When the whistle blew for the last time, signaling that it was the fourth champion's turn, Harry Potter squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He sighed deeply, trying to swallow the lump of terror and fear that had lodged in his throat. With his eyes still closed, he wondered what kind of monstrosities, both real and imagined, he would have to face in the darkness.
He opened his eyes and ran, heading toward his destiny down the narrow corridor.
The air inside the maze was thick and unnaturally cold. Harry didn't stop to think. He turned left, then right, guided by pure instinct and adrenaline. He advanced steadily along the dark paths until a sucking sound and a faint smell of burnt gunpowder made him stop dead in his tracks.
In front of him, blocking the way, was an Blast-Ended Skrewt that had grown to a monstrous size. The armored beast spun around, preparing its rear stinger to fire.
Harry wasted no time trying to cast spells at its impenetrable shell. With a desperate movement, he threw himself to the ground, rolling across the damp earth just as a burst of flame rolled past where his head had been. He jumped to his feet and kept running, leaving the enraged beast behind.
His breathing was uneven and sweat stung his eyes. He turned another corner and stopped abruptly.
A majestic and terrifying creature blocked his path. It had the body of an enormous lion and the head of a woman of disturbing beauty. A Sphinx.
The creature stared intently into his eyes and began to recite a riddle in a deep, melodic voice. Harry tried to concentrate, tried to find the logic in the Sphinx's words, but at that precise moment, the silence of the maze was broken.
A piercing scream, sharp and filled with pure despair and terror, echoed through the maze. It was Fleur Delacour. Seconds later, a stream of red sparks rose into the starry sky, illuminating the fog with a bloody glow.
Harry turned pale as wax. Panic blocked his thoughts. The Sphinx, unmoved by the scream, waited for his answer as it flexed its claws, ready to attack if he got it wrong.
Desperate and his mind blank, Harry stammered out the first word that came to mind, piecing together disconnected fragments of the riddle.
"A... a spider!" he blurted, taking a step back, bracing himself for a possible attack.
The Sphinx blinked slowly. An enigmatic smile curved its lips, and with a swift movement, it stepped aside, clearing the way.
Harry didn't wait for it to change its mind. He ran with all the strength left in his legs. He turned the last corner, and there it was.
At the end of a long hedge tunnel, bathed in a bluish light that gave it a magical touch, the Triwizard Cup rested on a stone pedestal. It was the end. Just by touching it, he would achieve glory.
But he was not alone.
With a crackling of branches, Cedric Diggory burst out from a side path. He was covered in dirt, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, and breathing heavily. Seeing Harry and then the cup, the badger's eyes widened.
Without a word, they both began to run. A desperate race toward the trophy.
Cedric was a few feet ahead, his long legs giving him the advantage. Unfortunately for him, in his haste to reach the pedestal, he stepped on an unusually wet and slippery patch of ground. His feet gave way and he fell heavily onto a bed of dark vines.
Almost immediately, the plants came to life. Thick, thorny vines wrapped themselves around Cedric's ankles, dragging him to the ground.
"Harry!" Cedric shouted, reaching for his wand as the vines climbed up his legs. "Help me! It's Devil's Snare!"
Harry slammed on his brakes. He was only five meters from the cup. He looked at Cedric, who was desperately struggling against the plants, and then looked at the trophy.
In that second, all the months of resentment bubbled up inside him. He thought of Cho Chang smiling at Cedric at the dance. He thought of how the "Support Cedric Diggory" badges had flooded the school. He thought of how everyone believed that the Hufflepuff boy was Hogwarts' true champion.
Harry lowered his wand. A twisted, arrogant, cruel smile distorted his face.
"If you want help so badly, ask your good friend Gaunt," Harry said coldly.
Turning his back on a stunned Cedric, Harry resumed his run, reaching out with his fingers stretched out, already savoring the moment when he would close his fingers around the cold metal of the cup.
But he never got to touch it.
A figure emerged from the shadows behind the pedestal with blinding speed.
CRACK!
A rock-hard fist slammed directly into Harry's face. The impact was sharp and brutal. Harry was thrown backwards, falling onto his back on the grass with a muffled cry.
Pain exploded across his face. He brought his hands up to his face and felt warm blood spurting from his nose, which had just been broken into multiple pieces.
"Aaaagh!" Harry howled, writhing on the ground.
The figure who had struck him stepped forward. It was no longer the burly Bulgarian. The Polyjuice Potion had lost its effect completely. Tall, pale, and dressed in the red Durmstrang uniform that now hung strangely loose on him, Aurelian Gaunt stared at the "Chosen One" without emotion.
Aurelian sighed, shaking his right hand to relieve the slight stinging in his knuckles.
"Potter... you are truly disappointing," Aurelian muttered coldly, watching the boy whimper on the floor. "Even in this kind of situation, you are incapable of showing nobility."
Without giving Harry time to process what the hell Gaunt was doing there, Aurelian bent down and grabbed him brutally by the collar of his robe, lifting him off the ground as if he were a rag doll.
Harry kicked, spitting blood and trying to break free, but Aurelian's grip was iron.
With a single tug, Aurelian dragged Harry toward the pedestal and forced the boy's bloody hand against the handle of the Triwizard Cup, grabbing the other end himself at the same moment.
A tug, as if an invisible hook had grabbed them behind the navel, pulled them off the ground. The maze, Hogwarts Castle, and Cedric Diggory's cries for help vanished in a whirlwind of colors.
When the movement ceased, the contrast with which they arrived was almost comical. Aurelian landed on his feet with elegance and balance, releasing the handle of the Cup. Beside him, Harry Potter crashed heavily onto the ground covered with tall grass, groaning in pain as he clutched his nose.
Aurelian stood up, smoothing his oversized red Durmstrang robe, and scanned his surroundings with his dark eyes. The Little Hangleton graveyard was shrouded in a thick, cold fog. Under the shade of an old yew tree, a giant stone cauldron bubbled ominously, emitting thick steam.
Everything was ready.
A soft crunch in the grass announced the arrival of the welcoming committee. Three figures emerged from the shadows of the graveyard. Peter Pettigrew walked at the head, visibly trembling and clutching his wand with sweaty hands. Behind him, Barty Crouch Jr. advanced with a smile of pure happiness, holding a velvet bag. And bringing up the rear was Nagini. She was wrapped in a dark dress, cradling in her arms a somewhat repulsive-looking bundle wrapped in black blankets.
"Take it to the gravestone," hissed a cold, sharp voice from inside the blankets Nagini was holding.
Peter nodded awkwardly. He pointed his wand at Harry, who was barely trying to stand up, and muttered an incantation. Harry was lifted into the air like a weightless object and dragged violently toward a huge marble tombstone crowned by the statue of the Angel of Death.
With a sharp flick of Pettigrew's wand, the statue came to life under the spell and trapped Harry in its stone arms, pinning him completely against the cold surface.
Aurelian walked calmly over and leaned against a neighboring gravestone, folding his arms. His eyes were alert to everything as he watched the spectacle. Harry struggled against his bonds, spitting blood and glaring at Aurelian with visceral hatred, before fixing his terrified green eyes on the cauldron and the sobbing Pettigrew.
"Father's bone... given unwittingly... you shall renew your son!" Peter's voice cracked as he levitated a dusty bone from the grave at Harry's feet and dropped it into the boiling cauldron. The liquid hissed, turning a poisonous scarlet color.
From Nagini's arms, the inhuman voice echoed again.
"Barty... now!"
Barty Crouch Jr. stepped forward, his eyes shining with deranged adoration. He opened the velvet bag and approached the edge of the cauldron. One by one, he dropped his master's darkest and most precious treasures: the ancient Gaunt ring, Tom Riddle's diary, Slytherin's locket, and Ravenclaw's diadem.
The moment the last Horcrux touched the potion, Harry Potter let out a bloodcurdling scream.
The pain in his scar was so massive and sudden that he felt his skull split in two. He writhed against the statue, screaming until he was out of breath. Aurelian narrowed his eyes, analyzing the unfolding scene. "It's the fragment in his head," Aurelian deduced. "He must be reacting to the proximity and dissolution of the other pieces of my father's soul. He's trying to join them."
The liquid in the cauldron changed from blood red to absolute black, so thick and dark that it seemed to swallow the dim moonlight.
Peter, crying and shaking even more, pulled a silver knife from his robe. With a groan of anticipated pain, he extended his right hand over the cauldron and, with a single brutal slash, cut it off. The severed hand fell with a dull splash.
Pettigrew curled up, cradling the bleeding stump, knowing that this was not yet over. Gasping for breath from the pain, he approached the Angel of Death.
"Blood of the enemy... taken by force... you will revive your opponent!" Peter sobbed, plunging the tip of the knife into Harry's forearm.
Harry gritted his teeth as the knife pierced him, blinded by the pain in his scar and broken nose. Bright red blood dripped onto the blade. Peter ran back to the cauldron and stirred Potter's blood into the black mixture.
Barty stepped forward again. With a ceremonial bow, he took a small, finely carved wooden box from the bag.
"With a part of the son... willingly given... the Dark Lord will return!" Barty proclaimed in a solemn voice, dropping Aurelian's small baby teeth into the bubbling mixture.
Everything was now in place.
Nagini stepped forward. With a smile, she kissed the homunculus's scaly forehead before gently dropping him into the giant cauldron.
The silence that followed was suffocating... until all hell broke loose.
A shockwave of pure magic exploded from the cauldron, sweeping across the entire graveyard. The magical pressure was overwhelming, colossal. It was the unmistakable aura of an Archmage regaining his full power. Peter fell to his knees, sobbing on the ground. Harry felt the air leave his lungs, suffocated by the density of the power. Aurelian remained standing, though he had to strain his own magical circuits to keep from being pushed back. Barty also remained standing, holding Nagini tightly so she wouldn't fall, watching everything as if remembering the past.
The cauldron began to melt, turning liquid and merging with the earth, evaporating the black potion into a cloud of thick, dark smoke.
When the smoke began to dissipate, a tall figure stood in the center of the mist.
It was not the skeletal monster with a snake-like face and no nose from people's worst nightmares. The man standing there was terrifyingly and dazzlingly beautiful. He was simply Tom Marvolo Riddle, but older, at the height of his power. His skin was pale as marble. His cheekbones were sharp, his dark hair was combed with impeccable elegance, and his features denoted an aristocratic bearing.
With an almost imperceptible snap of his long fingers, magic wove around him an impeccable suit and a black high-necked robe that hugged his imposing figure.
Voldemort looked at his hands, turning them slowly, admiring the perfection of the reconstructed flesh and bone. He brought a hand to his face, tracing the curve of his nose, the line of his jaw. He was whole. His soul, once fractured into miserable pieces, now beat in his chest, unified and powerful.
His black eyes, now glowing a deep, dark red, closed for a moment. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the damp, cold night air.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell first on Aurelian, then on his kneeling servants and allies, until finally settling on Harry Potter.
A thin, chilling smile spread across his lips.
"I really missed breathing," said Voldemort. His voice was no longer a high-pitched hiss, but a deep, gravelly voice with a magnetic quality.
The Dark Lord had returned.
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