After Dumbledore vanished, the referee's table — which had been so very orderly a moment before — descended into chaos.
The champions' families, overcome with emotion, crowded together. The remaining referees looked genuinely rattled.
"No — no!" Ginny cried out from her seat near the table. "He's gone! The Death Eaters have taken him!"
"Ginny, don't — Professor Dumbledore's gone to find him," Ron said anxiously, trying to comfort his sister, whose face was buried in her hands. "Please don't cry."
"We tried so hard!" she said, her voice breaking. "We talked Mum into going to Mr. Diggory with us! I even went to Mrs. Krum myself and talked and gestured for what felt like forever before she understood! We nearly managed it—"
Large tears ran down her face from between her fingers. "We almost got the suspension!"
"It doesn't matter about the suspension anymore," Ron said, scratching the back of his head helplessly. "Fleur's already out. Harry and Cedric are missing. The second spark must have been Krum — he'll probably be brought out soon too. There's no one left in the maze."
"There is someone!" Ginny lifted her tear-streaked face. "Harry's godfather is still in there — has he caught that filthy Death Eater yet—"
She caught her breath and said with fierce, wavering resolve, "I'm going to transfigure that disgusting creature into a slug and feed it to the toads..."
"Ginny, don't cry yet. Harry's going to be all right." Bill Weasley walked over, crouched down in front of her, and said in a calm, steady voice, "Don't worry. We have a plan."
Ginny stopped crying.
She opened her swollen red eyes and looked at him. "What — what plan?"
"Keep your voice down," Bill said quietly. "I can't go into detail. But here's what you need to know: if Harry has been taken to the graveyard — which is what Sirius's Patronus said — he won't be alone there. People are already waiting for him. To protect him."
Ginny stared.
She looked at her oldest brother and, through the fall of his long fringe, saw his eyes.
They held things she hadn't expected to find: great seriousness, vigilance, worry — but not panic.
"Really?" she asked, her voice choked with uncertain hope. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Mum knows too," Bill said quietly, amid the raised, frightened voices of the Diggory and Krum families. "Have you noticed? Mum hasn't made a sound since Professor Dumbledore disappeared."
Ginny looked quickly at her mother — standing perfectly still, lips pressed together, hands clasped — and understood. She stopped crying.
"Good girl," Bill said, with a soft smile, patting her head. "You did brilliantly tonight. I'm so proud of you. Now we need to hold ourselves together and keep going, yes?"
Ginny nodded through the last of her tears.
Ron suddenly pointed toward the maze entrance. "They've gotten Krum out!"
Ginny looked up. Krum was being levitated slowly out of the labyrinth by Moody's spell. Krum's parents stopped their shouting at once and rushed from the stands toward the maze entrance.
Draco Malfoy heard Madam Pomfrey's exclamation from where he stood: "Alastor, how did it come to this? Just look at his face!"
Moody was standing at the maze entrance, bellowing back, "Don't ask me! I didn't do it!"
"What on earth happened in that maze?" Madam Pomfrey pressed.
"No comment!" Moody said, and turned back into the maze, limping heavily on his crutch.
"Let's go and see Krum," Draco said to Hermione.
They made their way over. Madam Pomfrey was waving her wand with brisk urgency, guiding the floating stretcher into position beneath the unconscious Durmstrang champion.
"He must have fought the Death Eater directly," Draco said quietly, studying Krum's battered appearance — the wounds on his body, the tight, pained expression even in unconsciousness.
"I thought so too," Hermione said, her gaze anxious. "I wonder whether Harry encountered him."
"We won't know until Sirius comes out." Draco's expression was heavy. "Merlin knows what that man has been getting up to in there."
"Draco—" Hermione's voice carried a thread of panic. "How could Harry have disappeared? Sirius had the Marauder's Map. He knew the Goblet might be compromised. He knew about McNeil. How did he still let Harry vanish?"
"I've been wondering the same thing," Draco said, through his teeth. "Did he get too busy fighting the Death Eater and forget about the Goblet altogether?"
Hermione pressed her lips together. "Maybe the situation in the maze was far more complicated than we imagined."
"How complicated can finding someone in a maze be?" Draco said, with feeling.
"Easy for you to say — why don't you try it yourself?" Sirius Black said, from directly behind him.
Draco turned. That familiar, gaunt, handsome face had appeared at the maze entrance.
"Where's Harry?" Draco asked at once, though the answer was already taking shape in his mind.
"Gone," Sirius said shortly.
"Gone?" Hermione and Draco said at the same time.
They looked at Sirius expectantly. He owed them considerably more than one word.
"Vanished from the map, just like that," Sirius said, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "No trace. And thanks to this one—"
He kicked something in front of him.
The effects of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off.
The Death Eater's true face was revealed:
Prominent cheekbones. A large nose. Heavy bags under the eyes. Thick, pale stubble below a mouth pressed into an unpleasant line.
The face of Walton McNeil.
It matched Draco's memory — except for several additions: bruises that bore the unmistakable character of Sirius Black's handiwork.
McNeil's eyes were wide with confusion and fear. He should have been a tall, well-built man, but he was curled inward now, looking shrunken and wary. His mouth was ringed with blood, several teeth apparently missing. His robes were grey with dust and dirt.
One look was enough for Draco to conclude that this Death Eater had endured a thorough reckoning — both physically and psychologically — before being dragged out of the labyrinth.
"Sirius, what exactly did you do to him?" Hermione asked, her voice catching slightly.
"I gave him some psychological counselling," Sirius said gruffly.
"By entirely physical means?" Draco looked at McNeil's wretched state with undisguised satisfaction.
He laughed briefly. "Novel approach. Effective, though."
"This is barbaric—" Hermione muttered.
Draco glanced at her and said quietly, "He's a Death Eater who just attacked those champions. Harry's life may be in danger because of him. You're not feeling sorry for him, are you?"
"Of course not—" In an instant she remembered the chaos of the Death Eaters, the chaos of tonight, Harry's uncertain fate, and her face flushed with anger.
After a pause, she glared at the man on the ground. "He deserved it."
"Exactly right," Draco said, half relieved and half in agreement. "To be merciful to an enemy is to be cruel to yourself."
By now, Moody and Hagrid had dragged the glowering Death Eater away. Krum's parents were following Madam Pomfrey's floating stretcher into the medical tent, their faces taut with anxiety. Sirius was already striding off.
"We can't just stand here — we have to go after him and find out what happened," Hermione said quickly.
"Right," Draco said.
They jogged to catch up with Sirius. "What did McNeil tell you?" Draco asked.
Sirius walked fast, looking thoroughly grim.
"Everything relevant," he said shortly.
He pulled the roll of parchment from his pocket, shoved it at Draco without looking, said "Here," and kept walking.
Draco was entirely unprepared for this. He failed to catch it. The Marauder's Map fluttered to the ground.
He wanted to keep up with Sirius — but he couldn't bring himself to leave it lying there. He turned back to Hermione. "Pick that up for me — I need to ask him—"
"Go," she said. "I've got it."
So Draco kept pace with Sirius and asked, "You're giving it back? For good?"
"It's no further use to me," Sirius said impatiently. "Might as well go back to you."
The Marauder's Map had come full circle. Draco felt a quiet, private satisfaction at this. After all the drama, the map had found its way home.
"Where's Diggory?" he asked.
"Gone with Harry," Sirius said.
"Both teleported to the graveyard?" Draco pressed.
"Obviously."
"McNeil confirmed it?"
"He confirmed it," Sirius said coldly, lengthening his stride as they entered the castle.
Hermione, not particularly athletic at the best of times, was starting to fall behind. Draco glanced back — she was clutching the Marauder's Map and gesturing at him with her chin to keep going.
"I'm right behind you — you won't lose me — go!" she called.
"Was Harry hurt by McNeil? What about Diggory?" Draco asked, turning back.
"No! I took him down before he could get anywhere near Diggory," Sirius said. "As for Harry—"
His expression darkened again. "That Death Eater never intended to attack Harry directly. He just needed the other champions out of the way so he could steer Harry toward the Portkey like herding cattle."
"Wait—" Draco frowned. "How did the Goblet of Fire become a Portkey? What happened to Dumbledore's protective charm?"
"He never touched the Goblet of Fire!" Sirius said, with considerable heat. "The real Goblet was surrounded by protective enchantments — he couldn't get near it. Harry and Cedric didn't disappear from the centre of the maze where the Goblet was placed. They disappeared from the southwest."
"Harry knows how to cast a Positioning Charm," Draco said, frowning. "Are you telling me neither of them noticed they'd gone in the wrong direction?"
"McNeil planted Confusion Jinxes. Once anyone reached the centre of the maze, the Positioning Charm pointed southwest instead of toward the real Goblet. They had no idea they were being redirected," Sirius said.
"And the fake Portkey?"
Sirius gritted his teeth. "He took a loose stone from the maze, Transfigured it into a copy of the Goblet, and set it as the Portkey. The real Goblet he hid inside a hollow stone pillar. Two targets, same general area — anyone following a corrupted Positioning Charm would reach the fake first."
"Dumbledore has already left Hogwarts," Draco said, following Sirius into the castle entrance hall. "I think he went to the graveyard directly."
"I thought as much," Sirius said. "I sent my Patronus to him."
"What are you going to do now?" Draco asked.
"The Headmaster's office," Sirius said, not breaking his stride.
"You know the password?"
"Yes."
They took the stairs quickly. "And then?" Draco asked.
"The Floo," Sirius said shortly.
"Back to Grimmauld Place, then Disapparate to the graveyard?"
"Correct."
"Can I come?" Draco asked, with no real expectation.
"Absolutely not," Sirius said. "You are a student."
He reached the gargoyle on the third floor, murmured the password, and the stone beast came reluctantly to life. The wall split apart, revealing the foot of the moving spiral staircase.
"The sword," Draco said quickly, before Sirius could step on.
"What sword?"
"The Sword of Gryffindor." Draco looked up at him as the staircase began to ascend. "Harry's told us about the snake in his dreams — it terrifies him, he's always afraid of being swallowed by it. If you encounter it tonight—" He held Sirius's gaze. "I suspect only a goblin-forged blade could kill something like that. The Sword killed the Basilisk. It can kill the snake."
Sirius stared down at him as the staircase carried him up, his expression shifting.
"You might be right," he said slowly. "I'll consider it."
"Be car—" was all Draco managed before the staircase completed its ascent and the wall closed again.
---
Sirius Black stepped into the Headmaster's office. Brightly lit, empty except for the dozing portraits on the walls.
He spotted the Sword of Gryffindor at once. The ruby in its hilt caught the candlelight and gleamed.
Without hesitation, he lifted it from the wall, seized a handful of Floo Powder from the mantelpiece, stepped into the green flames, and said, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"
He needed to answer one question first: had Harry been brought here as planned?
He stepped from the fireplace in the second-floor drawing room and shouted immediately, "Anyone here? Harry? Cedric?"
Silence.
"Remus? Tonks?"
Unease began to settle. Where had they got to?
"Kreacher!"
The elderly house-elf appeared with a pop, looking as sour as ever.
"Has anyone been here?" Sirius asked urgently.
"No one, master. No one at all," Kreacher said in his hoarse rasp.
Sirius frowned and moved quickly for the stairs. "Stay and guard the door. If Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, Remus Lupin, or Nymphadora Tonks arrive, you are to let them in immediately."
"Yes, sir," Kreacher said, with rather poor grace, shuffling after him along the corridor beneath the stairs and muttering to himself. "Nymphadora Tonks!"
The portrait in the corridor let out a piercing shriek. "Nymphadora Tonks! Shameless wretch — how dare you — how dare you allow that filthy half-blood's bloodline into this house—"
"Shut up!" Sirius snapped at his mother's portrait, raising the sword, and the tattered velvet curtain dropped instantly.
He held the blade up where she could see it and smiled without warmth. "One more word, and I will see what a goblin-made sword does to canvas. I'm told it cuts through almost anything."
Walburga Black stared at the gleaming silver, her twisted mouth working silently. She subsided, pulling the remnants of the velvet curtain over her face.
"Excellent," Sirius said with satisfaction. Then Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black appeared in a nearby portrait, jabbing his finger. "Thief! I've finally caught you at it! Return the Gryffindor sword to the Headmaster's office this instant — it is Hogwarts property! You unfilial grandson—"
Sirius ignored him.
He picked up the dark green velvet cloth from the floor — thoroughly moth-eaten — and wrapped it around the sword, concealing the blade. He slung it over his shoulder.
Amid Walburga's rising theatrical sobs and Phineas Nigellus's threats of "I shall report this to Dumbledore!", Sirius walked through the dark entrance hall, squared his shoulders, and pulled the heavy, scarred front door shut behind him.
No time for anger. No time for hesitation. No time to dwell on anything.
He stepped down from the porch, set his jaw, and Disapparated.
He landed at the entrance to the graveyard near Little Hangleton Church.
He needed to find Harry.
Sirius peered through the rusted iron gate. Pitch black. He couldn't make out a thing.
He gritted his teeth, gripped his wand, pushed the creaking iron gate open, and stepped inside.
He was immediately blinded. The graveyard was alive with torchlight.
He stepped back, blinked, and found the darkness again — the torches, he realised, were hidden from Muggle eyes by a very sophisticated combination of Muggle-Repelling Charms and concealment spells. Anyone Muggle who happened past would find themselves suddenly remembering something urgent elsewhere.
His eyes adjusted. He picked his way between the tombstones until he could see several members of the Order gathered near the centre of the graveyard.
He strode over.
Arthur and Charlie Weasley were crouched in front of a tombstone, speaking quietly. Between them, flat on the ground, was the real Ludo Bagman — or rather, the body that Bagman had been sharing for some time — unconscious.
They heard Sirius's footsteps, looked up alertly, and nodded to him in greeting.
Sirius crouched and looked at the gaunt, skeletal figure that barely resembled the robust man he remembered. "What's the situation?" he asked Arthur.
"Largely under control, I think. You missed the main event, I'm afraid," Arthur said, patting Sirius's shoulder with quiet regret. "But it's about to get interesting. And — Dumbledore's just arrived. Over there."
Sirius followed his nod. Not far away, Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones stood with their backs to him, holding their wands, surrounding something. Their postures were alert — ready.
"Sirius. You've come." Dumbledore's voice reached him.
Both women turned, smiled quickly in greeting, and moved aside to let Sirius through.
Dumbledore was sitting on a large rock, examining something in his hand.
"I've put a small enchantment on this graveyard," he said pleasantly. "I hope the approach didn't alarm you."
"Not at all," Sirius said, with a passing flash of genuine admiration.
Dumbledore, alone, without a pre-constructed magical array, had cast an area-effect enchantment that would have taken most wizards considerable preparation. The breadth of it was astonishing, if you stopped to think about it.
Then Sirius noticed Remus Lupin standing alone beside Dumbledore, with a significant absence beside him.
Sirius stepped forward, his eyes moving quickly around the clearing. "Remus — where's Harry?"
"Harry isn't here," Remus said, with visible discomfort. "I didn't get to him in time. He was simply gone."
He saw the expression beginning to form on Sirius's face and spoke quickly. "It happened very fast. I think he had already understood something was wrong, and went with Cedric Diggory — and I think Tonks was with them, she vanished at the same moment."
"Then they should have Apparated to Grimmauld Place as planned!" Sirius said, his voice heating. "But there was nothing there — no one showed up. I came directly from there."
"They didn't go there?" Remus asked, genuinely startled. "Neither Harry nor—"
"No one!" Sirius said sharply. "Remus, what happened? I asked you to protect him. Now he's missing—"
"I'm sorry, Sirius," Remus said quietly.
"If you're sorry, then go and find him — don't just stand here."
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, with the same measured calm he might use in any corridor at Hogwarts. "I asked Remus to stay."
"How am I supposed to stay calm?" Sirius said. "Their situation is completely unknown—"
"Kingsley and the others are searching the graveyard for any trace of Harry, Cedric, and Tonks, and for any other accomplices who may have been waiting," Dumbledore said gently. "Cedric is a Hogwarts champion certified by the Goblet of Fire — an excellent young wizard who will look after himself and help Harry where he can. And Harry has survived a great deal. We must have some faith in them."
His blue eyes met Sirius's.
Harry had vanished without a trace, and here sat Dumbledore — composed, unhurried, looking for all the world as if this were a planned development rather than a disaster.
"I'm going to find them," Sirius said, his expression setting. He turned. "Remus — you're coming with me."
"Sirius, wait. There is something rather more important at this moment—" A gleam of something — not quite excitement, but close — passed briefly through Dumbledore's eyes.
"More important than Harry's safety?" Sirius said, the edge of sarcasm very close. "What if they've been Portkeyed somewhere else? What if they're taken again? Have you considered that Voldemort could—"
"I'm quite certain Voldemort will not be taking Harry tonight," Dumbledore said, calmly but firmly. He beckoned Sirius a few steps closer. "You should see this."
Only then did Sirius notice the bundle on the ground.
It contained something bloody, naked, and grotesque — something that resembled an infant but had nothing of an infant's ordinary qualities. It lay limp and staring.
Sirius looked at it. A hint of revulsion crossed his face.
"What is this, Dumbledore?" he asked.
The thing opened its eyes. They glowed red. It fixed Sirius with a look of concentrated malice.
He realised it had a face — flat as a serpent's.
"Voldemort," Dumbledore said, quietly, turning a bone-white wand between his fingers. "This is Voldemort. I can assure you he won't be taking Harry tonight, because we already have him."
Sirius stared at the thing on the ground for a long moment.
"Disgusting," he said, at last. "Absolutely revolting."
"I curse you all to die!" the rotting flesh said, in a shrill voice like nails on glass.
"He's said something of the sort to everyone he's seen since we caught him — that's roughly seven or eight people now," Hestia said, lowering her wand threateningly at the bundle and smiling at Sirius. "You mustn't take it personally."
"I wouldn't be entirely relaxed about it," Dumbledore said dryly. "One of his curses is responsible for Hogwarts losing forty-some Defence Against the Dark Arts professors over the years. That number continues to grow." He examined the pitiful creature before him with careful eyes. "In his current state of weakness, however, I doubt he could sustain anything so long-lasting."
The rotting flesh gave a contemptuous sneer.
"Now then, Tom." Dumbledore addressed Voldemort by name without any particular ceremony. "Stop throwing a tantrum. Let's have a conversation — as equals."
The thing made a sound of heavy, disdainful breathing.
"The last time I saw you, you were a soul fragment sharing Quirrell's body. Tell me — how did you manage to acquire a new one?" Dumbledore asked, with genuine interest.
"Unicorn blood. Nagini's venom." Its weak voice held a thread of pride. "A particular method I developed."
Sirius noted privately that Nagini must be the great serpent. The one Harry was so afraid of. The one Draco had been so keen for him to kill.
He glanced around. No sign of the snake anywhere.
"Impressive. Though, by the look of things, the method hasn't served you especially well," Dumbledore said. "This body is too fragile. I wonder if your followers would recognise you in this state."
The infant glared at him with concentrated venom. "A loyal servant doesn't judge by appearances—"
"There do appear to be some loyal servants left — which is rather more than one might have expected," Dumbledore said calmly. "Peter Pettigrew, for instance. He made extraordinary efforts on your behalf — breaking free from Azkaban at great personal risk, returning to Hogwarts again and again, all to steal a wand and lift your Petrification Curse."
The infant laughed — a short, cold sound.
"I had thought you might show some grief for his death," Dumbledore said. "How many followers in the world would do what he did for you?"
"That idiot," the infant said, its voice sharp with contempt. "He couldn't even find me a proper wand. Some tangled twig — useless. He had served his purpose. His death was his own fault."
Dumbledore's eyes flickered.
"Then let us discuss another believer," Dumbledore said. "Walton McNeil. Rather more capable, wouldn't you say? He gave up his carefully rebuilt peaceful life and risked everything to impersonate Bagman." Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "Unfortunately, we caught him rather quickly."
"That's right," Sirius said, with cold precision. "He explained everything — how his former master arrived at his door via Bagman one day, how he was told to take Bagman's place on the day of the final, how to conceal the Goblet of Fire in the maze and plant a false Portkey in its place. He also described his instructions to watch Alastor Moody's progress and finish anything Moody hadn't managed, to eliminate the other champions' chances and clear a path for Harry to reach the Goblet—"
"He ruined everything!" the thing shrieked, its narrow nostrils flaring. "I should have left him to rot!"
"I wonder, Tom," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "how you first came to make use of Bagman." He paused, then said, in a tone of sudden understanding, "Barty Crouch's house. You used Bagman to escape."
"He was both greedy and foolish," the thing said, more slowly now, its tone taking on an unpleasant, reminiscent quality. "Quirrell's body was failing. Getting worse every day. And then this man came to the door alone, looking for Barty Crouch — and he brought with him a pair of covetous eyes, and the body of a strong wizard." It made a sound that might have been a laugh. "He rang the bell looking for Crouch and found us instead. With a few well-placed inducements and the Imperius Curse, he was quite manageable."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "Substantial promises of wealth, backed by the Imperius Curse, were sufficient."
"Not very resolute," the thing said, in a tone of mild contempt. "Easily swayed by the prospect of money. Quite simple, in the end."
"And your loyal servant Quirrell died with his eyes open," Dumbledore said gently. "That must have been rather inconvenient."
"He held on long enough. He completed his purpose," it said, without any inflection.
"Now that you had Bagman's healthy body to inhabit, why go to the trouble of creating a new one?" Dumbledore asked.
"He works at the Ministry of Magic," the thing said, with a slight, unpleasant smile. "Far too conspicuous. Too many flies hovering. Staying in him would have drawn attention eventually—"
"Bertha Jorkins," Sirius said quietly to Dumbledore. "She must have noticed something unusual about Bagman."
"You killed her," Dumbledore said, a coldness entering his eyes.
The members of the Order within earshot let out a collective sound of horrified disbelief.
The infant snorted. "A meddlesome woman. Her nose was too long."
"I expect you extracted a great deal of information from her before the end," Dumbledore said.
"Make the best use of everything," it said coldly, clearly disinclined to elaborate.
Dumbledore, however, was not prepared to let it go.
"For instance — through her, you learned the recent details of Barty Crouch Sr.'s situation, and sent him a deadly Devil's Web disguised as a Christmas cactus?"
"Elegant, wasn't it?" it said, with a flicker of satisfaction. "I didn't even need to do it myself."
"You were afraid he might reveal something," Dumbledore said. "You had cast a number of Imperius Curses on him over the years."
The infant's face twisted, and it was silent.
Dumbledore sighed. "Why the unnecessary killing? He was wholly insane. The Ministry had gotten nothing coherent from him. Since Bertha Jorkins had already told you everything, why not simply leave him to his gardening?"
The thing said nothing.
"Let's be plain with each other, Tom. We know Barty Crouch Jr. is still alive, and that he was working for you — impersonating Moody. He told me you murdered your Muggle father — the man buried beneath this tombstone." Dumbledore nodded toward the shadowed grave nearby. "I am sorry for it."
"So he has been found out," the infant said, in a hoarse voice. It did not seem particularly surprised. "Legilimency or Veritaserum?"
"Neither," Dumbledore said calmly. "He told me himself. You know — he is an exceptionally talented wizard. Such measures would have had limited effect on him regardless."
"I know him," it hissed slowly. "Loyal. Capable. He would not betray me easily—"
Sirius detected, beneath the forced certainty of its tone, the faintest thread of doubt.
"Tom, people change," Dumbledore said. "Loyalty changes. Even faith changes. And so do you." He looked at the unrecognisable, ruined form before him and said, slowly and with something that was not quite sadness, "From the first time I saw you in the orphanage to this moment — look at what you have become. Don't you feel even a trace of remorse?"
"Remorse?" it said, as if the word were foreign.
"You have killed so many people. Even your own father," Dumbledore said. "Tom — does your soul feel no pain?"
"He was more useful dead than alive," the infant said, and laughed — a short, vicious sound, the red light in its eyes intensifying. "And you, Dumbledore — you know nothing. Don't play at knowing me. You will never understand what I am capable of."
"You aspired to greatness," Dumbledore said, with quiet finality, "and you have come to this."
Sirius reflected that Dumbledore, if he chose, could give Snape a serious education in the art of the precise, devastating remark. He knew exactly how to place a sentence where it would do the most damage.
The infant was trembling. Not with rage alone. There was something else in its expression.
Yes — it was afraid.
It understood its position now. No wand. No Death Eaters. No ability to act. Like a creature at the mercy of those surrounding it.
It could do nothing but lie helplessly in a bundle of old cloth and argue with the greatest wizard alive — and lose.
Its eyes widened. Sirius could see the narrow pupils in the red irises.
"You don't intend to kill me, Dumbledore?" it spat. "Killing an infant? Surely you wouldn't sink to such cruelty?"
Sirius glanced at it with contempt. It speaks of cruelty. It, which had shown none — not to the baby in Godric's Hollow, not to Bertha Jorkins, not to Quirrell, not to anyone.
"We both know there are other ways to deal with a man, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly. "I confess that simply ending your life would not satisfy me—"
"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!" it hissed.
"You are wrong. Your greatest failing has always been your inability to understand this: there are things far worse than death, and things far greater than it," Dumbledore said.
The thing sneered — without comprehension.
Dumbledore looked at it, ignoring the sneer, and asked, "Tell me, Tom — what happened at Godric's Hollow that night? What were you intending to do when you went to Harry?"
"His mother died for him, leaving a protection on him." It said this stiffly, as if each word cost something. "Ancient magic. Something I should have recognised and didn't. The Killing Curse rebounded—"
It seemed, for an instant, to be somewhere else entirely. Its voice dropped to something almost inward. "The pain of it... being stripped of a body... worse than the lowest wandering soul..."
It breathed in with a dry, hollow sound. "But I did not die. I have gone further than any other on this path. I have conquered death."
"Is that so," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.
"How much I suffered to rebuild even this much, starting over from nothing," it continued. Its tone shifted — weakened, almost pleading. "Have some compassion, Dumbledore. You would not stoop to killing an infant. Let me go. Stop pursuing me."
The request disgusted Sirius profoundly. It sounded nothing like a Dark Lord — it sounded like an innocent victim of persecution.
"I'm relentlessly pursuing you?" Dumbledore said mildly. "Then tonight's events at this graveyard — the Portkey in the maze, the scheme to bring Harry here — that was not your doing?"
The thing did not answer.
"The two waves of Death Eaters — Barty Crouch Jr. and then Walton McNeil — both sent by you, yes? The second because you suspected Crouch had been compromised." Dumbledore studied it. "If that's the case, the sensible move was to abandon the plan entirely. Why go ahead? Why risk a graveyard where you knew you might find a trap?"
"Fear? I have nothing to fear," it said, evading the question. "Would the self-proclaimed noble Dumbledore murder a defenceless infant? You wouldn't dare."
Sirius noticed something peculiar in its expression. A shift.
It went silent. The graveyard was very quiet. The yew leaves rustled.
Dumbledore was also silent.
He stared at the thing on the ground, and for the first time that evening, Sirius thought he saw something on Dumbledore's face that was not quite perfect composure. Hesitation. As if he wanted to ask something and was choosing not to — afraid the question would reveal more than he was willing to reveal.
Sirius could guess what it was.
He wanted to ask about the Horcruxes. But asking directly risked alerting Voldemort to the fact that Dumbledore knew about them — or, worse, revealing how many had already been found and destroyed.
Horcruxes were Voldemort's most secret weapon. And they were Dumbledore's most carefully guarded advantage.
The conversation had reached an impasse. Neither side was willing to show their hand.
"Dumbledore!" Arthur Weasley came running from across the graveyard. "You have to look at Bagman — something's happening to him—"
Sirius heard it then — Ludo Bagman's breathing. A laboured, rasping sound.
"Sirius, Remus — watch him," Dumbledore said, his expression changing. He stood and moved quickly toward Bagman.
Hestia and the others went with him.
Sirius stayed where he was, his eyes on the thing in the bundle.
He wanted very much to kill it. He had wanted to kill it for years, for what it had done to James, to Lily, to everything.
But he couldn't. They had caught it at last, and they still had questions they hadn't answered. How many Horcruxes. What form they took. Where they were.
If this body were destroyed, Voldemort's remaining soul might escape once more into some dark corner of the world and begin the whole thing over again, even harder to detect.
He stared at it with fierce, helpless loathing.
Then, slowly, something strange caught his eye.
In the shifting torchlight, its face seemed — different. Slightly different from a moment ago. The ruined, exposed-looking skin appeared to be... healing. Smoothing. The thing looked less wretched by degrees. More nearly like what it was trying to be — a baby.
From across the graveyard, Arthur's voice reached him: "We can't wake him — he started struggling violently, the skin on his neck went black, and he's barely breathing—"
Charlie said, "Dumbledore, I've Stunned a good many creatures in my time, mostly dragons, and what I can tell you is that this doesn't look like a normal Stunning Spell reaction—"
"Something is wrong," Dumbledore said, in a voice that had gone very flat and controlled. "Take off his shirt — let me see."
A spell. A sharp collective intake of breath.
Arthur's voice, unsteady: "His — his entire left arm has gone black—"
"This arm is beyond saving," Dumbledore said on the other end of the graveyard, his voice cold and precise. "A very old and very vicious piece of Dark magic. I can only contain it to this area."
A flash of something — satisfaction — crossed the baby's face.
It looked up at the dark sky and smiled. Its expression was ugly and exultant.
And its hands, its feet — they were plumper. The thin, damaged limbs were starting to fill out.
"Sirius?" Remus moved quietly closer, gripping his wand, his voice low. "Is it — changing? Is it growing?"
"That's impossible—" Sirius pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and looked again, hard. "Why would it grow this quickly? What could—"
Something surfaced in his memory. Harry had described it once — the diary. The Horcrux that had been draining Ginny Weasley's life, trying to use her strength to make itself real again.
"What's on its hand?" Emmeline Vance asked from across the graveyard, in a puzzled voice.
"A ring," Dumbledore said, very quietly. "With a black stone."
The ring.
Sirius looked at the increasingly animated creature in front of him, something cold and sharp moving through him — tension, alarm, and a sudden certainty.
The Horcrux. That ring was a Horcrux. And it was feeding the thing in front of him.
"Dumbledore!" He didn't think — he unstrapped the sword from his back, wrenched the moth-eaten cloth free, and hurled the blade across the graveyard. "Catch the sword! The ring is wrong — it's making him stronger! Cut the ring off!"
Charlie Weasley watched Albus Dumbledore, without turning his head, catch one end of the long wrapped object with precise, unhurried hands — moving nothing like an old man.
He unwrapped the dark green cloth and held the gleaming blade in the firelight.
The Sword of Gryffindor. The ruby in its hilt blazed.
Any Gryffindor would have known it immediately.
A sword that only someone truly brave could wield.
Charlie saw Dumbledore's hand tighten on the hilt. He looked at the black stone in the ring. A brief expression moved across his face — something that might have been struggle.
And then Sirius Black's voice, from the far end of the graveyard:
"What are you waiting for, Albus Dumbledore? Cut it now!"
The words struck through the hesitation like a thunderbolt.
Dumbledore raised the sword and drove the point into the ring.
At once, a malevolent black energy poured from it, and the graveyard filled with a cacophony of sounds — terrible, layered, overlapping — that Charlie later struggled to describe to anyone. The baby Voldemort's piercing scream. Bagman's agonised cry from his unconscious state. And from the ring itself, a relentless, high, ear-splitting shriek that seemed to come from somewhere beyond ordinary sound entirely.
Dumbledore had cast a silencing shield over the area, Charlie realised with dim relief.
Without it, every Muggle in Little Hangleton would have been awake and staring at the sky.