"Be careful—"
The base of the stairs rose rapidly, then sealed shut with a heavy thud.
"—Sirius." Draco finished his sentence to the motionless stone guardian.
Only the dripping stone beast had heard him. It lazily yawned at the worried-looking boy, then lowered its head and went back to sleep.
Draco stood there and sighed heavily.
The worst had come to pass. Harry and Cedric were missing, their fates unknown, while Dumbledore and Sirius had gone off one after another to that dreadful graveyard to face the Dark Lord.
He clicked his tongue, turned around, and walked wearily toward the stairs.
Sparse moonlight streamed through the towering corridor windows and pooled in pale patches on the empty floor.
Alone in the corridor, he hesitated, wandered, drifted — a sense of powerlessness and melancholy rising steadily in his chest.
This damned fate — is it truly unchangeable? Unconquerable? he thought painfully.
They had worked so hard, made so many preparations, yet fate had still delivered Harry to the Dark Lord.
Was the Dark Lord destined to rise again tonight? He was filled with dread, with no one to confide in. The terrifying memories of someone who had lived before were meant to be buried alone, deep in the heart.
At this moment, who could bring him even a scrap of good news?
Any message will do, Draco thought bleakly. As long as it isn't worse than what we already know.
"Draco!" Hermione's voice rang out from down the corridor.
He looked up and saw her running toward him, breathless, calling out, "You were walking too fast! I've nearly got a stitch in my side!"
He instinctively smoothed the anguish from his face, not wanting to frighten her.
He took two quick steps forward, and she ran straight into his arms — hair dishevelled from the wind, carrying the crisp scent of the night air.
"Sorry, Hermione. I couldn't slow down," Draco said quietly, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her familiar, steadying scent.
Hermione nestled against him, still catching her breath. "It's all right, I could tell. But listen — I've found something very, very important, and I had to tell you straightaway—"
"What is it?" Draco asked, his voice flat with exhaustion.
Is there more bad news?
"The Marauder's Map — look at the Marauder's Map!" She wriggled free of his arms and unfolded the parchment for him to see, her voice a tangle of panic, confusion, and disbelief. "I was checking it to find where you'd gone, and then — good heavens — I saw them—"
She pointed to a spot on the map. "Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. In Hogsmeade!"
Draco went very still.
He snatched the Marauder's Map and stared.
There they were. Harry Potter. Cedric Diggory. Their names hovered at the entrance to the Three Broomsticks, almost too ordinary to be real.
Merlin — had the good news he'd been praying for actually arrived?
"How did they end up in Hogsmeade?" he asked, bewildered.
"I haven't the faintest idea!" Hermione exclaimed. "Where's Sirius? We have to tell him at once!"
"He left for the graveyard about half a minute ago," Draco said, his expression shifting.
Hermione's mouth fell open, her flushed face contorting in exasperation.
"Oh, this is an absolute mess," she said.
"Wait — why aren't their names moving?" Draco frowned, studying the map. "And there's someone else with them — Nymphadora Tonks?" He looked up, puzzled. "What on earth is going on?"
---
For Harry Potter, the current situation was that he was about to be sick.
It seemed like only a second ago — or perhaps a lifetime — that he had been lost in the blinding collision of red and green light, his head on the verge of bursting. Then, in a hallucination laced with pain and darkness, his body had hit the ground. The wand slipped from his fingers. He covered his face with his hands and everything went black.
He had lain sprawled on the ground, dimly aware of someone speaking to him, a hand gently patting his shoulder.
But the pain was overwhelming. He could neither hear nor see properly.
Only when the searing explosion in his forehead finally began to ebb did his senses slowly return.
"Harry, Harry." Cedric's pale, worried face swam into view. "Can you hear me? Are you all right?"
"Oh, it's always like this the first time someone experiences Side-Along Apparition — I've even seen people leave their bodies!" a bright, boisterous female voice chimed in from nearby. "At least he came through in one piece, didn't he?"
"What happened?" Harry asked hoarsely, his lips trembling as he groped for his wand on the ground. "Where are we?"
"Hogsmeade Village." Cedric picked up the wand and pressed it into his hand. "I used Apparition to get us out of the graveyard."
Harry slowly understood, then, that he had just endured his first experience of Side-Along Apparition. He sat up, face ashen, and found himself staring at the enormous sign of the Three Broomsticks pub.
The colourful, flashing icons swam before his eyes.
Cedric placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and looked him over carefully, grey eyes full of concern. "Harry, are you still feeling unwell? Did I do something wrong?"
"I don't think it's anything you did," Harry said breathlessly. "My scar — it just hurts so much—"
"Cedric, you did brilliantly!" the witch beside them said with relish. "You managed to bring two passengers along in the same Apparition! That's a remarkable gift — very few wizards can pull off something like that at seventeen, and even the Ministry's finest Aurors wouldn't guarantee it."
"Who are you?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead, squinting up at her.
"Just call me Tonks." The witch extended her hand, gave his a firm shake, and hauled him to his feet.
"Thank you, Tonks." Harry swayed, found his footing, and said blankly, "I don't quite understand what happened—"
"When I Disapparated from the graveyard, I accidentally brought her along," Cedric explained, also rising to his feet. He gave Tonks an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry — it all happened so suddenly, I wasn't thinking straight."
"Don't be sorry." Tonks waved a hand breezily. "I'd just landed next to you, intending to get you out of there myself. Who knew you'd beat me to it? I can only call it extraordinarily bad timing on my part."
"I'm still not quite following—" Harry said quietly.
"You know Sirius Black, don't you? He knows about tonight's operation," Tonks said warmly.
"He's my godfather." Harry felt something in his chest loosen, and his voice steadied.
"And you know Remus Lupin?" Tonks added cheerfully. "He's my partner."
"Yes — I know him," Harry said, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
He hadn't heard from Professor Lupin in a long time, not since he'd resigned from Hogwarts.
"Wait — Professor Lupin is your partner?" Harry asked. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"He was supposed to be the one to bring you out, Harry. I expect he couldn't get to you in time." Tonks gave a self-satisfied shrug. "Looks like I wasn't entirely useless tonight after all."
"You said 'supposed to bring him out,'" Cedric said carefully, his tone sharpening. "Does that mean you knew what was going to happen tonight? Were you lying in wait at the graveyard?"
"We'd been there since evening. We had contingency plans in place, but I honestly didn't expect you two to actually show up. Quite a surprise, that," Tonks said.
"What exactly happened in that graveyard?" Harry asked, pressing two fingers to his scar in frustration.
The pain was still pulsing, and his thoughts felt thick and slow.
"That hooded figure — I think he was about to attack us," Cedric said slowly, his voice guarded. "I saw him raise his wand. I heard someone say 'get rid of the nuisance,' and then a group of people started casting Stunning Spells — that was your lot, wasn't it, Tonks?"
"That's right." Tonks nodded readily. "We were dealing with the hooded figure."
"Who was he?" Cedric asked.
"No idea," Tonks said pleasantly. "My job was to get you out."
Cedric exhaled, the lingering fear still visible in his face. "At the time, I didn't know whether you were friend or foe. Given that spells were coming from every direction, I decided leaving was the safest option."
"I think you judged it correctly," Tonks said.
As Cedric recounted the scene, Harry's memory began piecing itself back together.
He drew a slow breath and let it all return.
Not long ago, they had been stranded in the cold, desolate graveyard, shrouded in darkness, wondering how to escape. Then the shouting had started, and spells had flashed through the air, and the hooded figure had turned toward them.
The pain in his scar had been unbearable. He remembered Cedric telling him to grip his arm, and he had — tightly, desperately. Then the world had gone black, darker than the graveyard had ever been, and the crushing pressure of Apparition had closed around him like an iron vice, squeezing the air from his lungs and the sight from his eyes. He had felt Cedric's arm start to slip and had seized it with everything he had.
And then their feet had found solid ground, and they were in Hogsmeade.
Harry let out a long breath and turned to face Cedric.
"Thank you," he said simply. "You saved my life."
"You saved mine in the maze. We've helped each other all along — we got in together, so it was only right we came back together," Cedric said softly. Then, after a pause: "Though I should thank someone else as well. Without his advice, I doubt I'd have thought of it."
Draco Malfoy. That arrogant, imperious Slytherin, who had offered — in the most insufferable way imaginable — the single piece of advice that had saved both their lives. Apparition.
The memory of Malfoy's sardonic voice was still fresh: "Who knows what traps might be hidden in the maze, or whether it might take you somewhere beyond Hogwarts? Deserts, oceans, swamps, cemeteries—"
Cemetery.
Cedric's gaze flickered, and something shifted in his chest.
He still wasn't certain whether Malfoy had meant it as a warning or a taunt. But there was no question that one arrogant, cutting remark from a Slytherin boy had saved both their lives.
"Listen," Tonks said, glancing at the warm glow spilling from the pub windows, "perhaps we should find somewhere to stand other than outside a bar? I can Side-Along Apparate you both to number twelve Grimmauld Place—"
"No — we have to go back to Hogwarts. Back to the arena," Cedric said, thinking it through. "No one there knows what's happened. They're still waiting."
"You're right." Harry's face went pale as the image of his godfather rushed back to him — Sirius, waiting outside the arena, not knowing. "We have to go back."
"I don't think I can Apparate to the castle gates again," Cedric said, his voice tired. "That was a long distance with two passengers — it's drained me." He glanced at Harry. "Can you manage on foot? It's an hour's walk."
"I can Side-Along you both, one at a time," Tonks offered cheerfully.
"No. Thank you," Cedric said gently, stepping slightly in front of Harry. "But I think neither of us is quite ready to experience another Apparition right now. Are we, Harry?"
Harry caught the faint tension in Cedric's voice and understood at once.
"No," he agreed firmly. "I really can't."
"Besides, I'd rather we not split up," Cedric said, gripping his wand. "We'll think of something."
Tonks studied them both — equal parts admiring and exasperated at their wariness.
"Would you like a suggestion?" she asked.
"You all ride broomsticks, don't you?"
"Of course," Harry said, with a small flicker of his usual pride. "We're both House Seekers."
Tonks looked at them with amusement and said lightly, "In that case, why not borrow a few brooms from Madam Rosmerta?"
She watched them both stare at her blankly.
"What — you didn't know?" She pointed at the Three Broomsticks sign — the brooms worked into the lettering — and grinned. "There's a reason it's called the Three Broomsticks. They've got a dedicated broom cupboard."
---
On a bench in the third-floor corridor, Draco and Hermione stared at the Marauder's Map in astonishment.
The names of Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, and Nymphadora Tonks were moving — fast and in a manner that made no immediate sense.
They were closing the distance to Hogwarts at remarkable speed.
"So many strange things have happened tonight," Hermione said, a smile spreading across her face. "They must be all right. They're moving under their own power — which means they're alive. And they're flying straight toward the castle."
"Strange things have been happening all evening," Draco agreed lazily. "So much so that the name 'Nymphadora' doesn't even make the top ten."
"Draco, don't mock people's names!" Hermione said, giving him a sharp look.
"I'm perfectly serious. Parents should exercise greater care in these matters," Draco said, with a look of bland innocence. "If you think about it, would you really want to name—"
He stopped himself. His cheeks, inexplicably, had grown rather warm.
He cleared his throat and changed tack. "Anyway. It's good that Harry and the others are safe."
"It really is!" Hermione glanced at the map again, pleased to see the names inching ever closer to the castle. Knowing Harry was all right at last, the tension that had wound her tight all night finally released completely.
She didn't register what Draco had nearly said. She simply flung her arms around his neck in a joyful hug. "Oh, this is wonderful! I was so worried — I can't work out how they covered that distance in just a few minutes!"
"They must have got hold of some broomsticks somewhere. Borrowed, I'd imagine," Draco said, thinking of the dimly lit broom cupboard in the Three Broomsticks.
"That makes sense." She smiled, then pressed her cheek to his — and paused. "Huh? Why is your face so warm?"
"I was walking fast, trying to catch up to Sirius," Draco said.
He looked into her bright, curious eyes and found his thoughts drifting back to the question of names.
"What do you think about naming someone after a star?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.
"I think it's lovely," she said, equally offhand. "We talked about it in Astronomy once. I've always thought your name was quite nice, actually."
"Good," he said, with a quiet, private sort of satisfaction.
"Why are you suddenly asking about that?" Hermione tilted her head, studying him. "You've been odd all evening."
Draco simply looked at her — his expression a rare, unguarded mixture of seriousness and something almost shy.
Was he so giddy with relief that Harry was safe that he'd lost his mind? Hermione wondered.
She glanced at the map again. "They're almost here! Come on, let's go meet them." She shifted, ready to slide off the bench.
"Feeling better?" Draco asked, stopping his gentle ministrations and searching her face.
"Completely cured!" She kissed his cheek, hopped down, and set off happily toward the stairs.
Draco watched her go, and felt the last of his weariness dissolve.
She turned around at the corridor's bend, one hand stretched back toward him, her eyes bright in the torchlight. "Hurry up, Draco — come on!"
He smiled, strode forward, and took her hand.
---
The audience in the stands was growing dangerously restless.
The entire arena now resembled a beehive into which someone had thrown a stone. Though the crowd had no clear picture of what had gone wrong, they could feel that something had — and the feeling had spread through the stands like Fiendfyre. Whispers had swelled into murmurs, murmurs into shouts.
"What's happened?" "Where's Dumbledore?" "Where's Harry?" "Where's Diggory?" "What's going on in the maze?" "Someone said the champions have disappeared!" "Don't panic, Cho, it's just a rumour—" "It's not a rumour, I heard it at the judges' table! The champions' families are demanding the match be stopped!" "They dragged someone out of the maze—" "What?!"
Cornelius Fudge had barely settled into the judges' box before an aide leaned down and whispered, "Minister — shall we suspend the match?"
"Be quiet!" Fudge snapped.
He was still reeling from the shock of Dumbledore's abrupt disappearance. He couldn't understand the man's logic, couldn't understand how anyone could so blatantly disregard him — the Minister for Magic.
Even Dumbledore didn't have the right to vanish into thin air in front of everyone without so much as a word.
It was inexcusable.
"Cornelius — even without Dumbledore present, this cannot continue. We must announce a suspension immediately." Professor McGonagall's voice was granite. "Three of the five judges have already voted in favour. It's settled. Please, as Minister for Magic, inform the crowd."
"Three?" Fudge looked at her taut face and felt a sneer rise unbidden. "I don't recall it being three. Which three, exactly?"
Minerva stepped forward. "Madame Maxime."
Madame Maxime gave a small, stiff nod.
"Headmaster Karkaroff."
Karkaroff glanced away and muttered, "Let it be done."
Viktor Krum had forfeited and been removed from the maze. Victory was no longer within Durmstrang's reach — and with Walton McNeil's arrest, the possibility of a Death Eater having been inside the maze was making Igor Karkaroff increasingly, viscerally uneasy.
"And Albus Dumbledore." Minerva took another step forward, her hawk-like gaze fixed on Fudge with cool, unwavering force. "Three judges have agreed to a suspension. One judge has been revealed as a Death Eater impostor and is considered to have forfeited his vote. Does anyone have a further objection?"
"As a sitting judge, I object to the suspension!" Fudge said hotly. "Minerva, I must point out — Dumbledore did not personally confirm his vote before he left. In his absence, it must be recorded as an abstention."
Minerva stared at him. A vein had appeared at her temple.
She had always thought the Minister possessed some small measure of dignity. She was revising that assessment rapidly.
"Very well. I respect your position, Minister." She stood rigid, immovable, and said in a voice like cold iron, "Even so, two votes to one is sufficient to pass the suspension."
"Dumbledore himself said it was pointless whether the Tournament was suspended or not," Fudge said, throwing up his hands. "Minerva, can you not simply let this go?"
"Before Dumbledore left, he charged me with guarding Hogwarts." Minerva's eyes blazed. "That means every student within it. Two of our champions are in danger. The crowd deserves the truth — that Death Eaters have been in that maze — and we must stop this competition immediately and launch a proper search."
"Enough!" Fudge's face had gone crimson. "First the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, now this — Death Eaters in the maze, calls to suspend the Triwizard Tournament—"
He was breathing hard, staring her down. "Minerva, do you have any idea what this means? For the wizarding world? For me? The owls alone — the Ministry will be deluged — it doesn't bear thinking about—"
"People deserve to know the truth," Minerva said flatly. "Delay won't change the facts. Mr Potter and Mr Diggory are no longer inside the maze. It's empty—"
"Dumbledore has gone to find them," Fudge said, with a desperate flicker of hope. "He'll bring them back, and when they return—"
"Are you suggesting we sit here and pretend nothing has happened while two young men are missing?" Minerva's voice cracked like a whip. "I had at least expected you to dispatch some Aurors to search for them!"
Fudge ground his teeth, opened his mouth, closed it again, and found nothing to say.
"Please, stop hesitating and make a decision!" Minerva pressed forward. "The crowd isn't foolish — they've already felt that something is wrong. Rumours have been racing through these stands for the past hour. They are all asking about the two missing champions, and they want to know the identity of the person who was dragged out of the maze."
She faced him with full force: "Tell me, what exactly are you hoping to conceal, and for how long?"
Fudge's bluster deflated. He blinked, and for a moment seemed to shrink inside his robes.
Then an Auror rushed over and murmured into his ear. Instantly, the dejection vanished. Fudge straightened, beaming, and instructed the Auror in rapid, emphatic undertones to bring someone over at once.
He turned back to Minerva with a victorious smile.
"The Ministry official replacing Ludo Bagman as judge has arrived." He waved toward a short, broad witch making her way purposefully up the aisle, and said with great self-satisfaction, "Judges, allow me to introduce Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic."
The witch stepped briskly onto the judges' platform. She glanced at Minerva with her large, slightly protuberant eyes — a cold, measuring look — then addressed Fudge in a high, girlish voice: "Minister. I have been fully briefed on the situation."
She surveyed the judges' box, a wide, unconvincing smile fixed to her face, and announced in a tone of exaggerated graciousness: "Judges, allow me, in my capacity as Ludo Bagman's acting replacement, to cast my vote — I do not agree to a suspension."
"Dolores — your timing is impeccable," Fudge said warmly, rubbing his hands together in a manner that irresistibly called to mind a very pleased blowfly.
Umbridge replied in a tone of honeyed enthusiasm: "In service of the Ministry's eternal glory and enduring stability, it falls to every one of us to answer the Minister's call without hesitation. I came the moment I received word."
A cold sensation moved through Minerva's chest.
Fudge's pleasant smile had returned in full. "So, if my arithmetic is correct," he said with relish, "the vote now stands at two-two. A tie. I suggest we set the matter aside for the time being — don't you agree?"
Madame Maxime said nothing, her face stony. Headmaster Karkaroff stroked his slick goatee and stared fixedly toward the maze entrance, lost in some private calculation.
Watching the two of them acquiesce in silence, Minerva felt the helplessness settle over her like a stone.
"Dolores, I'll want you with me," Fudge said brightly, turning to Umbridge with an air of great importance. "I'm going to see Walton McNeil. I'll need your counsel."
Umbridge smiled — the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Well then — if you'll excuse me for a moment." Fudge raised his top hat with a self-important flourish, offered the remaining judges a slight bow, and nodded absently to Minerva. Then he descended the steps, murmuring to Umbridge at his side, "Go in first. Find out everything. Then we'll decide."
Minerva watched them cut across the arena toward the small door beneath the stands — where McNeil was being held — and felt her jaw tighten. Alastor Moody stood in the doorway on his wooden leg, looking worn and watchful.
Fudge grows more outrageous with each passing hour. Minerva pressed down the surge of rage and forced herself to remain composed under the speculative gazes of Karkaroff and Madame Maxime.
She looked out at the churning crowd. They were restless, frightened, demanding answers. As deputy headmistress, she had a duty to keep the situation steady in Dumbledore's absence.
Please, Albus — find Harry and the others. Come back quickly. Minerva closed her eyes for one brief moment, then raised her wand to her throat and cast Sonorus.
"Please remain in your seats," her amplified voice rang through the arena. "Stay calm, and await further instructions—"
The stands fell silent.
Minerva knew, however, that it wasn't her words that had stopped them.
She followed the direction of a thousand staring eyes and pointing fingers — toward the main entrance of the arena.
Two small, dark figures had appeared in the gateway, dragging broomsticks in their hands. They walked steadily across the open ground and into the torchlight.
Their faces resolved slowly out of the shadows: two warriors from Hogwarts, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory.
They were pale as ghosts. They were streaked with dirt.
But they were unharmed. They were alive, and they were safe.
"Oh — thank Merlin—!" Minerva gasped — forgetting entirely that her Sonorus charm was still active — and the words rang, raw and heartfelt, around the entire arena.
For one suspended moment there was silence.
Then every person in the stands erupted.
The roar was deafening — a wall of sound, cheering and shouting and stamping, cascading down from the stands.
The Weasleys. The Diggorys. A tide of students in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff scarves, with Ravenclaws among them — figures spilling down the steps and rushing across the ground toward the two boys.
Minerva, who had been coiled tight as a watch-spring all night, finally released a long, shuddering breath.
With trembling hands, she raised her wand and sent a silver Patronus blazing up into the sky — to find the absent headmaster of Hogwarts, wherever he might be.
---
Far away, long before the tabby cat had any notion of the hundreds of miles it would have to travel to reach the village of Little Hangleton, the Sword of Gryffindor had already completed its task.
It clattered to the ground from the old man's trembling grip.
Dumbledore turned, his voice rough. "How is he?"
"Dead." Sirius Black dropped the bundle in front of the tombstone with a dull thud.
The face now exposed was withered — no longer resembling an infant at all, but something more like a dried walnut shell, shrivelled and ancient.
The members of the Order of the Phoenix, still recovering from that piercing, terrible scream, gathered around it pale-faced, wands raised, staring down at the lifeless mass.
Nearby, Ludo Bagman stirred — still unconscious, but his face was slowly regaining colour, his breathing growing heavier. His arm remained charred black. The finger that had worn the ring was gone.
Dumbledore crouched beside him. Using a handkerchief, he extracted the ring from the severed finger, then flicked his wand to regrow the blackened digit back into place. He straightened, holding the ring up to examine the dark stone set within it.
"The stone has cracked," he said quietly, after a long moment. "Whatever soul dwelled within it has gone."
"Just a crack?" Sirius murmured, leaning in. "That stone must be something extraordinary — even the Sword of Gryffindor, laced with Basilisk venom, couldn't destroy it outright."
He thought back to the Hufflepuff Cup, which had shattered beneath the same blade.
Could this plain, ugly ring outclass a legendary Founder's artefact?
He looked more closely at the stone and noticed the faint symbol carved into it.
The Peverell mark.
"A Slytherin heirloom — the black-stoned ring," Sirius murmured, with a low, dark chuckle. "We've found it, then."
"Yes. After all this time, finally…" Dumbledore said softly.
His expression held weariness far more than triumph.
The Horcrux they had been hunting had been here all along. But that meant —
What had confronted them tonight was a Horcrux — and the soul animating that mass of rotten flesh was the Horcrux's soul.
Where, then, was Voldemort's true soul?
Dumbledore and Sirius looked at each other, and saw the same question reflected back.
"All that talking — was it stalling? Buying time to drain Bagman's life force?" Sirius murmured.
"That, and perhaps something more." Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully at the cracked stone. "Perhaps it was buying time for something else. Covering for someone."
He tucked the ring away, brow furrowing deeply, and glanced at Sirius.
The Gryffindor warrior who had descended from the sky, sword on his back, was now carefully rewrapping the blade in its worn, dark green velvet cloth.
Dumbledore watched him with quiet approval.
"Thank you," he said. "It's entirely due to you bringing that sword tonight. A few minutes more, and Bagman might not have survived."
"Actually—" Sirius paused.
He thought of Draco Malfoy's pointed, timely reminder to bring the sword. Without it, tonight's encounter with the Horcrux could have ended very differently — Bagman's life force drained entirely, the evil homunculus bloated on stolen vitality and reborn into the flesh.
He turned it over in his mind, but kept his expression easy.
"Oh, I'd been planning to deal with the serpent," he said smoothly. "Where's it got to?"
"What serpent?" Remus, standing closest, turned at the mention of it.
"There's intelligence that Voldemort keeps a large snake close," Sirius said — and beneath his easy tone, his mind circled back, inevitably, to Harry. Where was he? It had been far too long.
"Long gone, most likely," Remus said. "When we Stunned Bagman, I heard something rustling toward the cemetery gate."
Dumbledore and Sirius exchanged a glance. The same quiet conjecture passed between them.
"I suspect that was part of the same strategy," Dumbledore said slowly. "The Horcrux was stalling — not merely to drain Bagman, but to give the snake time to slip away."
"You think Voldemort's true soul might have escaped with it?" Sirius asked, his voice low.
"It's not impossible."
Sirius's jaw tightened. He asked, with barely contained urgency, "Is Harry in danger? It's been too long — no one who went looking for him has sent word back."
"I've been wondering the same thing," Dumbledore said.
"If that snake is moving — if Harry crossed its path—" Sirius stopped himself. He couldn't finish the thought, but he couldn't stop thinking it either.
Arthur Weasley glanced over at the sound of Sirius's voice. He rolled up his sleeves and said quietly, "We'll start searching the perimeter for it now." Remus, Charlie, and several others nodded and began to fan out.
"The serpent should not be underestimated," Dumbledore said, his crescent-half-moon spectacles catching the moonlight, his eyes behind them sharp and cold. "Though I fear it is likely well beyond reach by now."
He had barely finished speaking when a streak of silver light fell from the sky like a shooting star and landed before him, resolving into a nimble tabby cat.
It spoke, in Minerva McGonagall's voice: "Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory have arrived safely at Hogwarts."
A sudden, startling burst of laughter broke the night air.
It was Sirius — who had not so much as smiled all evening — laughing fully and freely, his whole grim bearing dissolving at once.
"Harry and the others are already back?" He shook his head, still grinning. "How in Merlin's name did they manage that?"
"Tell Kingsley and the others — no more search for Harry," Dumbledore said to Arthur. "Turn your attention to finding the serpent." He looked around at the assembled Order members. "We must return to Hogwarts. There is a great deal to be sorted out there." He glanced at Sirius. "Bring Bagman and the bundle. Let's go."
The members acknowledged him and dispersed.
A moment later, Remus watched Dumbledore press his hand to a stone and murmur an activation word — then, with one hand on the weakened Bagman and his face once again composed, the old man vanished.
Beside him, Sirius — arms loaded with bundle, sword, and an irrepressible grin — touched the Portkey and disappeared.