choose the other would only bring sorrow and regret.
He would see his parents again, some day - or perhaps he wouldn't - he wouldn't know either way. But they were gone, their time had long been spent. Fleur's had not.
Neither had his.
Salazar, the train station, and everything else slowly began to fade from view.
"Stay back! I am fine."
Voldemort's high, cold voice pierced through the melancholy air of the graveyard. Harry was not sure what had happened - his eyes were still closed - but he knew that it mattered little. He needed to get up, and fast. Any other course of action would result in an untimely death, one which would unfortunately be much more permanent this time around.
Harry quickly pushed himself off the ground, ignoring his aching muscles. The graveyard was just as it had been before he had been hit by Voldemort's Killing Curse, with two notable exceptions. The echoes, which had once been somewhat prominent, were now fading from view.
The majority of them surrounded Voldemort, somewhat obscuring him from Harry's line of sight. They were clearly distracting him, and doing a good job of it - but they would no doubt be gone in mere seconds.
A single echo watched Harry instead. Not even death could fully hide the love of the echo, whose eyes shined with affection and care. She smiled sadly at Harry as she slowly faded from view, mouthing a single phrase at him as she did so.
You're so loved.
The remaining echoes vanished as well, finally allowing Harry to see the dark lord. Voldemort himself was currently hunched over, contorting his neck in a strange manner.
The horcrux. It's been destroyed.
Even better than that, Voldemort didn't seem to have realized what had happened. There was no sign of fear or anger upon his face, merely mild discomfort.
The dark lord did not remain idle for long, however. His glowing red eyes looked upwards, eventually landing upon Harry. Harry quickly brought his wand up, pointing it at Riddle.
Stupefy!
Nothing issued from the tip of Harry's wand. The wand seemed detached, or perhaps dispassionate. It was the same as it was moments ago - there was truly no difference within it. Harry, however, had changed. Not physically, nor mentally - but he had. He could feel it within his magic, he could tell he was different now.
For the first time in his life, Harry truly felt alive.
A beam of red light issued from Voldemort's wand, sending Harry's wand flying out of his hand. The wand flew across the graveyard, eventually landing upon a grave marked with the name Mary Riddle.
Snap.
The wand fell to the bottom of the gravestone, quite clearly split in two.
"Such a shame." drawled Voldemort, watching Harry with interest, "You have no more lives to spare now, Potter. There is no one to die for you tonight - not here, not now."
With a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort sent a stream of curses from the tip of his wand. Harry just barely managed to duck out of the way, avoiding death by mere inches.
"Crucio!"
A burst of red light shot at Harry, once again missing by inches. He needed to get out quickly - it was the only possible way for Harry to live through the night. But how could Harry leave? There were Anti-Apparition wards around the graveyard.
They were also in the middle of nowhere, as far as Harry could tell. There would be no one coming to his aid - it simply was not possible.
Wait a moment.
"Hedwig!" Harry yelled, ducking behind a gravestone as Voldemort flung another curse his way.
There was a soft burning sensation in Harry's chest - Hedwig had heard him. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, slowly growing, and then -
It was gone.
Harry turned around, his eyes meeting those of Voldemort's. Both of their minds were firmly Occluded, and so neither could so much as glimpse the thoughts of their opponents. But even then, Harry could easily see the intrigue and amusement that shined within Riddle's eyes.
"Anti-Phoenix Wards, such a useful invention." said Riddle, "They were for Dumbledore - Fawkes, to be more specific. The miserable bird never liked me. He and Dumbledore share that trait, it seems."
Voldemort flicked his wand, sending another onslaught of spells, all of which Harry just barely avoided.
"But Hedwig," continued Voldemort, his head tilted slightly as though he were thinking, "How curious."
He waved his wand once more, sending Harry flying across the yard.
"I never created one." said Voldemort, "Nagini has served me well, have you not?"
The snake, which was slithering by Voldemort's feet, hissed in approval.
Harry, however, paid no mind, for he was far too concerned with something else. He could not apparate, nor could he use Hedwig. Yet he desperately needed to get out of the graveyard. He needed to get back to Hogwarts, he needed to get back to Fleur.
He quickly ducked beneath another grave, shielding himself from Voldemort's relentless onslaught. It was dark, he could barely see what was going on. Only a soft blue glow provided a bit of light, allowing Harry to see.
Blue?
Harry turned his head. Lying upon the grass, perhaps fifteen metres away from him, was the Triwizard Cup.
It's a Portkey.
Harry quickly constructed a plan, ignoring Voldemort's taunts from somewhere else within the graveyard. He could easily summon the cup to him and escape - it would not even be remotely difficult. He would wandlessly summon his wand as well. Although it was undoubtedly broken beyond repair, it still held quite a bit of sentiment to Harry.
"Come out, Potter." said Riddle, his voice echoing through the courtyard, "Do not allow your friend to have died in vain. Come out and fight, Harry."
Cedric.
Harry's promise to the boy replayed itself in his mind. He would have to take Cedric's body back. To do otherwise was not an option - it was his fault that the boy had died, and he had promised the echo of Cedric that he would do so. He would not break his promise.
Salazar's going to kill me for this one.
Yet, try as he might, Harry could not wandlessly summon Cedric's body towards him. Whether the boy was too heavy, or summon charms did not work on the dead, Harry did not know. Harry quickly summoned the remains of his wand. They flew to him, as usual. His wandless magic was clearly fine.
Harry took a deep breath, reinforced his Occlumency, and sprinted. He bolted past many of the gravestones, dodged the spells sent his way by the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and continued to run. One of Voldemort's spells somehow managed to land, albeit barely. Harry ignored it. It was merely a Cutting Curse, and would have no lasting effects.
He was slowly getting closer to Cedric's body.
Thirty feet . . . twenty . . . fifteen . . . ten . . . five -
Harry fell to his feet, ducking to avoid a lethal curse. The spell continued forward, moving past the place where his back had been a split second before.
Harry quickly stood up, turning to see who had cast the spell. It had been Voldemort, who continued to send spell after spell in Harry's direction. The dark lord's scarlet eyes narrowed upon seeing the broken wand in his hand, although he did not pause in his onslaught.
Harry simply couldn't get to Cedric, despite how close he was to the corpse. Voldemort's curses were far too plentiful and far too dangerous. If he lost focus for even a moment, he would no doubt join Cedric in death.
I need to distract him. I need to stop him.
Harry roughly waved his hand through the air. He could practically feel the magic flowing through him, burning with power.
Please.
The effect was instantaneous: bolts of electricity sparked between Harry and the ground. The dying grass of the graveyard caught on fire, glowing brightly in the night. The wind picked up, flinging dozens of gravestones at Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The clouds thundered overhead, allowing for rain to fall.
It was like that night at the Quidditch World Cup, nearly a year ago. Only this time, it was on a much larger scale than before.
And more importantly, this time, Harry could control it.
For how long, however, was another matter. It had only been seconds, and Harry could already feel his magic slipping. This was immensely advanced wandless magic - tier five, to be precise. Harry was not ready for it and he knew it; he would not be able to hold it for long. He had only a few more seconds before he would lose control completely. He simply was not ready.
Many of the Death Eaters were thrown across the graveyard, crashing roughly into the earthen floor. Voldemort, however, was not. His eyes remained upon Harry's. For the first time all evening, there was a hint of surprise present within them. Voldemort lifted his wand, pointing it directly at Harry with fascination.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry summoned the Triwizard Cup to him, allowing himself to fall upon Cedric's corpse. A hook pulled him from somewhere behind his navel. The world around him warped, falling in on itself, before finally fading away.
"Careful now, she's waking up!"
Fleur's eyes slowly opened, the world around her swimming into view. She was lying in the clearing, the small bit of grass in the center of all of the stands. Crouching beside her was Madam Pomfrey, Madame Maxime, her family, as well as a few others - ministry workers and mediwitches, unless Fleur was mistaken.
"Here, take this." said Madam Pomfrey, gently handing her a potion of some sort, "It should heal most of the injuries you've gotten in the maze."
Fleur nodded, gratefully accepting the potion. Truthfully, she felt more than fine, but it was unwise to take risks when it came to one's health. She quickly drank the potion, handing the flask back to Madam Pomfrey when she had finished.
"What happened?" asked Fleur, turning to Madame Maxime.
"We are unsure." responded the headmistress, "You and Krum have both been disqualified - you were both found with red sparks above you."
Fleur turned, looking in the same direction as Madame Maxime. Lying upon the earthen floor about a dozen metres away from her was Victor Krum, surrounded by Karkaroff, his family, several healers, and a few ministry workers.
"Do you remember anything?" asked Gabrielle in rapid French, her obvious concern distorting her voice, "They said you were both found unconscious!"
Fleur shook her head.
"I just remember hearing something and turning around. I don't remember much else after that. I think I passed out."
"Krum said something similar." said Apolline, "He woke up just moments before you did, he was questioned by the ministry officials."
Fleur's eyes narrowed. Before any questions could leave her mouth, however, a loud voice pierced through the stands.
"And would you look at that!" yelled Bagman, facing a Recorder Orb (which happened to be the last of the five orbs that was still operational), "Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons has just been disqualified, as has Victor Krum of Durmstrang! It appears as though this is going to be a Hogwarts win after all!"
Fleur smiled, watching as the crowd roared with delight. She was fairly certain that it would be Harry that would win. He would never let her hear the end of it.
Fleur's eyes suddenly widened, her body freezing.
Harry.
Her beau was still within the maze. The maze in which she had just been attacked, as had Krum.
Salazar and Harry had been right. The Death Eaters had been waiting until the third task to make their move.
"Harry!" Fleur croaked out, her voice rather soft.
She pushed herself off the ground, ignoring the shrieks of dismay issued by Madam Pomfrey and the other healers.
"What are you doing?" her mother hissed, evidently concerned, "You need to stay still, you have just been through the maze!"
"I feel fine." said Fleur truthfully, "How long will it be until the other champions return?"
"What?" questioned Appoline, "Maybe a half hour? You know how these English men are, it might take a while -"
Fleur tuned out, taking a seat upon the earthen floor. It was the second task all over again - a loved one had been taken from her, and there was little she could do but wait. Only this time, it was not a game.
This time, it was real.
Madam Pomfrey and the other mediwitches approached her the moment she sat down, continuing to fuss over her once more. She paid them no mind; she was far too worried about something, someone else at the moment.
"My dear, please calm down!" whispered one of the mediwitches.
Fleur turned to her, before quickly observing herself. Her hands were steaming, harsh flames beginning to flicker upon them.
Control yourself.
Fleur quickly Occluded her mind, just as Salazar had taught her too. The worry and fear within her did not dissipate in the slightest, but it was no longer observable. She felt slightly calmer, albeit barely.
"Fleur, are you okay?" questioned Gabrielle, "I - I can get you something, if you want. I have some pastries left over from earlier, and -"
"It is fine, Gabrielle." said Fleur quickly, giving her little sister a gentle hug, "I just want this to be over, alright?"
They sat with the others for many minutes, ignoring the loudness of the crowd. Bagman's Recorder Glass was the last one remaining, leaving the crowd with no way to see what was going on. As such, the majority of the crowd was talking to one another, making bets on who they thought would win.
Suddenly, a yell of panic could be heard from somewhere on the other side of the clearing where Krum was being treated. It was hard to see what was going on (for there were many ministry wizards and other officials on the field), but Fleur was certain she recognized the voice. Judging by Madame Maxime's reaction, so did she.
"What is he yelling about?" questioned the French headmistress.
Karkaroff was now pushing his way through the many throngs of people, seemingly trying to leave the stands as quickly as possible. He eventually succeeded, running off at an alarmingly quick pace.
The crowd was now even more restless. Very few of them seemed to have noticed the actions of Karkaroff (as that was something that had only really been seen by those in the clearing), but they had still been doing nothing for quite some time now. They were beginning to fidget now, waiting for something of interest to occur.
Seconds turned to minutes, minutes becoming dozens, yet neither Harry nor Diggory showed up. Fleur was beginning to grow more worried now. The sky was slowly darkening, and although it was not difficult for her to see (thanks to the many light sources), the same could not be said for those within the maze.
Bagman and Crouch both seemed at a loss when it came with what to do next. The former continued speaking to the crowd, though he was quickly running out of relevant topics to speak on. The latter was acting rather odd, constantly shaking his head wildly before his face returned to a neutral expression.
"Someone is coming." said Madame Maxime suddenly, "The wards we placed around the clearing have just gone off - the winner is returning!"
Fleur pushed herself to her feet at once, again choosing to ignore the complaints of the many mediwitches.
Wham.
Several people suddenly appeared within the clearing, falling flat upon the earthen floor. It appeared as though both of the Hogwarts champions had returned.
Harry's body slammed roughly into the ground. The grass, unlike that of the graveyard, was soft and healthy. Harry had returned to the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, which had been transformed into a maze of the third task.
The effects of his arrival were instantaneous; the crowd went wild, all shrieking with delight. Music could be heard in the distance, fireworks could be seen in the sky. Everyone seemed beyond excited to see their champions return, everyone was pleased that the tournament had ended in a tie - something that seemingly no one had seen coming.
Those who were closest, however, had a very different reaction. The three mediwitches who first came his way all screamed, pointing directly at Cedric's corpse. Dumbledore, Fudge, as well as a few of the ministry officials and Hogwarts professors quickly rushed over.
"Merlin's beard!" whispered Fudge, paling instantly, "Diggory! Dumbledore, the boy's dead!"
Dumbledore ignored Fudge entirely, instead pointing his wand at Harry. His wounds, although still present, no longer hurt in the slightest. That was good; now that it was all over and the adrenaline had left him, the pain was starting to catch up with him.
"He's back." Harry managed to croak out, "Voldemort, he's back!"
The lively music in the stands was gone in an instant. So had the liveliness, the joy and the air of happiness that was so prominent moments ago. The crowd was tense now, each witch and wizard muttering to their neighbor, crying silently, or staring at the clearing in utter disbelief.
"Let me through!" yelled a rough voice, "Let me through!"
The crowd within the clearing slowly parted, allowing the tearful form of Amos Diggory.
"That's my son!" roared Amos, falling to his knees, "That's my boy!"
Harry couldn't watch. The guilt within him was far too strong, far more so than he would have expected to be. Cedric had died because he had asked the boy to join him. It didn't make sense to blame himself, and Harry knew it. Yet despite knowing that, the guilt refused to fade from his mind.
Although, if Harry was being honest with himself, his guilt existed for a very different reason, one that had very little to do with Cedric's death.
He felt guilty because even though Cedric had died - entirely because of him - his mind was on something else, someone else entirely.
Harry couldn't bring himself to mourn the loss of Cedric, not after what he had seen in the graveyard.
"Mama loves you . . . Dada loves you . . . Harry, be safe . . . be strong.
"I love you. Harry, mama loves you."
Those within the clearing continued to speak in hurried voices, yet Harry paid no mind. He tried hardest to push his thoughts from his mind, he tried to remember what was real and what wasn't -
Echoes. They're just echoes -
A pair of soft, comforting hands wrapped themselves gently around him, rubbing his arms soothingly.
"I saw her." Harry whispered, his voice cracking softly, "I saw her again - I saw my mother. Priori Incantatem - I should have known."
Tears had begun to stream down Fleur's face, yet her grip on him only grew stronger. Harry was grateful; he could not go through this alone.
"You need to go to the hospital wing, Harry." whispered Fleur, her voice so quiet that only he himself could hear, "You must be taken care of. I will not leave your side, I promise."
Harry nodded gently, allowing himself to fall into Fleur's arms. She supported him, rubbing his hair in a soothing manner.
As it had so many times in the past few hours, the world slowly began to fade from view. The difference this time, however, was that he was now with someone he loved. He could not think of anywhere else in the world of the living that he would rather be, nor could he think of anyone in the world of the living whom he would rather be with.
And that, it seemed, made all the difference in the world.