Disclaimer: I claim only the stories as my own, set in the wonderful and magical world created by JK Rowling. I most certainly don't own Harry Potter and I write only for my own pleasure.

Author's Note: Hello readers! I have been reading fanfictions for a long time now, and I love them!

I have been writing stories for quite a while now, but I have never really published anything I have written. For the longest time I have been wanting to publish a fanfiction of my own, and I have finally done it. This story isn't beta'd yet, and if anybody would like to help me, feel free!

Constructive criticisms, compliments and suggestions would be appreciated. I would love to hear if you like what I've begun.

Chapter 1

20th June, 1995. Tuesday

Sitting in the common room, Harry Potter was readying himself for the Third Task, the final task in this godforsaken competition he had never intended being a part of. But that's what being Harry Potter meant- having the hopes of the wizarding world on his shoulders. That, or being the root of all their problems – they never seemed to be able to decide for sure.

Reflecting back on the year, there was but one emotion which filled his heart: hurt. Betrayal- the wounds of Pettigrew's escape were still fresh when he had Aurors pointing wands at his throat, thinking he cast the Dark Mark, and then- he sighed.

Ronald Weasley.

He had met Ron on the train to Hogwarts, years ago, and yet, somehow, their friendship was always strained. He had realised Ron was a jealous prat, and yet he had decided to ignore it all for the sake of his 'first friend' in the wizarding world. Only now did he realise that Ron was probably his only friend.

The incident with Parseltongue and Harry being able to speak it had shown him how easy Ron could sway his loyalties, when he too thought the attacks were Harry's doing; naturally, Ron did not say it to his face, but Harry could see it in his eyes.

Following that with the whole incident with the Firebolt and now the Tournament, Harry felt something was trying to wake him up and see Ron for who he was. A jealous, selfish prat.

'Potter Stinks!'

Harry thought about those batches that Draco had made. Word around the castle was it was Ron, who had come up with that phrase, and Harry didn't have too much trouble believing that could be the case- Ron got angry pretty quickly and he did say a lot of hurtful things - almost as if the anger allowed him to finally express himself. It was, after all, what he had said in the first year which had sent Hermione crying to the bathroom, and almost to her death.

Hermione Granger.

He sighed again. Boy was that girl in his thoughts a lot lately. She had always been his friend, and somehow, this year, he felt incomplete when he saw her with Viktor. He thought about them and the time they had spent together.

She had risked her life with him – the first year, when she had been with him as he had decided to go save the Stone, the second when she had broken more rules than he cared to count so that she could help him solve the mystery of the Chamber – the foolish girl had even gotten herself petrified; and she could have been killed if she hadn't been careful.

He was extremely thankful she had accompanied him through Fluffy (which is a god-awful name for a Cerberus) and the trapdoor to save the stone. He had no idea if he'd have been able to solve the potions' riddle that Snape had set and choose the right vial – and he wasn't eager to find out either.

He was sure he would never have been able to solve the mystery of Slytherin's monster basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets had it not been for Hermione and her penchant for getting to the bottom of everything she set her mind to: he wasn't sure why she broke as many rules as she did; the reason she did not mind the rule breaking was that her actions meant that Harry was safe – to her that was what mattered; and she'd done it all for him.

"What are you thinking about?" he jumped as he heard the voice of the very person he was thinking about.

"Hermione!" he greeted and patted the seat on the couch next to him.

"So, what were you thinking about? The Third Task?" she asked and Harry nodded.

"I just want this to be over." The entire year had been a nightmare for him, and he just wished for it to be over.

"I know."

And they sat in silence, looking at the fire that was gently wasting away, cackling.

"I wish I hadn't been so stupid then," his eyes focused on the fire, where he had seen Sirius' face often that year.

He felt her hand on his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?"

"Right now? I just wish I had allowed Remus and Sirius to... you know, take care of Pettigrew then and there, in the Whomping Willow. At least I wouldn't have to go back to the Dursley's then." He sighed.

"I'm sure if you talk to Sirius and Professor Dumbledore, he wouldn't mind if you spent some time with Sirius this summer," she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

He shook his head. 'I know Dumbledore will not allow me to leave Number Four: for some reason he chooses to always keep from me, I fear he will keep me at that place, even if it is by force.' He voiced his thoughts.

"Maybe," she began, and he could see this was going to be - interesting- judging by how her voice has suddenly dropped a few notes. "Maybe I can write to my parents and we could come get you?"

"You would do that for me?" his heart filled with warmth and the emotional dam began to crack. He turned to look at her and 'Big mistake!' is the only thought which crossed his mind.

There, in her eyes, he could see something he had previously seen only in his dreams – in his nightmares, haunting him; emerald green orbs were the last ones he remembered that he had seen that emotion in.

"Of course I would," she smiled and he could not help but admire how one cheek dimpled when she did that.

He closed his eyes shut and allowed his head to rest on the back of the couch.

"Thank you."

"Oh, cut it, you're my friend aren't you?" another winning smile greeted him.

Another brief moment of peaceful silence passed between the two.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You already said that," she frowned.

"I meant, thank you for what you did for Sirius. You're the reason I now have a family, albeit he is on the run and –" the rest was muffled by the tangle of hair which tickled his face as Hermione pulled him into a hug.

They stayed that way for a long time, and coming out of it, both of them felt different; more comfortable with each other. Both of them felt something change, and yet, one of the two was too inexperienced and the other too insecure to hope for something more.

That night, Harry Potter found a second reason to not die in the maze.

~oOo~

21st June, 1995. Wednesday

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it was bound to happen sooner, rather than later – and judging by how fast her health had been deteriorating, he was happy for every extra moment he got to spend with her.

The doctors had been unable to diagnose her condition properly – although they could tell she had a case of severe magical fatigue among other things. The nation had been warned to expect this, the Chancellery had been informed – he had been informed.

As if such a warning ever did any good.

"Your Majesty," one of the nurses addressed him. "We must prepare for the travel back to the Palace," she informed, before getting back to her duties.

"And so must you," Diana spoke to him. "We are to leave within the hour. All preparations are complete and everything is ready."

Daniel nodded, as he stood up and took one last look at the lifeless body of his mother, before he began to walk out of the room.

"She didn't deserve to die so young," he spoke as they crossed through the ballroom.

"No she didn't."

"Are those people still here?" he asked, pointing at the locals he could see through the windows. They had been allowed on the grounds when Diana told him about them.

"Yes. They have been here ever since the news of your mothers – condition – had been made public. They've been on the grounds –"

"I know Diana – I allowed them to set up tents on the grounds. What about them, though; have they been informed that the queen is –" no more. He couldn't get himself to say it.

"The protocol mandates that the Chancellor be the first person to be informed. And then the Royal Household and the –" she started.

"Do not educate me on my duties, Diana. I have learnt these protocols ever since I could read and write. Has the Chancellor been informed?"

"Yes."

"Very well," he turned around and began walking back toward the room they had left. He was not a lot taller than Diana – he was, however, a very brisk walker. She had to run intermittently to keep up with him.

"York!" he called on the butler. "Fetch me the doctors and the nurses. I am in the Blue Room. Fetch them with haste," and without waiting for an answer, he walked to the Blue Room.

The Blue Room, named after the colour of the walls and the general theme of the room, was one of the rooms with a balcony facing the lawns. He poured himself a glass of water, and gulped it down, just as Diana walked in with the butler and those he had been tasked to accompany.

"Healer Brown, Doctor Jones, nurses," he acknowledged. "Thank you, York. Please inform the public I wish to speak to them."

"What is the condition of my mother?" he addressed them. Clearly unsure of how to answer that question, he was met with silence. "I wish to allow these good people of Nuremberg to be the first ones to pay their respects to the Dowager Queen."

"But, Sir, the Chancellor –"

"Speak only of matters which concern you – I am very well aware of both the protocol and my duties. I wish to place mother in the ballroom for a few hours. Make the necessary preparations – I will give you twenty minutes after which I expect everything to be in place," he said before he turned and walked out onto the balcony.

The medical staff shuffled out of the room as Diana walked through to him.

"Daniel?" she questioned. "Why?"

"These people have been here for days, waiting to hear about their queen. I let them in on the lawns last week, when I was informed – and I just think," he sighed. "I just think they deserve to be the first people to; you know?"

Diana simply nodded, unsure of what she could say to this. She just followed Daniel as he made his way to the address the people on the grounds.

York, it seemed, had done a very good job of informing the people that their monarch wished to address them. She estimated the numbers there to be close to a hundred.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in flawless German. "My brothers and sister – I'm standing here today to thank you for all you've done for my mother.

"My mother, as you know, was suffering. She was in pain and neither the doctors nor the healers overseeing her treatment knew what to do. I wish to thank you; I wish to thank you for your constant support. I know a lot of you were allowed the opportunity to meet my mother, the Dowager Queen. It pleased me a lot to see that your support meant the world to her.

"I am, unfortunately, the one to bear grave news."

He couldn't say much more as the crowd erupted in cries of horror and anguish.

"As of three hours ago, the Dowager Queen Theodora is no longer with us." Although Daniel stood there, tall and unflinching, his eyes spoke volumes of the grief he was dealing with.

"In such cases, the protocol states that the Chancellor is the first one to be informed and then there is a whole list of people and so on," he gestured. This was hardly a formal speech. "However," he continued, "I wish to allow the people who have been here with her to have the first opportunity to see their queen for the last time.

"York will make sure you know how and when to proceed."

~oOo~

21st June, 1995. Wednesday

"The Longbottoms were very popular," said Dumbledore. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottom's evidence was – given their condition – none too reliable."

"Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" said Harry slowly.

Sitting alone in the Common Room, Harry was wondering what he should make of these revelations. He, of course, had no intention to spread the story about Neville's parents around – hell; he had even spent some time wondering if he got the better of the two hands dealt.

There was a lot Dumbledore wasn't telling him though, and this time, he had a nagging feeling that Dumbledore was hiding something important from him. He hadn't slept for a minute that night, going over things. Now, sitting in the common room, waiting for Ron, he had freshened up a bit, not wanting to look the part. The three of them exchanged greetings before going down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Sitting on the Gryffindor table, watching Ron gobble down food, he felt he had lost what little appetite he had had. Hermione though, had other things on her mind.

"That... that... that utterly nasty, evil bitch!" she exclaimed. This in itself was enough to alert Harry that something was amiss. He looked at her and there she was holding the trash, which the wizarding world called a newspaper.

"Hey Potter! Do we need to have St Mungo's called? Maybe the Potters will join the Longbottoms after all," Malfoy yelled across the hall and Harry's was not the only head that turned around in anger.

Neville dropped his cutlery on the table, stiffened up and audibly gulped. Before Harry could say anything, however, Professor McGonagall stepped in.

"It's a shame, Mr. Malfoy that you have yet to learn simple table etiquette. I do hope you would stop yelling across the hall. Especially the things you have no business talking about anyway. Now, sit down or I shall have you in detention for the rest of the next year." McGonagall had done from gently admonishing to bloody furious toward the end.

Malfoy wasted no time to plant his butt firmly on the bench, to spattered laughter across the Hall. Alas, the damage had already been done Harry thought as he saw Neville walk away from the table.

"One day, I'm going to find how Rita Skeeter gets her information from. And when I do, she is going to be one sorry woman," Hermione glowered as Harry coerced the paper from her hands.

"So, 'disturbed and dangerous' is what they are calling me right now eh?" Harry laughed at that. "I really want to find out when they will try and find something new to print, the whole Parseltongue thing is getting old already..." he finished when he had an idea.

"Hey Malfoy, stay away from anything reptilian, especially anything serpentine: you never know, I might just have asked it to murder you in your sleep," he looked Draco in the eye. Then he walked out of the Great Hall, he did have a Task to compete in, all to the sudden burst of laughter which erupted in the Hall at Draco's expense; Draco looked positively scared.

~oOo~

24th June, 1995. Saturday

"Hullo Mrs. Weasley!" Harry greeted the woman who had been the only motherly figure in his life thus far, quite surprised and happy she had made the journey to Hogwarts to watch him in the Third Task. He would have, of course, been delighted if Sirius could've been there too, along with the rest of the Weasley clan, but he knew it was not something possible in the current scenario.

"Surprise!" she called out as she covered the distance and engulfed him in one of her famous 'Mrs. Weasley hugs'.

"The champions' families were invited for the last task," she answered the unasked question. It was a weird feeling that filled Harry when he heard that – he couldn't for the life of him imagine the Dursley's make the effort to visit him at his old school had he been in a similar situation, let alone make their way to Scotland.

"You ready for the task?" Bill asked as he gave Harry a pat on his shoulder. Bill grinned at him when Harry just gave him a smile and a nod as an answer.

As they moved toward a little corner of the side chamber, Hermione made her way toward the group. It seemed to Harry that Mrs. Weasley had taken the article to heart, considering how she answered Hermione's enthusiastic greeting almost mechanically to . Harry decided to observe them a little more before he said anything about it.

They spent the morning going around the grounds, adoring the visitors' accommodations; Hogsmeade was out of bounds however, and soon they were back in the Great Hall and Harry quickly excused himself- he needed to go prepare for the task.

"Is something the matter," Hermione asked Mrs. Weasley when Harry took his leave.

"No, nothing at all," Mrs. Weasley forced a smile.

"Is this about the article in the Prophet?" Hermione had to ask. She needed to know if Mrs. Weasley believed Skeeter.

Mrs. Weasley looked on at Hermione; the entire time here eyes were frigid, almost as if she had a grudge against Hermione.

"What if it is?" she asked finally.

That left Hermione speechless. Here she was being accused by someone who she doted on as an aunt, being blamed based on the words of a journalist; Mrs. Weasley knew the Prophet was not always true, and yet here she was, blaming Hermione.

Hermione just stared at Molly Weasley, utterly speechless, her mouth wide open like a fish out of water. With a harrumph Molly walked out on Hermione. Hermione sat down on the floor, her eyes filling up with tears.

Harry met her before the task, and he did notice something was amiss, but he had a Cup to get. With a quick goodbye hug, Harry Potter entered the maze.

~oOo~

22nd June, 1995. Thursday

The entire procession was moving far too slowly – they were already a half hour behind schedule and they had barely reached the Hall of the Eternal Flame, where his mother would be allowed to rest in state, before being given a royal burial. As were her wishes, she would be cremated – which would also carried out in the Hall, albeit in a strictly private setting.

The procession had barely made it past the statue of Olga the Kind.

The entire procession was to move through the square and onward, moving through the heart of the city until it reached the Hall of the Eternal Flame. The procession was scheduled to take at least three hours, and that was without the surprise which awaited the procession at the Palace.

The city-state of Wilhelmsberg was named after its first ruler – Wilhelm Leopold Viktor – a prince denied his birthright and exiled from the land he was born. When he had died, passing away in his sleep, a unicorn had arrived at the gates of the Palace on the day of the procession. The entire household had been unsure of what was to be done, until the unicorn provided the answer herself – she began to lead the horses which carried the king, to the place where he would be buried.

It was said, when no unicorn arrived at the deaths of the following kings, that the original unicorn had been sent by Magick herself – and she continued to do so for every deserving monarch who had followed him; who wished to serve his people but had been robbed of the opportunity to serve his land.

There was nobody who knew what to do when two unicorns had arrived to grace the procession of the Dowager Queen.

"It's the unicorns, isn't it?" Diana asked the person who had come to inform them why the procession was moving slower than planned.

"Yes, my Lady; it seems that although the presence of one unicorn had been factored, nobody had thought the possibility that there would be a couple of unicorns."

"Are they a couple then? I had heard that they are indeed a male and a female, but are they a couple?"

"I have no idea, my Lady. It isn't hard to say 'yes' to that though – the people are already talking about it."

"What do you mean?"

"They're saying the King is here to welcome his queen to the other side," she was informed. "They believe that the loss of the Dowager Queen has aggrieved Magick herself; it is Magick who is helping King Viktor to this plane of existence – all so that he may be with his people on last time."

Diana was stunned into silence. The loss of their king was untimely and unexpected - and the cause of death had never really been made public: she couldn't find anything on the public records. It seemed as if the people wanted to use this opportunity to pay their respects to both, the king and his wife.

~oOo~

Built to replicate the Parthenon, the structure of the Hall was similar to it – and although they both were built ages apart, the nuances of the older system of architecture had been reproduced admirably well.

The sanctuary in the Hall was built to accommodate enough to seat an entire Royal Dinner – and over the years, it had been used as a platform for the king to meet his subjects in an informal setting to know what was happening in the state and kingdom.

At one end of the Hall, the farthest end from the Palace, which overlooked a cliff, sat a fire which had burned ever since it had been brought from a magical fire by the king himself. It had been kept burning and had weathered extremes of nature – and continued burning.

"How many people do you think will visit?"

The Royal Tent had been pitched on the other side of the cliff, from where the procession had made its way, snaking across the hill. Diana, along with a few other people sat in the lounge.

"I'm not sure – the entire kingdom would have arrived if it could, I think," Diana answered. "What threw all calculations off balance was the arrival of two unicorns, instead of one. I think we may have to postpone the cremation."

"That will not happen," Daniel said as he entered, having caught the end of her statement. All the occupants in the room quickly rose from their seats but he gestured for them to sit down.

"I have been talking with the people overseeing the management of this procession and I have already informed that the cremation will be carried out tomorrow without delay. I have asked them to make changes to the viewing platform, allowing more people to be able to pay their respects at once."

Diana watched as her king went into the kitchen, making use of this time to look at the others gathered around. There were four other people who had arrived at the Wilhelmsberg Palace after she had returned with Daniel. She knew all of them by name – she had heard their of them several times, but this was the first time she was meeting them together.

"I'm really sorry for your loss, Danny," the raven-haired girl rose to envelope Daniel in a hug as he returned. The other three quickly joined in, echoing her words. If it wasn't for the ever so slight widening of his eyes, Diana wouldn't have realised he was happy to see them – his face was impassive as ever.

"Thanks a lot," he began removing himself from the group hug. "It means a lot that you guys could be here."

"Of course we would be here!" the same raven-haired girl replied, almost outraged. "You thought we would leave you alone in a time like this?" she challenged. "Even without the pledge –"

"Come, now, Sarah," Jordan interrupted. "You know he didn't mean anything like that."

"Exactly," Daniel quickly added. "All I meant was, the last I checked, you guys were halfway across the globe," he told her.

"Oh?" Sarah asked. "Where did you get the last letter from?"

"The last one I think was the one I received from Thailand."

"Whoa!" Sarah exclaimed. Daniel raised an eyebrow as he made his way to the couch beside Diana. "Thailand feels like ages ago," she reminisced.

"Months," Bradley cut in, his American accent quickly grabbing Diana's attention. "Thailand was a quick visit – the women wanted a beach and none of us had been to Thailand, so," he shrugged.

"So the women wanted the beach?" Olivia questioned. "My brother is choosing to forget –"

"Moving on," Bradley cut in, trying to drown his sister's voice. "So after Thailand we went to India."

"Where we were, when we found out about mother." Olivia finished. The conversation had come to an abrupt halt – and Diana was beginning to dislike the silence in the room. Jordan hadn't left his post by the entrance to the tent, Sarah was busy tending to her perfect hair and the siblings seemed to be having a conversation of their own.

"So, what did you guys do in India?" Diana asked.

The others looked as if they were deciding if she could be told; Jordan, on the other hand, needed no time to ponder that question. He had been at Wilhelmsberg before, and was acquainted with Diana.

"We were trying to learn Magick," he answered.

"I don't understand..." she began.

"I will explain everything later," Daniel effectively ended the conversation before any of the others could interrupt.

"Aren't you a muggle?" Sarah questioned. "What?" she questioned as she caught everyone stare at her. "I couldn't sense anything when I went past her – that means she's either really good at hiding it, or not magical at all."

"She's a muggle alright," Jordan answered. "Is there a problem with that?"

"What! I didn't mean anything," she replied. "I was just curious about why she was curious."

"After the cremation, we will talk about it," Daniel said. "Bradley, how would you like to cook dinner tomorrow?"

"You're allowing me to help you cook?" Bradley asked, shocked. "Yes! Of course, I would love that."

Daniel had cooked for Diana before, and evidently, he had done it for them too. As the group closed in, discussing what they'd like, Diana walked to Jordan, dragging along an ottoman to join him by the door of the tent.

"Are they always like this?" she questioned.

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair as he continued. "We are quite a diverse group, really – Daniel is from Wilhelmsberg, Sarah has her roots in more countries than I care to list – and then there are the American twins; every time I think about how we all came together, I cannot help but think Magick had a hand in it all the while."

Diana was absorbing everything – Jordan, it seemed, was more amenable to opening up in the company of his friends. She had spoken with him before, but he had never spoken anything about himself – or the other people in the room.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Jordan paused a second. "I'm not sure, Diana – I mean, if Daniel hasn't said anything..." he looked away.

"Oh," Diana replied, hurt. "Oh, well, I guess, that's alright," she forced a smile. "I think I need some water."

~oOo~

24th June, 1995. Saturday

His memory was hazy and when he finally came to, he was tied to the headstone, the name a morbid reminder of something he knew would happen soon. He knew the Dark Lord was up to something ever since his name had popped out of the goblet and now, as much as he would like to be home sipping chocolate, here he was, tied to a stone, his scar split open and his head still hurting like crazy.

He tried to wriggle his hands, but it seemed like Wormtail had done a pretty good job of tying him to the stone.

He felt the blood on his face, and he felt the blood on his hand. A chill blew across the grave that brought back the pain in his exposed skin on his head and judging by the way his left hand hurt, he figured it was cut too.

It was then that he noticed the man being formed from the mist that had enveloped the cauldron. Only then did he notice the white wand, with a serpentine handle, one he remembered vividly from his nightmares.

He looked to his right, and he saw Cedric, sprawled on the floor, dead. The Triwizard Cup was there lying next to him. If only he could get his hands on the cup...

Cedric had been the first casualty of the war which had just begun.

"Robe me," the man hissed and a cowering Wormtail held open a robe which the man slipped into effortlessly.

Harry could see the red eyes, bright red, almost as if a flame was burning in his eyes, the eyes which bore into him but there was no acknowledgement of his existence.

"Give me your hand," the man, if the abomination could be called that, hissed again, a hiss which echoed into the night which had become silent, eerily so.

Wormtail held out the hand he had cut and offered as a sacrifice, a stump, a visible reminder of the prices exacted by magic.

"T-t-t-hank y-you, M-m-master," Wormtail whimpered.

"The other hand!" the Dark Lord admonished.

Harry observed the hideous snake as it snaked its way around the skull; the infamous Dark Mark, a taint Harry had never seen before, but here it was, for him to see. The revulsion in his eyes, had anyone seen it, would have stopped them in their tracks. Harry here had the best seat in the house for a show he would have paid to not be a part of. Hell, he would have paid his entire damned fortune for it to never happen.

Alas, his money was neither asked, nor would it have made a difference.

He saw as, one by one, the Masked Murderers, as Harry thought of them, apparated into the graveyard. As each silver masked wizard apparated into the graveyard, Harry shuddered as he thought about these people: here, lining up in front of a half-blood were the nobles of this wizarding society.

"Welcome," Voldemort hissed. Cowering at the sound of his voice, the Death Eaters took a step back. Then, slowly, almost as if afraid of pain or death, they made their way toward their master. Voldemort's eyes widened a bit at that and his followers fell down to their knees, almost as if a curse was whizzing toward them. Judging by the fury in those red eyes, it was just as well that they did not wait to find out if that did happen.

"Welcome, my friends," he spat the last word. "It seems like forever, these thirteen years, thirteen years of my life, thirteen years that I have waited, for one of you to come find me. I had believed us united, I had believed us fighting for a cause we all believed in, and I had believed we would all fall under the Dark banner and change the world.

"And yet, I stand here today, and the only thing I see in you, is not the loyalty or faith I expected, but fear. And guilt. There is a stench of guilt in the air...

"M-master, please, forgive us master," a Death Eater fell on his knees, as he crawled inward from the circle of followers that had formed around the Dark Lord. He crawled, and Harry couldn't help but laugh at that: here was the wizarding nobility, crawling like a slave, grovelling in front of a half-blood; a powerful one at that, but still, a mere half-blood.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord hissed and Harry shut his eyes, awaiting the pain he thought was coming; he was worried that Voldemort had heard him laugh. Instead, he heard the screams of the Death Eater, who was lying on the floor, trying his best, and failing miserably, to endure the torture curse without making a spectacle of himself.

"You believed a mere boy vanquished me; me who's power you had seen, me, the one wizard even the great Albus Dumbledore feared; and you thought a mere boy could break my will, overcome the power of the great Lord Voldemort?

"Pathetic!" he yelled. "You want forgiveness, Bulstrode? You have thirteen years of forgiveness to earn. The Dark Lord may forgive you spineless creatures, who ran away to Albus Dumbledore at the first instance; you shall find out soon, that the Dark Lord does not forget. You have betrayed the Dark Lord once, and he will remember this."

"I-I-I came, master," the rat whispered from his position on the ground, still in pain over the cut hand.

"Because you are a filthy little coward," Voldemort kicked Wormtail who was trying to get up and kneel. With a thud, Wormtail was on the ground once more, sobbing.

"You came back because you were afraid of your friends. You came back because you thought I would protect you. You are a filthy spineless coward who deserves nothing more than to live as the rat you are. And yet..." here the Dark Lord shifted his gaze from the pathetic excuse of a man on the ground to the pathetic excuses of men standing in the circle.

"And yet, Wormtail, you came back to me. You found me, a shadow of what I was, and you nursed me back to health. You Wormtail have begun to pay your debt to me...

"Rise," he said, almost royally. Harry looked on as he saw the Dark Lord make a hand of what looked like silver, and he was amazed to see how the hand fit seamlessly on the stump.

"T-t-thank you, my Lord," Wormtail managed between sobs.

Harry listened to Voldemort talk to his followers, admonishing some, torturing others, and he listened. He listened to the names being spoken: Avery, Bulstrode, the Carrows, Fawley, Flint, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley and of course, the Lestranges were mentioned. Voldemort held the Lestranges dear to him: they had never renounced him unlike all the others who had.

"So good of you to join us here, Harry Potter," Voldemort had finally turned his attention to Harry.

"Honestly, I'd rather be back home," Harry answered, not really sure what led him to say that; but the grin on his face was what infuriated the Dark Lord more.

"You think this a joke," he asked.

"No, I'm just sad your friends," he nodded to the Death Eaters, "chose such a lousy place to celebrate your rebirth."

"You think this is a lousy place? This is the village of Little Hangleton; this is the village where Salazar Slytherin's line saw its latest heir rise to serve his great cause, the place where his heirs have lived and carried on his legacy for several generations. You think this is just a cemetery? This is the cemetery where my fool of a father was buried after I killed him -"

"You mean your muggle father," Harry spoke.

"You dare!"

"You filthy half-blood!" a Death Eater screamed.

"I will kill you myself if you touch him, scum," Voldemort took offence to someone threatening to kill Harry and that proclamation was quickly followed by a Crucio.

"Nobody will touch Harry Potter, he is mine," the tone he used made it pretty clear this was not debatable, although Harry wondered if anything was, especially when considering one might be debating with Lord Voldemort.

"You throw accusations at me, you, a mere child. I am glad you chose to be here today. Many here doubt me, many here think me weak, they believe in the fables Dumbledore has fed the wizarding world; we will put an end to this today, Harry Potter.

"Wormtail, untie Mr. Potter and hand him his wand," Voldemort swept his hands, almost as if gesturing Wormtail to do it quickly. His declaration was followed by several gasps, and ooh's and aah's.

"Stand aside," he swept his hands and the Death Eaters circled around him were thrown backwards. He had just cleared the field for himself.

"Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore's Champion, against I, Lord Voldemort, heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, the greatest wizard to ever live; we will end this tonight, what began thirteen years ago, on that Halloween night in Godric's Hollow."

"You just spent the last half hour blabbering about how I was a mere boy and now you want to fight me? So that's what the great Lord Voldemort does now is it? He fights children to show his stooges that he is better."

Harry wasn't sure it was wise to goad the Dark Lord, but he was thinking on his feet and during his entire taunt, he had surreptitiously moved closer to the Cup.

Harry knew if it came to an actual fight, he stood literally no chance against Voldemort, and quite frankly, it scared the shit out of him. All these years, ever since he set foot in Hogwarts, he knew that Voldemort was not dead, he knew that Voldemort would come back to finish what he had started and he was furious at himself since he had done nothing to try to prepare himself for this eventuality.

"Young Harry here thinks I would not notice him getting closer to the Cup," Voldemort smiled. Harry found out he did not like the most dangerous wizard alive when he smiled. It was a very twisted, sadistic smile, not because he was disfigured, more so because the smile felt very much out of place on the serpentine features of his face.

"Crucio!" Voldemort yelled.

Harry thought he knew pain. He thought the time when Aunt Petunia had hit him on his head with the frying pan, when Vernon had thrashed him, broken a couple of ribs and his arm, when Dudley had thought it wise to use him as a punching bag for himself and friends to practise, that he had felt what pain was.

When the torture curse hit Harry, who had literally frozen in his spot, Harry rediscovered pain. It was worst than anything he had ever imagined. His head was about to burst open, his nerves were splitting open with the sudden chemical signals which told his body he was in pain. He could hear a scream in the distance, and he realized too late it was his own voice.

What felt like years but lasted less than twenty seconds, Voldemort had lifted the curse but his ears were still ringing. Although he could hear nothing, judging by their faces, he was sure those assholes were laughing.

He felt himself being pulled to his feet, and he could barely stand; so the second the support was taken away, he slumped back onto the ground again. After a few more tries, he had managed to support his weight on his own feet, although he was dying to just drink a cauldron full of pain relieving potion followed by another for dreamless sleep and sleep until the next week.

He knew if he was going to die today, he would die with his head held high. He would die like a man, he would die like a man who knew what sacrifices others had made for him, and he would die trying to the best of his ability to beat the shit out of that asshole.

"So, you tortured a child," Harry was surprised how sore his throat was and it was quite a task to speak; although if he was honest to himself, it was worth seeing the smug grin getting wiped off that face.

"Look around, people, that is your great Lord," Harry stumbled and went down on one knee. He was panting, but he pulled himself up once more. "Look at him, how that half-blood has you kissing his feet and you filthy stupid fuckers thinks he's the greatest thing to happen to your fucking cause.

"I know you Voldemort; I've been in your head –"

"-And maybe it's time for me to be in yours," Voldemort interrupted.

"And that is beside the point, asshole. You abduct a child who had almost been killed trying to complete the task for a competition which you got me into the first place; which by the way is a stupid idea- what if the dragon had eaten me or what if I had drowned? I mean, do you even think your plan through?

"On top of that, you keep me tied to a fucking gravestone, you 'Crucio' me and now you want to kill me in front of all of your stooges and achieve what exactly?

"I am pretty sure any of these buffoons could murder a child; hell I'm sure they've all done it before. What makes you killing me any more special than Malfoy killing somebody else?" Harry wasn't sure if this plan would work, but he knew the Cup was within reach. He knew he could 'Accio' it and be on his way back, but he didn't want to leave Cedric Diggory there. He was trying to get into a good position to pounce on the spread-eagled body and then summoning the cup.

"What happens now," Harry asks. He needed a few more minor adjustments to his stance to make sure he could do it right. The body was to his right and the Cup was further on the same side. His left hand was injured and he wasn't sure if he could hold the body he entire way back to Hogwarts. He had to figure something out.

"What happens now?" Lord Voldemort mocked. "Now – we fight."