the ground; his face was pressed into grass; the
smell of it filled his nostrils. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported
him, and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to
have been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though
the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself
steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth,
cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric's body. He felt as though he would
slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let go of
either of them. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the
smell of the grass, waiting . . . waiting for someone to do something . . . something
to happen . . . and all the while, his scar burned dully on his forehead. . . .
A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere,
footsteps, screams. ... He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the
noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. . . .
Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.
"Harry! Harry!"
He opened his eyes.
He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was crouched over
him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing
nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his head reverberating with their footsteps.
He had come back to the edge of the maze. He could see the stands rising above
him, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above.
Harry let go of the cup, but he clutched Cedric to him even more tightly. He raised
his free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist, while Dumbledore's face swam in
and out of focus.
"He's back," Harry whispered. "He's back. Voldemort."
"What's going on? What's happened?"
The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Harry; it looked white,
appalled.
"My God - Diggory!" it whispered. "Dumbledore - he's dead!"
The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to
those around them . . . and then others shouted it - screeched it - into the night -
"He's dead!" "He's dead!" "Cedric Diggory! Dead!"
434
"Harry, let go of him," he heard Fudge's voice say, and he felt fingers trying to pry
him from Cedric's limp body, but Harry wouldn't let him go. Then Dumbledore's
face, which was still blurred and misted, came closer.
"Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go."
"He wanted me to bring him back," Harry muttered - it seemed important to
explain this. "He wanted me to bring him back to his parents. ..."
"That's right. Harry . . . just let go now. . . ."
Dumbledore bent down, and with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin,
raised Harry from the ground and set -him on his feet. Harry swayed. His head
was pounding. His injured leg would no longer support his weight. The crowd
around them jostled, fighting to get closer, pressing darkly in on him - "What's
happened?" "What's wrong with him?" "Diggorys dead!"
"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Fudge was saying loudly. "He's ill, he's
injured - Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands. ..."
"I'll take Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him -"
"No, I would prefer-"
"Dumbledore, Amos Diggorys running . . . he's coming over. . . . Don't you think
you should tell him - before he sees - ?"
"Harry, stay here -"
Girls were screaming, sobbing hysterically.... The scene flickered oddly before
Harry's eyes. . . .
"Its all right, son, I've got you . . . come on ... hospital wing . . ."
"Dumbledore said stay," said Harry thickly, the pounding in his scar making him
feel as though he was about to throw up; his vision was blurring worse than ever.
"You need to lie down. . .. Come on now...."
Someone larger and stronger than he was was half pulling, half carrying him
through the frightened crowd. Harry heard people gasping, screaming, and
shouting as the man supporting him pushed a path through them, taking him back
to the castle. Across the lawn, past the lake and the Durmstrang ship, Harry heard
nothing but the heavy breathing of the man helping him walk.
"What happened. Harry?" the man asked at last as he lifted Harry up the stone
steps. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. It was Mad-Eye Moody.
"Cup was a Portkey," said Harry as they crossed the entrance hall. "Took me and
Cedric to a graveyard . . . and Voldemort was there . . . Lord Voldemort..."
435
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Up the marble stairs . . .
"The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?"
"Killed Cedric . . . they killed Cedric. . . ."
"And then?"
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Along the corridor . . .
"Made a potion . . . got his body back. . . ."
"The Dark Lord got his body back? He's returned?"
"And the Death Eaters came . . . and then we dueled. ..."
"You dueled with the Dark Lord?"
"Got away . . . my wand . . . did something funny. ... I saw my mum and dad . . .
they came out of his wand. ..."
"In here. Harry ... in here, and sit down. . . . You'll be all right now . . . drink this.
..."
Harry heard a key scrape in a lock and felt a cup being pushed into his hands.
"Drink it... you'll feel better . . . come on, now. Harry, I need to know exactly what
happened. ..."
Moody helped tip the stuff down Harrys throat; he coughed, a peppery taste
burning his throat. Moody's office came into sharper focus, and so did Moody
himself. ... He looked as white as Fudge had looked, and both eyes were fixed
unblinkingly upon Harry's face.
"Voldemort's back, Harry? You're sure he's back? How did he do it?"
"He took stuff from his father's grave, and from Wormtail, and me," said Harry.
His head felt clearer; his scar wasn't hurting so badly; he could now see Moodys
face distinctly, even though the office was dark. He could still hear screaming and
shouting from the distant Quidditch field.
"What did the Dark Lord take from you?" said Moody.
"Blood," said Harry, raising his arm. His sleeve was ripped where Wormtail's
dagger had torn it.
Moody let out his breath in a long, low hiss.
"And the Death Eaters? They returned?"
"Yes," said Harry. "Loads of them . . ."
"How did he treat them?" Moody asked quietly. "Did he forgive them?"
436
But Harry had suddenly remembered. He should have told Dumbledore, he should
have said it straightaway -
"There's a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There's a Death Eater here - they put my
name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end -"
Harry tried to get up, but Moody pushed him back down.
"I know who the Death Eater is," he said quietly.
"Karkaroff?" said Harry wildly. "Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked
up?"
"Karkaroff?" said Moody with an odd laugh. "Karkaroff fled tonight, when he felt
the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the
Dark Lord to wish to meet them . . . but I doubt he will get far. The Dark Lord has
ways of tracking his enemies."
"Karkaroff's gone? He ran away? But then - he didn't put my name in the goblet?"
"No," said Moody slowly. "No, he didn't. It was I who did that."
Harry heard, but didn't believe.
"No, you didn't," he said. "You didn't do that. . . you can't have done..."
"I assure you I did," said Moody, and his magical eye swung around and fixed
upon the door, and Harry knew he was making sure that there was no one outside
it. At the same time, Moody drew out his wand and pointed it at Harry.
"He forgave them, then?" he said. "The Death Eaters who went free? The ones
who escaped Azkaban?"
"What?" said Harry.
He was looking at the wand Moody was pointing at him. This was a bad joke, it
had to be.
"I asked you," said Moody quietly, "whether he forgave the scum who never even
went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn't even brave
Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to
cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark
when I fired it into the sky."
"You fired . . . What are you talking about. . . ?"
"I told you. Harry ... I told you. If there's one thing I hate more than any other, it's
a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he
needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them.
Tell me he
437
hurt them, Harry. . . ." Moody's face was suddenly lit with an insane smile. "Tell
me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful... prepared to risk everything to
deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all... you"
"You didn't... it - it can't be you. ..."
"Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, under the name of a different school? I
did. Who frightened off every person I thought might try to hurt you or prevent
you from winning the tournament? I did. Who nudged Hagrid into showing you
the dragons? I did. Who helped you see the only way you could beat the dragon? I
did"
Moody's magical eye had now left the door. It was fixed upon Harry. His lopsided
mouth leered more widely than ever.
"It hasn't been easy, Harry, guiding you through these tasks without arousing
suspicion. I have had to use every ounce of cunning I possess, so that my hand
would not be detectable in your success. Dumbledore would have been very
suspicious if you had managed everything too easily. As long as you got into that
maze, preferably with a decent head start - then, I knew, I would have a chance of
getting rid of the other champions and leaving your way clear. But I also had to
contend with your stupidity. The second task . . . that was when I was most afraid
we would fail. I was keeping watch on you, Potter. I knew you hadn't worked out
the egg's clue, so I had to give you another hint -"
"You didn't," Harry said hoarsely. "Cedric gave me the clue -"
"Who told Cedric to open it underwater? I did. I trusted that he would pass the
information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulat