Ron pulled Harry to a quiet corner of the stands, and the two sat down, watching as Ludo Bagman introduced the four champions to the roaring crowd. With a sharp whistle, Hermione Granger, the current leader in points, was the first to step into the maze, transformed from the Quidditch pitch.
Harry's eyes were fixed on the massive white screen looming before the stands, where Hermione's perspective darted through the twisting hedge paths.
"Ron, how long do you think it'll take Hermione to reach the center of the maze?" Harry asked.
But after a long moment, no answer came. Puzzled, Harry turned to Ron, only to find him staring intently at something behind Harry. At the same time, a faintly familiar male voice sounded from behind.
"Imperio!"
Suddenly, Harry felt weightless, as if he were floating. All his thoughts and worries vanished in an instant, leaving only a hazy, intangible joy. He stood still, enveloped by a strange, carefree sensation that slowly filled him from within.
Then, something was pressed into his hand. The familiar voice echoed in a distant corner of his empty mind.
"Hold this tightly. Don't let go," the voice commanded, reverberating in Harry's head.
Obediently, Harry gripped the object. Minutes later, a sharp tug at his navel yanked him forward, and he was soaring through the air at breakneck speed. Beside him, another figure's shoulder kept bumping against his own in midair.
Then, abruptly, he crashed face-first into damp, cold earth. The sound of his glasses shattering rang in his ears, and the object he'd been clutching rolled away with a soft thud.
Instinctively, Harry moved to retrieve it. He cast a quick Reparo to fix his glasses, then groped in the darkness toward where the object had rolled.
But something felt wrong. He'd promised Hermione they'd celebrate her victory together after she won. Why was he now leaving Hogwarts through a Portkey?
The moment this thought struck him, Harry snapped out of the foggy haze. Unfortunately, before he could even process where he was, another voice came from his right.
"Imperio!"
Once again, Harry was enveloped by that invisible, untouchable joy.
When he broke free from the spell a second time, he found himself tightly bound to a gravestone. His wand lay on the ground in front of him, next to Ron, who stood with a blissful expression, absently stroking his own shoulder.
Surveying his surroundings, Harry realized they were far from Hogwarts. To his right stood a towering yew tree, beyond which loomed the dark silhouette of a small church. To his left, a hill rose, crowned by a grand but dilapidated old house.
Directly ahead was an enormous cauldron suspended over a fire, filled to the brim with a dazzling white liquid. The potion bubbled, spitting diamond-like sparks. Beside the cauldron, to Harry's shock, was a familiar figure.
Peter Pettigrew, the escapee from Azkaban, sat slumped on the ground, gasping for breath. His right arm had been cleanly severed at the shoulder, blood soaking half his body.
"Ron, where the hell have you brought me?" Harry sighed, glancing at his clearly compromised friend.
Testing his fingers, Harry noticed Pettigrew wasn't looking his way. He flicked his right hand, conjuring an invisible palm that floated in the air. Directing it carefully, Harry began searching for the Portkey that had brought them here.
At that moment, the sparks from the boiling white liquid died out, and a thick cloud of white steam rose from the cauldron, growing denser until it shrouded the entire vessel.
Then, to Harry's astonishment, a dark figure slowly rose from the cauldron. Tall and emaciated, it looked like a walking corpse.
"Clothe me," the figure commanded in a cold, piercing voice.
Trembling, Pettigrew staggered to his feet. With his remaining hand, he grabbed a black robe from the ground and draped it over the skeletal figure.
The figure stepped out of the cauldron, its red eyes glaring at Harry with icy malice. Its face was unnaturally pale, its nose flat like a snake's, with mere slits for nostrils.
In a swirl of silvery mist, Harry appeared beside his wand. He calmly picked it up, eyeing the figure with open disgust. "Tch, you're uglier than I expected, Voldemort. Or should I say, Tom Riddle?"
Voldemort gave Harry a fleeting glance before inspecting his newly resurrected body.
As Voldemort admired his form, a massive serpent, over ten feet long, slithered into view with a faint hiss. Its yellow, slitted eyes flicked between Harry and Ron.
"Not yet, Nagini," Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue. "First, I'll summon my servants. Then, the redhead is yours, and the dark-haired one is mine."
"As you wish, my master," the serpent replied, its tongue flickering. To Harry's surprise, Nagini's voice was soft and gentle, almost like that of a refined, beautiful woman from the East.
While Harry studied the serpent, Voldemort bent down, pressing his long, pale fingers against Pettigrew's arm. Pettigrew let out a wail as the red tattoo on his arm turned pitch black.
Seemingly pleased with his work, Voldemort's face twisted into a cruel smirk. He straightened, tilting his head back to survey the dark, abandoned village.
"How many will have the courage to return when they feel it?" he murmured, his glowing red eyes fixed on the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"
He began pacing before Harry and Pettigrew, occasionally scanning the graveyard. A minute later, his gaze returned to Harry, his grotesque snake-like face curling into a cruel smile.
"Harry Potter, I must admit, you're one of the most impressive young wizards I've ever seen. But after tonight, your life ends. Any last words?"
"You talk too much," Harry said, twirling his wand, his green eyes brimming with curiosity. "Is it a side effect of not speaking to anyone in person for over a decade?"
Voldemort's mouth split into a wide grin, and he laughed. "Making jokes with the most powerful Dark Lord even in a moment like this? You're truly remarkable. I'm almost tempted to keep you. What do you say, Harry? Join me."
"No thanks," Harry replied. "I don't work for perverts who parade around naked. Besides, your lackeys are almost here, aren't they?"
As Harry faced off with Voldemort, the air filled with the rustle of cloaks. Wizards began Apparating between the graves and behind the yew tree, their faces hidden beneath hoods. They approached cautiously, as if unable to believe their eyes.
Voldemort stood silently, waiting.
One by one, the Death Eaters knelt before him, crawling forward to kiss the hem of his black robe.
"Behold, Harry," Voldemort said, spreading his arms with pride. "These are my true family. And where is yours? Oh, my apologies—I forgot. Ron Weasley, lying at your feet, counts as family, doesn't he? Tell me, Harry, how does it feel to be betrayed by family? To watch them die before your eyes?"
Voldemort flicked his wand, and a green light flashed. Ron's body stiffened, his hands falling limp, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at Harry.
Voldemort laughed triumphantly, but his glee faltered when he met Harry's amused gaze. The corpse at Harry's feet dissolved into sparks of light, vanishing into the air.
"Go on, keep laughing," Harry said cheerfully, watching Voldemort's face darken. "You were enjoying yourself a moment ago."
"Not bad for the one destined to be my nemesis," Voldemort sneered. "Willing to die to ensure your friend's escape. Are you ready, Harry? Just you and me, a wizard's duel." He waved the Death Eaters back, then turned to Harry, his voice soft. "Look at me like a man, chest out, just as your father did when he died."
"Now—let's duel."
Voldemort raised his wand.
Harry raised his fingers.
Voldemort turned into a sheep.
Harry pointed at the newly transformed Voldemort, a thin green beam shooting from his fingertip and striking the sheep.
Voldemort's new body, barely warmed, crumbled into a pile of gray dust, leaving only a panicked, greenish-gray soul that fled in haste.
As the Death Eaters gaped in horror, Harry slowly swept his right hand through the air. A massive, blazing firestorm descended upon the small graveyard.
"Seriously, where did Voldemort even bring me?" Harry muttered.
Transformed into a dragon, Harry clutched the surviving serpent and soared through the clouds.
Voldemort's soul had burrowed away, but most of the Death Eaters—save for one or two who'd stood far enough to Apparate in time—had become fodder for Harry's combat experience. Thanks to them, he felt closer to his next level-up.
Finally, at around two in the morning, Harry spotted Hogwarts.
Releasing the serpent, he reverted to human form, letting himself and Nagini plummet from six or seven thousand feet. At a thousand feet from the ground, Harry cast Feather Fall on both himself and the struggling snake. Dragging Nagini with his wand, he landed at the entrance to the Great Hall, where he was greeted by Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, fresh from the hospital wing.
"Mr. Potter! Are you alright?" McGonagall rushed forward, inspecting Harry thoroughly. Only after confirming he was unharmed did she breathe a sigh of relief.
"Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, "Ron told us he sent you to Voldemort tonight. Is it true? Has Voldemort truly returned?"
"Yes, it's true. Voldemort did return," Harry nodded. Before McGonagall or Dumbledore could react, he added, "But don't worry—he's back to being a soul now."
At the news of Harry's victory, McGonagall exhaled in relief.
"Oh, by the way, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," Harry said, "I brought back a trophy from Voldemort." Under their astonished gazes, he dragged the ten-foot-long serpent into the hall. "This is Voldemort's snake, Nagini. I've never eaten a snake this big, so I thought I'd bring it back to roast."
McGonagall glared at Harry, unimpressed by the writhing serpent baring its long fangs. "What in the world possessed you to bring this thing here?"
Dumbledore, however, had a different reaction. Initially dismissive, his expression grew complex upon hearing the snake's name.
"Harry… leave this snake to me," Dumbledore said, taking charge. He shrank Nagini to the size of a finger, then carried her toward the headmaster's office.
Under McGonagall's watchful escort, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room well past midnight.
Many students were still awake, lingering in the common room. After all, two people had gone missing during the third task. One had returned with news of the Dark Lord's resurrection, while the other—Harry Potter—had faced the revived Voldemort. No one could imagine what he'd been through.
As Harry stepped into the common room, a figure leapt from an armchair and rushed to him, enveloping him in a tight embrace.
Harry held the trembling girl, softly comforting her.
"Harry, don't leave me alone, okay?" Hermione looked up at the boy who'd worried her all night, her voice soft.
"Don't worry," Harry began, "unless I'm dead, I—"
Before he could finish, a soft pair of lips pressed firmly against his.
"Even if you die, you're not allowed to leave me!" Hermione said, her face flushed, her eyes locked on his.
The Gryffindors, witnessing this unexpected moment, erupted in excitement.
But the next day, an even bigger bombshell rocked the wizarding world.
The Department of Mysteries had been invaded, and a slew of Ministry workers had been brutally killed.
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