DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Obviously.

Opportunities, opportunities

"You mean to say," Harry said, his grin widening alarmingly, "we are alone in this graveyard, with no one but Pettigrew to assist you, and you can't even hold a wand?" An alternate ending to GoF, featuring the spectacular backfire of a Dark Lord's best laid plans.

. . .

"Kill the spare!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light darted out from the darkness, and the pain in his scar flared in agony, causing him to stumble against Cedric. His weight might have been too much for the other to bear though, because the next thing he knew Cedric had collapsed on the ground, pulling Harry down together with him.

Harry barely noticed the Killing Curse soar and hit the spot where they were standing less than a second ago, but apparently someone else did; because a keen wailing sound began to fill the background. It sounded like the shrill scream of a newborn baby.

"FOOL! ! I said kill the spare. I said kill the spare! HARRY POTTER IS NOT THE SPARE! ! !"

This accompanied by a loud, horrified whimper, "My lord, I-I was a-aiming for t-the o-other b-b-boy…!"

There was a terrible silence, in which both Dark Lord and servant came to the conclusion that if Harry Potter was indeed dead, Voldemort would be stuck as a hideous wailing baby forever.

Just then, in an act that probably saved them all from more banshee-like shrieking, beneath Harry, Cedric began to stir.

"Do you mind getting off me?" the elder boy said, his voice muffled.

There was a slight pause, and some scuffling noises as Harry blearily rolled out of the way. "Sorry," he muttered. The pain in his scar had faded slightly to a painful throb, but at least most of his senses were returning to him quickly. He opened his eyes and began to note for the first time that they were standing in a creepy graveyard of sorts.

Cedric meanwhile had climbed to his feet and was gazing at their surroundings with a worried sort of air. Harry tried to get up, but then suddenly a shockingly familiar face of a man came to peer closely into his own. It had a hidden wince all over their ugly features, as if the other was afraid of what he would find, but it could be mistaken for no other man. Peter Pettigrew.

The next second, both Harry and Cedric had reacted simultaneously.

"STUPEFY!"

Pettigrew's eyes widened comically, and he twisted around and disappeared just as the two jets of light collided in the air, showering both casters in red sparks. A medium-sized rat squeaked near Harry's boot before scampering off quickly into the darkness and vanishing from sight. Cedric looked down at Harry, his eyes wide.

"What on earth - " he began in an incredulous tone, but he was cut off by another screaming wail.

"Wormtail. WORMTAIL!" it screamed.

"Aghh, be quiet," Harry moaned. He rubbed his head ruefully to ease the ache, before his brain finally connected the dots. His head shot up at the revelation. "Voldemort is here!" he exclaimed.

Silence was met by his words. Pettigrew still scampering off to hide, Voldemort possibly pausing for a dramatic effect, while Cedric looked down at him in a torn mixture of disbelief and fear.

"Then who's the one, uh, screaming like that?" Cedric asked, clearly not taken by the fact that the all-scary-and-powerful Dark Lord the whole wizarding world had feared for decades was responsible for all the undignified screaming.

Apparently, Voldemort appeared not to be so proud about his previous actions because he calmed down somewhat, and he began speaking in a different voice altogether.

"Harry Potter! The day has come at last," a high cold voice began afresh in a projection of dangerous calm. He let the sneer in his voice grow. "Nobody suspected that I was involved, didn't they? They were all caught up in the Triwizard tournament and what-not, while here I was, biding my time to meet you again…"

Voldemort broke off. Mainly because it was Pettigrew's cue now to subdue Harry Potter and begin the ritual, and also by the fact that neither Hogwarts student seemed particularly affected by his speech. Instead, both of them had begun inching closer to where he was lying, with expressions of morbid curiousity on their faces. Voldemort mentally blanched. This would not do.

"… and see where you've landed for blindly following Dumbledore's wisdom! You're trapped alone in this graveyard with me and my faithful servant. There is no one else to help you. You will die here tonight, Potter!" Hastily Voldemort let loose an evil cackle to hopefully stop them in their tracks, but this time when Harry stopped, it was not out of fear. They had come almost face-to-face, Harry staring down at his miserable form, hideous and swathed in blankets. But instead of recoiling, Harry's face was now one of wonderment, and there was something unsettling about the way a smile was threatening to blossom on Harry's face.

"Hang on a second," Harry said. His grin had widened alarmingly. "You mean to say, we are alone in this graveyard, with no one but Pettigrew to assist you, and you can't even hold a wand?"

Things were not going according to plan.

"WORMTAIL!" Voldemort screamed again, all thoughts of dignity thrown out of the window.

This time his efforts were rewarded, because the pathetic servant reappeared; but straying from their previous agreed upon plan, Pettigrew immediately began to start on the ritual, leaving both Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory observing them confusedly and unsubdued.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Pettigrew squeaked shrilly at the headstone, the words tumbling over each other as he rushed through the entire ritual.

The gravestone cracked, accompanied by a fine flurry of dust in which caused Pettigrew and Voldemort to suppress a cough. Harry frowned.

"What – " he began, but Cedric, perhaps the brighter of the pair, started excitedly.

"It's a ritual for him to get back his body!"

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!"

Voldemort was clearly growing agitated. "No, Wormtail! You are doing it wrong!" he screeched, but Pettigrew barely paused in his actions. He was trembling all over and seemed to be not himself. With an air of wanting to get it over with, Harry watched in horror as Pettigrew squeezed shut his eyes and proceeded to severe his arm using a Cutting Hex. Both he and Cedric flinched at the sound of Pettigrew's arm falling into the conjured cauldron with a silent 'plop'.

Pettigrew then screamed and fell to the ground, whimpering in pain. He staggered to get up, before abruptly realizing his mistake. He was now in no state to go up against two other wizards – the Chosen One and the other the real Hogwart's champion, much less obtain Harry Potter's blood. He slumped down on the ground, bleeding everywhere. The previous bravado which had seized him by the second had deserted him completely in a heartbeat.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken," he sobbed. The cauldron containing the first two ingredients sloshed around dangerously, threatening to spill over as he trembled.

Voldemort lost all his patience. "WORMTAIL!" he screamed in anguish. Pettigrew wailed.

"You will resurrect your foe!" the servant cried, bawling. For the two onlookers, it was a most pathetic sight to behold. Harry sighed and took a step forwards.

"It's okay, you can have some of my blood," Harry said in a pitying sort of voice.

There was a start. Voldemort had not foreseen this turn of events. "No, you cannot. It must be unwillingly given!"

Wormtail looked up a little hopefully, before his eyes rolled and he passed out, leaving the unfortunate Dark Lord to his fate. Harry paused in his tracks.

"Ah. I'm afraid that ingredient is out of the question then. What should we do? Add something else to replace it?"

Voldemort bristled with fury. "Harry Pottteerrr," he hissed, drawing out the syllables in a sound that gave the impression that he was being strangled. "Haarrrry Pottteerrrr!"

Harry gazed upon the dark grass climbing up Tom Riddle Sr.'s headstone. His eyes inevitably spotted a little dandelion waving merrily in the quiet breeze, and he bent down to pick it up. "Would a flower do? Grass? My nail clippings?"

"That isn't incredibly creative," Cedric remarked in a nonchalant tone. Harry looked up and met the other's gaze, before smiling.

"Of course," Harry said with a decisive air. Their gazes landed on the Portkey rolling not far from where they stood. "I bet Dumbledore would have far better ideas."

Voldemort opened his mouth, his crimson red eyes rolling madly, but Cedric beat him to it.

"Oh for goodness' sake. Silencio."

The last words Voldemort heard were most insultingly, unconcerned about his existence at all. Cedric had wrapped up the bundle even more tightly so now they couldn't see his face nor hear his shrieking, Pettigrew Transfigured into a miserable bleeding rat covering Voldemort's mouth, and they were both being levitated behind the Hogwarts champions as the pair walked back towards the Cup.

"Fifty-fifty each?"

"Fifth-fifty each. Including the money we get for posting for the Daily Prophet covers."

"I'll bet the wizarding world saviours will get plenty of advertisement offers."

"Opportunities, opportunities. So many opportunities!" This sounded positively gleeful.

"But how can we convince them that this is the Dark Lord at all?"

A pause.

"Merlin's socks. That's a good question."

. . .

A/N: A very random plot-bunny. Title kind of inspired by my sister who came up with the hilarious image of a mosquito watching a crowd of people jostle past and rubbing its legs together gleefully saying 'choices, choices, so many choices'.

And yes, in response to the unasked questions, I am sleepy, not drunk. Though I do still hope for a review from you. :P