Part Eleven: Truth and Consequences
In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey fussed over Harry and Cedric while half the staff crowded into the room. Harry told his story in fragments—the graveyard, Pettigrew, Voldemort's resurrection ritual, the Death Eaters, the protective barrier that had saved their lives.
"He used my blood," Harry said, his voice shaking. "He said it would let him touch me now, overcome my mother's protection."
Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "That is... troubling. But continue."
"He tortured us. Cruciatus Curse. Then he wanted to duel—to prove he could kill me in front of his Death Eaters." Harry touched the leather band on his wrist, now dormant but still warm. "That's when this activated. Professor Gupta's gift. It... it split space. Created these barriers that made the Killing Curses disappear."
"Bakudo 81: Danku," came Anant's voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned. Professor Gupta stood there, his face composed but his eyes blazing with controlled fury. Behind him was Professor Snape, looking equally grim.
"A dimensional severance technique," Anant continued, walking into the room. "One of my most advanced defensive Kido spells. I encoded it into protective bands for all four champions at the start of the tournament." He looked at Cedric. "Yours activated as well?"
"Yes, sir," Cedric said quietly. "When Pettigrew tried to kill me with the Killing Curse. Your shield blocked it, then healed me when Voldemort used Cruciatus. Professor... you saved our lives."
"That was the intent." Anant examined both boys with professional concern. "Any lingering pain? Magical disruption? The Bakudo draws on my own magical signature, channeled through the bands. There shouldn't be side effects, but I want to be certain."
"I'm fine," Harry said. "Better than fine, actually. When the magic was active, I felt... stronger. Clearer."
"The healing component includes temporary magical reinforcement. It will fade within a few hours." Anant turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, we need to discuss security. If Voldemort has returned—"
"He has," Dumbledore said heavily. "I believe Harry completely. The question is what we do now."
"We tell people!" Harry said urgently. "The Ministry, the papers, everyone needs to know—"
"They won't believe it," Severus Snape said coldly from his position by the wall. "Cornelius Fudge is a coward and a fool. Accepting Voldemort's return means acknowledging the Ministry failed to protect the wizarding world. He'll deny it, bury the evidence, and brand you a liar or attention-seeker."
"Severus is correct," Dumbledore said sadly. "We must prepare for disbelief, even hostility. But there are those who will stand with us—the Order of the Phoenix must be recalled."
A commotion outside the hospital wing drew their attention. Voices raised in argument, then the door burst open.
Professor Moody limped in, his magical eye swiveling wildly. "Potter! Thank Merlin you're alive! I heard what happened—the Dark Lord returned? You're certain?"
Something about Moody's eagerness seemed off. Harry saw Professor Gupta's eyes narrow, his stance shifting subtly to something more combat-ready.
"Professor Moody," Anant said carefully, "where were you during the third task? I don't recall seeing you in the stands."
"My office," Moody said quickly. "Monitoring the maze with detection spells, making sure the champions were safe—"
"Strange," Anant interrupted, his voice deadly quiet. "Because I passed your office twice during the task. The door was locked, the wards were up, and I distinctly heard someone inside drinking something. Repeatedly. Every hour on the hour, like clockwork."
Moody's face twisted. "What are you implying, Gupta?"
"I'm implying that someone who needs to drink Polyjuice Potion every hour to maintain their appearance might not be who they claim." Anant's wand appeared in his hand faster than thought. "FINITE INCANTATEM!"
Nothing happened. Moody was still Moody.
But Snape had moved as well, his wand pointed at a hip flask attached to Moody's belt. "ACCIO FLASK!"
The container flew to Snape's hand. He uncorked it, sniffed, and his face went pale. "Polyjuice Potion. Still warm."
"Alastor Moody" backed toward the door, his wand rising—but Dumbledore was faster.
"STUPEFY!"
The stunning spell hit Moody in the chest. He fell backward, unconscious.
And then something horrifying happened. Moody's face began to change. The scars faded, the magical eye popped out and rolled across the floor, the grizzled hair darkened and smoothed. Within seconds, a different man lay on the floor—younger, with straw-colored hair and cold features.
"Barty Crouch Jr.," Dumbledore said heavily. "I should have seen it."
"He was the one," Harry said, realization dawning. "He put my name in the Goblet. He's been helping me all year—not to protect me, but to get me to the graveyard!"
"Where's the real Moody?" McGonagall demanded.
Anant was already moving. "His magical signature was strongest in Moody's office. Albus, with me."
They ran. Students scattered as Dumbledore and Anant raced through the corridors, followed by Snape and McGonagall. In Moody's office, Anant pointed to a large magical trunk with seven locks.
"There. I sense life magic—weak, but present."
Dumbledore opened the locks with a complex series of spells. The seventh compartment revealed a deep shaft, and at the bottom, a figure lay unconscious—the real Alastor Moody, gaunt and starved but alive.
"MOBILICORPUS!" Anant levitated him gently from the trunk. "He's been imprisoned here for months. Malnourished, dehydrated, but he'll survive."
Back in the hospital wing, with the real Moody being treated and Barty Crouch Jr. bound with magical ropes, Dumbledore administered Veritaserum—a truth serum that compelled honest answers.
Under its influence, Crouch Jr. told everything. How his father had faked his death to hide him from Azkaban. How Voldemort and Pettigrew had freed him. How he'd captured the real Moody, kept him alive to harvest hair for Polyjuice Potion, and impersonated him for the entire school year.
"The Dark Lord's plan was perfect," Crouch Jr. said, his voice dreamy from the potion. "Enter Potter into the tournament. Guide him through the tasks. Ensure he reached the Cup, which I'd turned into a Portkey. Deliver him to the Dark Lord for the resurrection ritual."
"And Cedric?" Anant asked coldly. "What was he—an acceptable casualty?"
"The spare," Crouch Jr. said dismissively. "If both students touched the Cup simultaneously, both would be transported. The Dark Lord said to kill the spare—Diggory was worthless to the plan."
Cedric, listening from his hospital bed, looked ill.
"You sick bastard," Anant said quietly, his voice carrying more menace than any shout. "You played professor for a year, taught children, earned their trust—all to deliver a fourteen-year-old boy to be murdered."
Crouch Jr. smiled dreamily. "The Dark Lord praises loyal service. I would have been rewarded—"
"SILENCIO!" Anant cut him off, unwilling to hear more. He turned to Dumbledore. "I want him transferred to the Ministry immediately. Under maximum security. And I want Aurors—real Aurors—searching that graveyard Harry described for evidence."
"Agreed," Dumbledore said. "Though I suspect the Ministry will be... resistant."
Part Twelve: The Ministry's Denial
Dumbledore was right. When Cornelius Fudge arrived at Hogwarts, accompanied by Amelia Bones (Head of Magical Law Enforcement) and several Aurors, his reaction to Harry's story was immediate denial.
"Impossible!" Fudge declared, his face going purple. "You-Know-Who cannot have returned! The boy is clearly traumatized, confused—"
"The boy is telling the truth," Dumbledore said firmly. "As is Cedric Diggory, who witnessed the same events. Moreover, we have Barty Crouch Jr.—a convicted Death Eater—who confessed under Veritaserum to orchestrating Potter's kidnapping."
"Crouch Jr. is mad!" Fudge spluttered. "Been in Azkaban too long! His testimony means nothing!"
Amelia Bones, however, was listening carefully. "Minister, we should at least investigate—"
"There's nothing to investigate!" Fudge turned to Harry. "You listen here, boy. You've caused enough panic with your stories. The Daily Prophet will hear about this, and we'll see how the public responds to your attention-seeking—"
"Cornelius." The single word from Anant Gupta cut through Fudge's rant like a knife.
The Minister fell silent, suddenly aware that one of the most powerful wizards in Britain was staring at him with barely contained contempt.
"If you're quite finished insulting a fourteen-year-old torture victim," Anant continued with icy politeness, "perhaps you'd like to explain how a Death Eater managed to impersonate an Auror, infiltrate Hogwarts, and operate undetected for an entire year under the Ministry's supposedly vigilant watch?"
Fudge opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
"Or perhaps," Anant pressed, "you'd like to explain why you're so eager to dismiss credible witness testimony? Is it incompetence, Minister, or cowardice? Are you simply incapable of acknowledging the threat, or are you too afraid of Voldemort to act?"
"How dare you—"
"I dare because children's lives are at stake." Anant's voice remained calm, but magical pressure rolled off him in waves—subtle but unmistakable to everyone in the room. "You can deny it all you want, Cornelius. You can smear Harry Potter in the papers, you can ignore the evidence, you can pretend everything is fine. But Voldemort has returned. And when he moves against the wizarding world—when people start dying because you refused to prepare—their blood will be on your hands."
The silence was deafening.
Amelia Bones finally spoke. "Minister, regardless of our position on You-Know-Who, we must acknowledge that Barty Crouch Jr. was here, impersonating Moody. That alone demands investigation."
Fudge was sweating. "Yes. Yes, of course. The Crouch matter will be... investigated. But as for Potter's claims about You-Know-Who, I'm declaring them unsubstantiated until proven otherwise. The Daily Prophet will be informed that Crouch Jr. acted alone, possibly seeking revenge for his father's death."
"That's a lie," Harry said flatly.
"That's politics," Fudge retorted. "You're dismissed, Potter. The Ministry will handle this from here."
As Fudge and his entourage swept out, Dumbledore turned to Harry with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry. I had hoped for better from Cornelius, but fear makes fools of us all."
"What do we do now?" Harry asked.
"We prepare," Anant said firmly. "Fudge can deny reality all he wants, but we know the truth. Voldemort is back, he's building his forces, and eventually, he'll move against us. When he does, we'll be ready."
Part Thirteen: Priori Incantatem
In Dumbledore's office that evening, with Harry, Cedric, and the senior staff assembled, Dumbledore asked Harry to recount one more detail.
"You said something happened when you and Voldemort's curses connected? When you both cast at the same time?"
Harry frowned. "We didn't exactly... I mean, Cedric and I were both casting, and the Bakudo barrier was active, but then when the Portkey activated, there was this golden light, and I saw—" He swallowed hard. "I saw my parents. And Frank Bryce, the Muggle caretaker from my dream. They came out of Voldemort's wand like ghosts."
Dumbledore leaned forward intently. "What did they do?"
"They told me to hold on. They said they'd protect me. My mum..." Harry's voice cracked. "My mum told me to thank Professor Gupta for protecting me."
Anant, who had been standing by the window, turned sharply. "Lily said that?"
"Yes, sir. She said 'Tell Anant thank you from us. Thank you for protecting our son.'"
For a moment, Anant's carefully maintained composure cracked. His eyes glistened, and he looked away, clearly struggling with emotion.
"What you witnessed, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "is called Priori Incantatem. It's an extremely rare magical phenomenon that occurs when two wands that share the same magical core are forced to duel. Your wand and Voldemort's wand both contain phoenix feathers—from my phoenix, Fawkes, in fact. When similar powerful magics collide, the wands create a connection, and the defeated wand is forced to regurgitate echoes of the last spells it performed."
"So those weren't really my parents?" Harry asked, disappointed.
"They were echoes—magical imprints of James and Lily at the moment of their death. Not ghosts, not spirits, but something in between. Memories given temporary form by the connection between the wands." Dumbledore's expression was kind. "But Harry, those echoes contained their love, their personalities, their desire to protect you. In that sense, they were your parents, reaching across death to help their son one more time."
"But the Portkey interfered," Anant said, regaining his composure. "Combined with the Bakudo barrier's dimensional magic, it created a three-way magical interaction—Priori Incantatem, dimensional severance, and Portkey transportation all occurring simultaneously. That's what amplified the echo effect and allowed the spirits to manifest even after the wand connection broke."
"Could it happen again?" Cedric asked quietly.
"It's unlikely," Dumbledore said. "The circumstances were extraordinarily specific. But Harry, you should know—the connection between your wand and Voldemort's may cause unpredictable effects if you duel him again. Be cautious."
Severus Snape, who had been silent throughout, finally spoke. "The Dark Lord won't forget what happened tonight. He intended to kill Potter in front of his Death Eaters as a demonstration of power. Instead, he was thwarted by a protective charm and watched Potter escape. He'll see that as humiliation. He'll be obsessed with killing the boy now—far more than before."
"Which is precisely why Harry needs better training," Anant said firmly. "Albus, I want permission to give him private lessons next year. Combat magic, defensive techniques, situational awareness. If Voldemort is actively hunting him, Harry needs to be able to defend himself."
"You have my permission," Dumbledore agreed. "In fact, I insist upon it."
Harry felt a surge of gratitude and apprehension. Private lessons with Professor Gupta would be invaluable—but they also meant the danger was very real.
Part Fourteen: The Memorial Feast
The last day of term, Dumbledore called a special memorial ceremony in the Great Hall. Though Cedric had survived, Frank Bryce had died, and others would follow. It was time to acknowledge what had happened.
Dumbledore stood at the podium, his usually twinkling eyes grave and serious.
"Today marks the end of the Triwizard Tournament," he began. "We have our champion—or rather, champions, as Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory reached the Cup simultaneously, demonstrating that cooperation and friendship can transcend competition."
He paused as applause rippled through the hall.
"But the tournament's ending was marred by darkness. Harry and Cedric were transported against their will to a place where Lord Voldemort has returned to physical form."
Gasps and denials erupted. Students looked around in shock and fear. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students seemed particularly unsettled.
"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, his voice carrying steel now, "has chosen to deny this truth. They prefer comfortable lies to uncomfortable reality. But I will not lie to you. Voldemort has returned. He has Death Eaters at his command. And he intends to plunge our world back into the darkness we thought we'd escaped thirteen years ago."
The hall was utterly silent now.
"Remember Cedric Diggory," Dumbledore said, gesturing to where Cedric sat at the Hufflepuff table. "Remember that he faced the Killing Curse and survived because another wizard—Professor Anant Gupta—had the foresight and compassion to protect students he barely knew. Remember Harry Potter, who refused to abandon Cedric even when escape was possible. Remember that in the face of pure evil, it is our choices, our loyalty, our love that define us."
He paused, then spoke more quietly. "Dark times lie ahead. Some of you will be tempted to deny what has happened. Others will be pressured by family or society to choose sides. But remember this—Lord Voldemort's weapon is fear. He seeks to divide us, to make us distrust one another, to turn friend against friend. The only way to defeat him is to stand together—across house lines, across blood status, across national boundaries."
Dumbledore looked across the hall at the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. "You are not our enemies. You are our allies in the fight against darkness. Take this message home with you: Britain faces a threat, yes, but Voldemort's ambitions won't stop at our borders. He seeks power over all wizardkind. Stand with us, or you may find yourselves standing alone when he comes for you."
Igor Karkaroff looked distinctly uncomfortable. Madame Maxime, however, nodded firmly.
"And finally," Dumbledore said, "I must warn you all. If Voldemort learns that Hogwarts stands against him, he may attack this school. He may send Death Eaters, dark creatures, or come himself. Should that day arrive, you will see aspects of this school and its defenders that we pray you'll never need to witness."
His gaze drifted to Anant, who stood motionless by the staff table.
"Professor Gupta is known to you as a teacher, a mentor, someone kind and patient. But do not forget—he is also a warrior. He has fought in the shadows, protected the innocent, and eliminated threats with efficiency that would terrify most of us. Should Voldemort be foolish enough to attack Hogwarts while Professor Gupta is here, you will see a side of him that I sincerely hope remains dormant. A brutal, uncompromising side that does not negotiate with evil but simply erases it."
Students turned to look at Professor Gupta, who hadn't moved but whose eyes now held a distant, cold expression that sent shivers down spines.
"I say this not to frighten you," Dumbledore concluded, "but to reassure you. You are protected. This school is a fortress. Its defenders—myself, Professor Gupta, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and all our staff—will not allow harm to come to our students. You are safe here. You will always be safe here."
The feast that followed was subdued but somehow comforting. Students ate slowly, talking in quiet voices, processing what they'd heard.
Harry found himself sitting with Ron, Hermione, Cedric, and several Hufflepuffs who had insisted on thanking him personally for saving their housemate.
"You're a bloody hero, Harry," Cedric said quietly. "You could have left me in that graveyard. Pettigrew said 'kill the spare'—you knew I wasn't part of Voldemort's plan. But you stayed, fought beside me, helped me survive."
"We're both here because of Professor Gupta," Harry said. "His gift saved us."
"Then we owe him everything," Cedric replied. He raised his goblet. "To Professor Gupta—the man who saved our lives and asked for nothing in return."
Around the table, students raised their own goblets. "To Professor Gupta!"
At the staff table, Anant heard the toast and acknowledged it with a small nod, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Part Fifteen: Farewells and Promises
On the Hogwarts Express heading home, Harry sat in a compartment with Ron and Hermione, watching the Scottish countryside roll past.
"This year was mad," Ron said. "Death Eaters, Voldemort returning, fake Moody, nearly losing you to a Dark Lord... I don't know how next year could possibly be worse."
"Don't tempt fate," Hermione said sharply, but her voice was strained.
Harry noticed she'd been distant since the third task. "Hermione, are you alright?"
She was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she said, "I've been thinking about what I want. About... feelings that aren't appropriate. And I've decided to let them go."
Ron looked confused, but Harry understood. "Professor Gupta?"
Hermione nodded miserably. "It's stupid. I know it's stupid. But watching him save you and Cedric, seeing how much he cares about protecting students, hearing your mum's message thanking him..." She wiped her eyes. "I care about him. But he's a teacher, he's an adult, and I'm just a student with a crush. So I'm going to focus on my studies, on preparing for whatever's coming, and on being a good friend to both of you."
Ron, finally catching on, said awkwardly, "That's... mature of you?"
"It's sensible," Hermione corrected. "And it's the right thing to do."
Harry squeezed her hand. "You're brilliant, Hermione. And someday you'll find someone who sees that and loves you for it. Someone age-appropriate."
She laughed weakly. "Thanks, Harry."
They rode in companionable silence for a while. Then Hermione pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet, and they read the headlines together.
BOY WHO LIVED SUFFERS TRAGIC DELUSION
MINISTRY CONFIRMS: NO RETURN OF YOU-KNOW-WHO
BARTY CROUCH JR. CAPTURED AT HOGWARTS: ACTING ALONE, OFFICIALS SAY
"They're calling me a liar," Harry said flatly.
"We knew they would," Hermione replied. "But people who matter—people who know you—will believe you. That's what counts."
At King's Cross Station, as students poured onto Platform 9¾, Harry was surprised to see not just the Dursleys waiting (looking deeply unhappy to be there) but also several members of the Order of the Phoenix, including Remus Lupin and Sirius Black in disguise.
"Harry!" Sirius pulled him into a brief hug. "Thank Merlin you're alright. When I heard what happened..."
"I'm fine. Professor Gupta's gift kept me alive."
"We need to talk to him," Remus said seriously. "Sirius and I owe Anant more than we can ever repay—for the pendant, for teaching you, for protecting you."
Professor Gupta appeared then, having escorted the last students off the train. Remus and Sirius approached him immediately.
"Anant," Remus began.
"You look well," Anant interrupted with a warm smile. "The pendant is still working effectively?"
"Perfectly. I haven't had a single incident since you gave it to me." Remus gestured to Harry. "And now you've saved Harry and Cedric from Voldemort himself. How do we thank you?"
"You don't," Anant said simply. "Remus, you were my friend at school. Sirius, despite your many flaws, you were James's brother in all but blood. Harry is family to both of you, which makes him family to me. Protecting family doesn't require thanks—it requires commitment. Which I give freely."
Sirius looked like he might cry. "James and Lily would have loved you, you know. They did love you. As a friend, as someone they trusted completely."
"I know," Anant said quietly. "And I failed them once by not being there when they needed me. I won't fail their son."
As the crowd dispersed and families collected their children, Dumbledore approached Anant on the platform.
"You did well this year," Dumbledore said. "Your Bakudo band saved two young lives."
"And now Voldemort knows about it," Anant replied grimly. "He'll be prepared next time. He'll have countermeasures, ways to overcome dimensional barriers. I need to develop new techniques, more advanced protections."
"You're already thinking three moves ahead."
"That's how you survive, Albus. You anticipate, prepare, and never assume your current defenses are adequate." Anant watched Harry disappear through the barrier with the Dursleys. "He's in danger at that house. Those Muggles hate him."
"The blood protection keeps him safe from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Petunia's presence, sharing Lily's blood, creates a ward that cannot be broken as long as Harry calls that place home."
"Blood wards don't protect against psychological abuse," Anant said coldly. "I've read Harry's file, Albus. The cupboard under the stairs. The bars on his window. The systematic starvation and isolation. Those people are monsters."
"But they keep him alive," Dumbledore said sadly. "In this war between survival and happiness, I've chosen his survival. Perhaps that makes me monstrous too."
"It makes you pragmatic. But Albus—" Anant fixed him with a hard stare. "The moment those blood wards become unnecessary, the moment Harry comes of age or Voldemort finds another way to circumvent them, I'm removing him from that house. Permanently."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "You've always protected those you care about with fierce loyalty. It's one of your most admirable traits—and one of your most dangerous, should anyone threaten your charges."
They stood together on the empty platform, two powerful wizards united in purpose: to protect Harry Potter, to defeat Lord Voldemort, and to ensure that the sacrifices of James and Lily Potter had not been in vain.
The Fourth Year had ended.
The war had begun.
Epilogue: Summer's Warning
In a dark graveyard, Lord Voldemort stood among his assembled Death Eaters, his red eyes blazing with cold fury.
"Potter escaped," he said quietly—which was somehow more terrifying than shouting. "He and Diggory both escaped because of Anant Gupta's protective magic. Dimensional severance barriers, healing enchantments, magical reinforcement... all encoded into a simple leather band."
He paced, his robes swirling. "When I was first rising to power, Gupta interfered with my recruitment efforts. He killed my followers, disrupted my plans, and escaped before I could eliminate him. I thought him a minor nuisance then—a talented student with delusions of heroism."
Voldemort's voice dropped to a hiss. "I was wrong. Anant Gupta is not a nuisance. He is a threat. He has surpassed Dumbledore in combat magic, revolutionized magical theory, and earned the loyalty of multiple nations. Worse, he is personally invested in protecting Potter. He knew James and Lily. He feels responsible for their son."
"My Lord," Lucius Malfoy ventured carefully, "perhaps we could... eliminate Gupta first? Before focusing on Potter?"
"Kill Anant Gupta?" Voldemort laughed coldly. "Lucius, even I would hesitate to face him in direct combat. His Hado techniques are unpredictable, his physical prowess makes him dangerous even without magic, and his tactical thinking rivals my own. No—we will not confront him directly."
"Then what do we do?" another Death Eater asked.
"We prepare. We recruit. We gather our forces until we're strong enough to overwhelm Hogwarts with sheer numbers. And when that day comes—when we finally attack the school—we will ensure that Anant Gupta is too busy protecting students to focus on me. We will drown him in targets, force him to choose who to save, and in that moment of distraction..."
Voldemort's smile was terrible to behold.
"In that moment, I will kill Harry Potter. And Dumbledore. And perhaps, if opportunity presents, I will kill the Golden Hufflepuff as well. But carefully. Very carefully. Because Dumbledore was right about one thing—if we're not cautious, we'll see Anant Gupta's brutal side. The side that doesn't hesitate, doesn't negotiate, doesn't show mercy to those who threaten children."
He raised his wand, and green flames erupted around him.
"Prepare for war, my Death Eaters. The wizarding world thinks itself safe. They think Voldemort is a legend, a nightmare from the past. Let us show them how wrong they are. Let us show them that darkness never truly dies—it merely waits for the right moment to return."
The Death Eaters bowed and Disapparated, leaving Voldemort alone in the graveyard where he'd been reborn.
He touched the spot on his arm where Harry's blood had been incorporated into his new body. Through that connection, he could sense the boy—alive, protected, surrounded by Muggles who hated him.
"Enjoy your summer, Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered to the darkness. "It may be your last peaceful one. Because next year, when you return to Hogwarts, I will be ready. And not even Anant Gupta's protection will save you from your destiny."
Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rolled like a promise of storms to come.
The Fourth Year had ended.
But the real battle was just beginning.
End of Year Four