Chapter 270: Chapter 270: "The Vanishing Champion"
The world spun and twisted violently as Charles felt the pull of the portkey. His feet slammed into solid ground with a harsh thud, and he stumbled, barely managing to stay upright. The Triwizard Cup slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the hard earth beside him. Dazed, Charles blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Where—" he started, his voice sounding strange in the heavy, oppressive silence.
The air was thick, almost suffocating, as a chilling fog spread across the ground, swirling around his feet like ghostly tendrils. He was surrounded by ancient gravestones, cracked and covered in moss, and the gnarled branches of dead trees cast eerie shadows under the pale moonlight. The cold, damp smell of decay filled the air. There was no sign of the maze, the cheering crowd, or anything familiar. He was completely alone.
"Hello?" he called out, the uncertainty clear in his voice. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Was this some hidden part of the final task? Was this an illusion or a test that he had to overcome to win? His mind spun with questions, but there were no answers, and the silence around him was unsettling.
The quiet seemed to press in on him, amplifying the sound of his own breathing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as an overwhelming sense of dread washed over him. Something wasn't right—it was all wrong.
Charles fumbled for his wand, his fingers trembling as he wrapped them around the familiar wood. He tried to steady his breathing, to think clearly, but his thoughts were a mess, and Harry's words from before echoed in his mind—something about a trap.
"Is someone there?" Charles called again, trying to sound braver than he felt.
A rustling sound came from behind one of the larger tombstones. Charles spun around, wand raised, his eyes straining to see through the fog and darkness. His heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming at him to run, but curiosity kept him rooted to the spot.
Suddenly, a cold, high-pitched voice cut through the stillness, sharp as a knife. "Stupefy."
The red jet of light struck Charles directly in the chest, and everything went black. He crumpled to the ground, his wand slipping from his grasp, the cold fog slowly enveloping his unconscious form.
A small, twisted figure emerged from the shadows, cradled in the arms of a robed figure who knelt beside Charles's limp body. The creature—barely resembling anything human—tilted its grotesque head, looking down at the unconscious boy.
"Look at him," Voldemort hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "The boy who they say defeated me... so easy to claim, so easy to break."
The robed figure bowed lower, obedient and silent as Voldemort continued. "Barty should have been here," he muttered, his tone edged with annoyance. "But it seems he had to sacrifice himself to make sure this boy reached the cup. His loyalty will not be forgotten."
Voldemort shifted slightly, a twisted smile curling his lip. "But we must not delay. The time has come—I shall not wait any longer to return to my body."
The robed figure nodded, and together they began their preparations, the chilling silence of the graveyard enveloping them once more.
---
Back at the maze, chaos was breaking out. The air was thick with confusion and panic as the crowd watched the magical mirrors that no longer showed the missing champion. The pedestal that had once held the Triwizard Cup now stood empty, and Charles's absence cast a heavy shadow over the entire stadium.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as his mind raced. He had to get to the graveyard, and fast. He turned to Fleur, his urgency evident. "We need to get out of the maze, now. There has to be another way—another portkey."
Fleur nodded, her face resolute. She followed Harry back to the cup's pedestal, her wand ready. Harry placed a hand on the pedestal, and Fleur did the same. In an instant, the world twisted violently once again, and the familiar tug of a portkey took hold, yanking them away.
---
They landed roughly just outside the maze's entrance. Harry's eyes darted around, scanning the area, but as he had feared, there was no sign of Charles.
As Harry and Fleur descended from the platform, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick appeared, levitating an unconscious figure between them. The imposter, who was now visibly transformed from Mad-Eye Moody back into his true self, was unmistakable to anyone familiar with the dark days of the wizarding world.
"Barty Crouch Jr.," Dumbledore said gravely, his expression dark and serious.
Amelia Bones stepped forward, her tone sharp and accusing. "So Crouch wasn't as upstanding as he appeared after all," she muttered.
The gathered professors and officials began murmuring amongst themselves. Dumbledore raised a hand, and silence fell over the group. He turned to Amelia. "We need to find out everything we can—immediately," he said.
Lily Potter pushed her way through the crowd, her face pale and her eyes filled with worry. "Where's Charles?" she asked, her voice trembling. "He was supposed to come back with the cup."
James Potter was right behind her, his expression one of rising panic. He placed a steadying hand on Lily's shoulder and turned to Dumbledore. "Dumbledore, what's going on?" he demanded, his voice raw with desperation.
"We're going to find out," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but edged with steel. He turned his attention to Crouch Jr., pointing his wand and muttering a spell to revive him.
Crouch Jr. stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he took in his surroundings. His expression twisted into a sneer when he recognized the faces gathered around him.
"You," Lily's voice broke with emotion, her wand clenched tightly in her hand. "Where is my son?"
Crouch Jr. chuckled darkly, his laugh a cold, grating sound that sent chills through everyone present. "The mighty Potters come to beg for their child," he mocked, his eyes alight with malice.
James took an angry step forward, but Sirius was quicker. His wand was already pointed at Crouch Jr.'s heart, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You'd better tell us where he is," Sirius said, his tone dripping with menace. "Or you'll regret ever crossing us."
Dumbledore raised a hand to calm Sirius, his eyes never leaving Crouch Jr.'s face. "Where is Charles?" he asked, his voice steady but firm.
Crouch Jr. smirked, his gaze taunting. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Amelia stepped forward, her voice almost coaxing. "If you tell us now, we might consider leniency."
Crouch's smile widened into something wild and unhinged. "Leniency?" he spat. "You fools… you have no idea what's coming."
James's grip on his wand tightened, his entire body tense with fury. But Dumbledore signaled for restraint. He nodded to McGonagall and Flitwick. "Take him to the dungeons," he instructed. "We'll deal with him after we find out what's happened."
McGonagall and Flitwick began to levitate Crouch Jr. toward the castle, but before they could move far, he looked back at the group, his eyes gleaming with mad satisfaction. "The boy who lived won't return," he hissed. "But in his place, my lord will rise again."
Lily pressed a hand to her mouth, struggling to hold herself together. James stood beside her, his jaw clenched and his fists trembling. The Potters, along with Sirius and Amelia, were left standing in stunned silence, the weight of Crouch's words heavy in the air.
Amelia turned to Dumbledore, her voice barely steady. "What did he mean by that?"
"I fear," Dumbledore replied, his expression grim, "that Voldemort's return may be far closer than we'd hoped."
Lily's voice broke, her eyes filled with desperation. "James, we have to find Charles. He's in danger."
James tried to put on a brave face, his voice wavering as he spoke. "He'll be okay. He has the Potter luck. The Auror force will go out in full strength to find him."
Amelia nodded, her determination renewed as she began sending out her Patronus messages, calling on the Aurors for help.
The professors exchanged anxious glances, the gravity of the situation settling heavily over them. Suddenly, a small voice cut through the tense silence.
"Where is Harry?"
The group turned to see Aries standing beside Sirius, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. His question sent a chill through the air, and realization dawned on them all at once.
"Harry?" Sirius whispered, his voice almost pleading. But as they looked around, the answer became clear—Harry was gone too.
Chapter 271: Chapter 271: "The Shadows of Little Hangleton"
The town of Little Hangleton lay silent in the evening light, its quiet streets and darkened houses unaware of the terrible events about to unfold nearby. A soft pop of apparition broke the silence, but no one was around to hear it. Even if there had been, they would have seen nothing. Harry Potter, dressed for battle and under the cover of invisibility, moved silently through the tall grass on the edge of town, heading towards his destination.
A moment later, Harry allowed himself to become visible again, his form solidifying like smoke turning into a solid shape. He stood tall, ready for the fight ahead. He was wearing layers of dark robes and black dragon-hide armor, with a gleaming layer of basilisk-scale armor beneath. The Sword of Gryffindor was strapped to his back, its ruby-encrusted hilt catching the fading light of the setting sun.
Harry had planned for this moment with meticulous care, thinking through every possible detail. Right after leaving the maze, he had used the chaos to sneak away to a hidden spot where he had stored his battle gear. He had changed into his armor in record time. Then, transforming into his thunderbird Animagus form, he had taken off, flying away from Hogwarts and beyond its protective wards. Once he was far enough from the school, he had reappeared in Little Hangleton, arriving as silently as a shadow.
The ability to fade from sight at will was the most recent addition to Harry's arsenal, the result of binding the Death's Invisibility Cloak to himself. He had bound the cloak to himself through the ancient ritual only two days earlier, wanting to be as prepared as possible for this night.
Now, with just a thought, Harry could disappear from sight. Though it was perfect for sneaking around, the magic had its limits. The moment he engaged in combat or made physical contact with another being, the invisibility would shatter - making it perfect for stealth but less useful in direct confrontation.
Despite its shortcomings, Harry couldn't help but be thrilled with the cloak's other unexpected advantage. Standing still in the darkness, Harry shifted smoothly into his Animagus form—a majestic thunderbird.
In the dim light of Little Hangleton, a mighty bird with powerful wings appeared, spreading them wide against the night sky. And with a silent thought, the thunderbird vanished from sight again, invisible even in this formidable form. The ability to extend the cloak's power to his Animagus form was something the original, unbound cloak could never have achieved. This new potential filled Harry with a sense of freedom and possibility, making his heart soar along with his wings.
With strong beats of his wings, Harry rose higher above the town, gliding silently towards the graveyard where Voldemort's resurrection was about to take place. He needed to get there quickly; every moment counted.
As Harry reached the cemetery, relief washed over him—he was still on time. Charles was there, tied to the headstone of Tom Riddle Sr., his eyes wide with fear as he struggled against the ropes binding him. Wormtail was crouched next to a large cauldron, making the final preparations for Voldemort's dark ritual. And there, covered in heavy robes and held by Wormtail, was Babymort—the small, twisted form that contained Voldemort's essence.
But Harry's focus at the moment wasn't on Wormtail or even Voldemort. His real target was Nagini, Voldemort's loyal snake, and the last Horcrux—the final object keeping Voldemort tied to the mortal world. Harry had already destroyed every other Horcrux over the years and enjoyed every moment of it. Tonight, he planned to rid the world of this last evil thing, and by doing so, strip Voldemort of his false immortality.
The timing was perfect; during the chaos of the resurrection ritual, any disturbance in the soul-bond between Voldemort and his snake would likely be attributed to the intense magic of his rebirth.
From his aerial vantage point, Harry spotted the massive serpent weaving between the tombstones, her scales gleaming in the dim light. She was too exposed for the moment, too close to Wormtail and her master. Harry had to be careful. Interrupting the ritual too early by attacking Nagini could lead to terrible consequences—and that was a risk Harry wasn't willing to take.
Below, the ritual began in earnest. Wormtail lowered the homunculus form of Voldemort into the cauldron, his hands shaking visibly even from Harry's height. The watcher in the sky observed as the ceremony proceeded exactly as he remembered from the books.
The bone of Voldemort's father was added first—dusty fragments dropping into the cauldron—then Wormtail chanted the next part of the spell, lifting a silver knife with shaking hands. He gritted his teeth, cutting off his own hand as an offering, the bright spray of blood briefly visible before Wormtail pressed a magical silver hand against the wound.
Finally, the ritual reached its last stage. Wormtail approached Charles, the silver dagger glinting in the moonlight. With a quick motion, he cut Charles's arm, letting the blood flow into a vial. Charles's scream of pain cut through the stillness of the night, a sound filled with fear and desperation.
Then, movement caught Harry's eye. Nagini had slithered away from the main group, seeking shelter behind a cluster of particularly large tombstones. She was alone, isolated, vulnerable. This was his chance.
---
Harry didn't hesitate. The thunderbird plummeted from the sky, silent and invisible. Mere feet from the ground, he transformed back into his human form, the motion fluid and practiced. The Sword of Gryffindor, strapped to his back, came free with a whisper of steel against leather. One continuous motion brought the blade through a deadly arc, enhanced by the momentum of his dive.
In that split second, before the blade met scales, Nagini's yellow eyes widened with an almost human expression of shock and recognition. The enchanted steel, imbued with basilisk venom, met no resistance as it cleaved through scales, muscle, and bone.
Anticipating what would follow, Harry's free hand whipped out his wand, establishing a privacy ward around them with practiced ease. The shimmering barrier snapped into place just as Nagini's body began to thrash in its death throes.
The great snake's body writhed and twisted violently, her severed head letting out a terrible scream—an unnatural sound that was both the hiss of the dying snake and the anguished cry of the dark piece of Voldemort's soul. Thick, dark smoke poured from the wound, twisting and writhing as if trying to escape. It rose in a spiral, its keening sound filling the space inside Harry's ward, echoing in his ears.
The sound made Harry's teeth ache, and he could feel his magic pulsing in response to the dark energy. Then, with a sudden burst, the smoke imploded, the terrible sound disappearing as quickly as it had come. Nagini's body went limp, her severed head rolling lifelessly on the ground, her golden eyes dull and empty.
The great snake Nagini, last of Voldemort's Horcruxes, was no more. And with her death, Lord Voldemort's claim to immortality finally ended. Now he was just a man - a powerful, dangerous man, but mortal nonetheless.
Weekly Power Status
200+ Power
Ranking 
33 Power
stone You may also Like
Paragraph comment