Harry and Cedric landed with a thump on the turf, each rolling a bit after releasing the cup. Harry stood up, brushing off his jeans before looking around expecting to see the staging area where they had originally begun this task. Instead of cheering crowds standing in the bleachers, another – quieter – sight met his eyes instead.

“Erm, Cedric?”

“Yeah?” said the other boy.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore...” Harry mumbled, gazing at decrepit stone edifices marching off into the distance, yew trees dotting the rolling landscape here and there. On a hill, high above, a Victorian manse stood in all its eerie glory, the moon behind it highlighting its ragged edges. It looked familiar, but Harry couldn’t remember where he’d seen it before.

“What?” Cedric had obviously never read or seen ‘The Wizard of Oz’. “Harry where are we? Aren’t we supposed to be at the starting point?” Cedric’s wand was out, a sense of foreboding coming over him, and Harry had quickly followed suit.

Harry turned around and stared at the tall grave stone behind him; a family marker that spanned several graves – a large avenging angel casting its shadow over all that dared approach. Harry cautiously moved forward to read the mossy inscription: Mary Riddle (1883 - 1943); Mathias Riddle (1880 – 1943); and Tom Riddle (1905 - 1943).

Harry backed away, panic seizing him. “Cedric, take the cup – get back to the maze...” His voice shook, but he put as much emphasis as he could in his request. “Please Cedric, just go! Now... before something happens!” His scar began pulsing, beating a tattoo of doom in his head and he slammed the heel of his hand against it, grimacing in pain.

Cedric hesitated, looking at the younger teen as if he was crazy. Harry could see a figure approaching from the shadows nearby, a large round object floating behind it, sloshing sounds carrying across the wind and he whirled around to face his friend. “Trust me, go now!” In desperation he used a wandless charm to push the other boy towards the discarded trophy that twinkled innocently on the ground.  From the corner of his eye he spotted Pettigrew raising his arm about to brandish his wand. He was holding a bundle in his other arm.

“Harry... who is that man...” Cedric asked, taking a step towards his friend.

“Cedric, no time – go back, warn my father, please!” Harry pleaded. He was too far away to make a dive for the cup, but Cedric was standing right next to it. With one more push, Cedric stumbled and landed on top of the cup, winking away just as a green curse smacked the ground where he’d just been.

Harry whirled in place to face the fallen marauder, wand up.

“How very Gryffindor of you, Harry,” came the childish, evil voice from his dreams. Pain again blossomed across his forehead as his scar burst open and blood dripped down his face. He raised his left arm to wipe away the liquid, never letting his eyes waver from the threat in front of him. “But he wasn’t needed anyway; I only need you – well, and your blood of course.” The cackling laugh raised the hackles at the back of Harry’s neck and he backed away from the approaching duo. As they came out of the shadows Harry could see that Pettigrew was carrying a small figure in his arms, wrapped in black material like a baby bunting. He could not see under the folds, and he suspected he really did not want to see what the creature looked like.

Peter leered at him before flicking his wand at Harry, throwing him back against the Riddle headstone. Before Harry could spring away, the arms had come down and trapped him and Pettigrew had plucked his wand out of his hand – dropping it to the ground.

“Do it!” the voice commanded from deep within the wrappings. Peter levitated the gigantic cauldron that had followed them into the area, to a clear space in front of the grave stone; large enough to boil a man alive, Harry decided. A magical fire was kindled underneath and the liquid within was soon roiling away, throwing off sparks every now and then.

Peter gently laid the bundle on the ground, unwrapping it reverently. Harry, fascinated in spite of himself, looked down and nearly vomited right then. The creature was hideously deformed – a mere shadow of a human form and seemed almost – snake-like – in its miniature features. With red eyes and no nose to speak of - merely slits in the skull - it was grotesque. The form consisted of a head sorts and a trunk, but the arms and legs were tiny, vestigial – almost like afterthoughts. A large monstrous python followed them into the clearing and curled up next to the figure on the ground, tongue flicking out and caressing the body. Silicia squirmed on Harry’s arm, hearing the other snake, but she stilled again.

Wormtail obviously found it distasteful to touch this version of his master, his mouth frowning as he reached down to pick up the thing. But it urged him on, and he complied, eventually dropping it into the cauldron where it sank to the bottom of the glistening potion with a gentle plop.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, praying the thing would drown, but they shot back open as Peter began to recite an incantation.

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given...” As Harry watched, a crack opened in the grave below him and a long bone came floating out, shrouding still trailing behind it. It hovered in the air for a moment before falling into the brew. The colours floating on the surface changed from lavender to red as it was absorbed.

Peter walked over to the cauldron and after pocketing his wand, brandished a small scythe over his wrist. Harry couldn’t believe what he saw happen next.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly given...” A flash of silver in the moonlight and a scream from the little man’s throat signalled the loss of the hand, willingly severed and offered in sacrifice to the resurrection of his master.

Clumsily using his wand in his off hand, Wormtail cauterised his wound as best as he was able - although it still seeped blood - and stifling his whimpers, took up the scythe again and approached Harry.

Harry writhed against his restraints, but they were stone; they weren’t going to let him go. He tried in vain to keep Peter from getting to him, but the man was relentless and kept coming forward, a mad glint in his eye.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken...” Harry screamed as the tip of the knife sliced into his forearm, crossing the scar left behind by the Basilisk fang from his second year. He clamped his mouth shut in order to watch as Pettigrew gathered up his blood on the edge of the blade that was pouring down his arm and carried it over to the bubbling mixture which was now a deep blue in colour. As the drops landed on the surface, the potion began turning darker and darker until, with the third and last drop, the potion turned as black as midnight and as still as a piece of glass; but only for a second.

In an instant the potion exploded upward in a billowing pillar of black smoke and as it settled out, Harry could detect the figure of a man standing where the cauldron used to be; Wormtail cowering and cringing at its feet.

“Robe me, Wormtail,” came the commanding voice.

“Y-yes, my lord,” Peter genuflected to his superior. He drew from an inner pocket a set of black robes, standing to drape them around his master’s new formidable form.

“My wand,” was the next command and Pettigrew reluctantly handed over the wand he’d been using for the last thirteen years. Voldemort caressed it like a long lost lover, smiling as he felt the power surge from his core through the yew wood. Yes, just like a lover coming home after a long time away.

He finally took notice of his sole minion in the graveyard and commanded him to come nearer. “Your arm, Wormtail.”

Thinking that his lord was going to fix his handless appendage, he held out his stump only to have it slapped away.

“Your other arm, you imbecile!” Peter slowly raised his left arm, cringing as his master pushed his sleeve up roughly exposing his pulsing and angry looking dark mark.

Stabbing the centre of it with his wand tip, the mark exploded with pain and Peter could feel the call go out to all living Death Eaters; their master was alive and was calling them home.

****

Officials were pacing in the Judges box while Aurors quartered the staging area. Spectators were gathering in clumps in the stands to whisper loudly about what was – and wasn’t – happening with the end of the tournament. Only the teachers, Aurors and judges were allowed on the field. All others were being kept in the stands.

Draco was frustrated; he wanted to go down and speak with his father – where was his brother and Diggory? The Weasley twins were discussing whether to set up a new wager on Harry’s chances of returning when their sister, Ginny, threatened them with her famous Bat Bogey hex if they even tried. Ron was looking thunderous and Daphne was trying to calm him down, without any success, and Hermione was biting her lower lip again. It was a mark of how upset she was that she didn’t even bat an eye when Pansy came over to speak with them.

“What do you think,” the Slytherin asked quietly.

“You don’t want to know what I think, Parkinson,” Draco replied. “I think there is a traitor in this school and Harry and Diggory have been kidnapped and taken to Him...”

Hermione whimpered as he spoke aloud her fears and Neville, behind him, hid his face in his hands.

“You can’t be serious,” Pansy stated.

“Dead serious. My sire managed to worm his way into officiating this final task, Pansy; you tell me,” he challenged, raising an eyebrow in emphasis. Their families had been allied under the previous regime of the Dark Lord, which was why they had been promised to each other since they were toddlers. Pansy knew where Lucius’ true allegiances lay just as well as Draco.

“You think he’s back?” she asked, clearly frightened. The blond just nodded sadly, putting an arm around Hermione and hugging her close to his side in comfort. Pansy turned away and gazed contemplatively across the field watching, always watching.

Severus was talking quietly with Moody when a snap in the air caused them to turn and watch as Cedric Diggory tumbled onto the lawn, a bent cup underneath his body. A cry arose from the stands as he jumped up, pushing off his congratulatory father who was clearly under the impression Cedric had somehow won through all on his own through some last unseen challenge.

“He won! Cedric won! Over Harry Potter – my boy won!” pronounced the proud father, ignoring his son’s protests. Finally, Cedric just had to grab the man by both upper arms and shake him until he stopped talking and actually listened to his son.

“Dad, DAD! I didn’t win – I swear I didn’t – Dad! I have to get to Professor Snape!” He dropped his father’s arms and turned around only to run face first into his teacher’s buttoned waist coat. Looking up into the taller man’s face, Cedric could see the anger brewing in those dark eyes.

“Diggory – where is my son?” The voice was icy cold and Cedric shivered under its blast but held his ground to deliver his news. He wasn’t a firstie any longer, to get intimidated by the demanding teacher.

“Sir, Harry forced me to leave – just in time, too, as someone tried to kill me just as I Ported out,” he explained, whey faced.

“Where were you taken?” Moody asked, his wonky eye roving everywhere but straight at Cedric.

“Some graveyard...” Cedric gulped in some air – he was still a bit winded after his sprint and the sudden Porting. Now that he was home safely, his adrenaline rush was subsiding, leaving him shaking. “Harry was reading one of the stones when he literally pushed me onto the cup and it brought me back here. There was some short guy approaching with his wand held out. I tried to stay, I did, sir...” The emotions of the day were catching up to the lad and Severus could see the Hufflepuff was nearing his breaking point, breath coming in gasps and starts as he tried to hold back threatening sobs. He was a good lad, a true scion of his house, and Severus could tell it had hurt him to leave Harry behind. His eyes softened as he let a comforting hand fall on the teen’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. Go with your father, Diggory. Let Pomfrey give you a calming potion. Thank you for bringing us this information,” Severus said, guiding the young man back to his father’s side.

“Sir, who was it? Why did Harry push me away?” Cedric asked, standing his ground.

“I’m afraid to say, Diggory. Someone dangerous, that’s for sure.” Oh, he knew – there was only one culprit in this game; one culprit with many minions, but he didn’t want to make the boy worry more than he already was.

“He saved my life, sir, I don’t want...”

“Let’s just hope he returns safely.” Cedric nodded, although he didn’t really think his young friend would return alive. He finally allowed his father to lead him to the healer’s area.

Severus walked over to stand next to Moody as the old Auror examined the flattened cup, wand scanning the metal trophy as the warrior read the results.

“Someone’s definitely tampered with this cup, Snape. Who put it into the maze?”

“Good question; one I think Albus should answer. Do you see him?” The two men looked around, not seeing the distinctive white beard immediately. Instead, Snape spotted Lucius and Karkarof both easing themselves away from the crowds and in different directions. Igor looked frightened and Severus dismissed him as of no matter, the man was a coward – let him run; but Lucius looked like someone being calculating, and failing to get rid of the female leech that was trying to drag him back to the box.

Severus headed in his direction but was nearly brought to his knees as a wave of burning pain rushed up his arm. He locked eyes with Malfoy and knew the man was feeling the same thing. A sneer creeped its way across Lucius’ face and he was finally able to wrench his arm out of his companion’s grip and saunter away with nary a glance back at Snape. A nearby clap of air signalled Igor’s sudden escape.

Severus shook off the pain - he’d forgotten how debilitating it was – and let his wand fall into his grip, hurrying after his former friend.

He cornered the man under the stands, throwing up anti-apparition and anti-portkeying wards before calling out the man’s name.

“Lucius, you can’t go anywhere – so turn and tell me what you’ve done, for I know it has to be you.” Severus held the man at wand point, a duelling circle of fire surrounding them, penning them in. Lucius slowly turned to face his opponent, drawing his wand out of the end of his walking stick and tossing the lower part to the ground. He stood in the traditional dueller’s stance while Severus slowly walked the inner perimeter.

“What I’ve done, Severus? What I’ve always done. Ensured that the right people are in position for the right places of power. In this case, I ensured that your son was in place for the cup to take him to his destiny – facing the Dark Lord in the flesh. Something our lord has wanted to have happen for a long time now.”

“Your lord maybe, Lucius, but not mine – never mine,” Snape declared.

“So you say, but the mark burns on your arm the same as mine, Severus. Feel his call? He’s waiting for us to answer – and it will only burn hotter and deeper if he is kept waiting.”

Severus knew this to be true, he’d seen the remains of those who had thought they could avoid the summons. He did not intend to ever end up like them, like Reg... “Where is he, Lucius?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know; but I don’t think I will divulge. No, I think I’ll let you wait. The Dark Lord will kill your precious son – now that there is no longer blood protection. Oh, yes. Didn’t think he knew about that, did you?” he taunted, throwing out random hexes almost playfully, which Severus was forced to bat aside like stinging gnats.

“I can kill you, Lucius, and then what precious use will you be?” Severus tried.

“He’d kill me if I told, so either way I’d be dead – wouldn’t I? I think I’ll hold on to my secret, thank you very much.” He danced back on one foot as Snape let fly with a blood whip curse, barely getting out of reach of the crackling end of the spell-whip. “Temper, temper...” he taunted.

“As you wish... Lucy,” Severus snarked, smiling as the pet-name hit home, raising the other wizard’s ire to the boiling point. The spells flew fast and heavy and the two men were soon drenched in sweat as they kept to the edge of the spell-ring. The dispelled energy from their magics lit up the night under the bleachers. Both accustomed to hiding their emotions, no matter what the circumstance, found this fight was breaking through those barriers and both men were grunting with exertion, their faces etched in exhaustion and pain. Moody had somehow found them and was standing outside watching silently, like a ravaged gargoyle, stone-faced as the evenly matched duellers fought.

Malfoy’s shiny new Hippogriff hide boots were his undoing as they were still relatively unscuffed on the soles. One misstep on the slick grass and he was down in a thrice with Severus’ patented hex boring down on him and slicing him in a hundred deep tissue scores. He slipped some more in his own gore, feeling his life-force quickly draining from him. Severus knelt in the dirt near his head, plucking his wand from his hand and handing it up to the waiting Auror.

“Where is he, Lucius?” Severus gently asked.

“I only wanted to regain our status, take what is rightfully ours...” the proud patriarch gasped, blood running from the corner of his mouth, breath bubbling in his throat.

“I know. Look into my eyes, Lucius...” Snape tried again, all the compulsion he could put in his words forcing Lucius to turn his head and stare into the deep, black pools that were Severus’ enigmatic orbs. As he took his last breath, Snape sighed with him, closing his former friend’s eyes and laying the man back down onto the bloody grass.

“Well?” Moody asked, a bit harshly, but Severus overlooked it. He had other things on his mind.

“Riddle Manor; the town graveyard in Little Hangleton; we must hurry.” He rose from the dead man’s side and let two of Moody’s trainees take over the handling of the body while Moody gave the location to several other Aurors who had hurried over during the fight. Dispelling the wards he’d placed on the area to prevent Lucius from leaving, he grabbed Alastor by the elbow, touched his wand to his own Dark Mark and answered the call one last time.

****

Harry watched as black, silver masked shadows oozed out of the darkness to stand silently in a circle around their master. But the circle was not complete; there were empty areas where Harry assumed there should be someone, but they either were not alive, were in prison or could not respond for some other reason.

Voldemort paced around the inside of the circle, surveying his remaining minions – all bowing their heads as he passed. Pettigrew was the lone unmasked follower, whimpering in his place as he cradled his maimed arm.

“So, here are my devoted Death Eaters – those who were able to stay out of prison. Sadly, I see several of our number are missing. The LeStranges and the Carrows are still in Azkaban, willing to go to prison for their beliefs. One I fear is lost forever, having made his priorities known recently by revealing himself as the true sire of their saviour. No matter, I will kill him just as readily as I will kill his son.” He sent a decided smirk in Harry’s direction and several of the Death Eaters chuckled for a moment, sharing in their lord’s mirth. Harry glared daggers back, unable to do much more. He’d tried using his wandless capabilities, but something about the statue was dampening his access to his magic.

Peter grovelled again as his lord walked by. “I-I found you my lord, and cared for you until you could rise again,” he helpfully pointed out.

Riddle halted and looked down on the cowering buffoon. “So you did, Wormtail. But was it out of loyalty to me, or just because I was a better option than your former friends – who wanted your head on a platter, hmmm?” Several others surrounding the pair chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling across the grass. Peter squirmed under the scrutiny.

“For you, my lord. I’ve always been devoted to you... I found you and brought you that ministry worker who knew what was happening this year... and I milked Nagini so you could get stronger...”

“So you did, my little cretin. And for that you should be rewarded.” He raised his wand, pointing it at Wormtail who suddenly looked apprehensive. A spell flowed from his lord’s wand, silvery and shining, and it attached itself to Peter’s new stump, fitting like a glove. In a moment he was wearing a brand new silver hand that he flexed and turned, admiring its perfection. Picking up a large rock that was nearby, he squeezed it with his new superior appendage and grinned as it exploded into dust.

“Thank you, my Lord, oh thank you!” he said effusively.

Voldemort nodded, then continued in his pacing and pontificating  – obviously enjoying the feel of the earth against his feet once more as his toes caressed the turf. “To return to those who are missing before I was rudely interrupted; one has turned coward and has run this night, I feel him trying to get away even now. I will find him, never fear, and he will understand why you can never escape my wrath. One is plotting even still, buried deep in the old fool’s school, but one is missing... my agent in the Ministry...” He turned to Wormtail. “Where is Lucius, Peter? Why isn’t he here?”

Peter, jerked from caressing his new hand, shook under Voldemort’s attention. “I-I don’t know, my Lord; he was to place the cup and then Apparate with the others when you called.  P-perhaps he was delayed?”

“Perhaps... Well, I shall know soon enough.” He turned in place before walking over to stand next to Harry, the masks following his every move.

“As you’ve noticed, we have a guest tonight at our rebirth party. And truly, without his assistance, we would not be here. Of course, without his assistance thirteen years ago, I wouldn’t need a rebirth! I give you Harry Potter – Snape –“ Growls were heard coming from under the masks as the Dark Lord spat the final name, the name of the traitor to their cause. “The Boy-Who-Lived. Say hallo, Harry!” he commanded, an Imperius clear in his vocal demand.

Harry easily shook off the command – something he’d discovered in Moody’s class. Apparently he was pretty immune to the Imperius. The first time in class he’d nearly broken his legs as he’d been given the command to hop off a desk and he’d tried to fight the compulsion. Moody had been impressed – not easily done, the students had discovered – and had drilled Harry during their private sessions until the strongest command either he or Severus could muster slid right off Harry’s brain.

Harry hawked up the largest wad he could and spat it at Voldemort’s feet, realising right afterwards that may not have been the wisest thing to do. He could just hear his dad decrying his Gryffindor tendencies, and see Draco shaking his head side to side in despair at his brother’s stupidity to taunt one of the world’s most powerful sorcerers.

Voldemort stared at the phlegm that had landed inches away from his bare toes for a moment before a look of rage came over his face.

“You dare? You dare to defy me?” He approached the teen and Harry stood his ground. “Do you know where you stand? You are standing on the grave of my father – my Muggle father!” He whispered into Harry’s ear. “The man who denied I even existed. I killed him, you know – I delighted in it, just as I will delight in killing you, you pathetic little boy.” He stepped back a pace and gazed at Harry, a calculating look entering his reddened eyes.

“Yesssss... We shall duel, you and I – a proper duel so that my followers can see who is the greatest wizard. You see, my friends, my  - setback – thirteen years ago was simply due to an ancient piece of magic, set into motion by poor Lily Potter’s – or should I say, Lilly Snape’s – “ He sneered at Harry, “sacrifice for her son. Yes, an ancient binding – one that has been negated today by my using his blood in my resurrection ritual. Now that protection lies in both of us and I can now - touch him.” Matching word to deed, he stroked a blackened talon along Harry’s cheek before letting it land on Harry’s scar causing excruciating pain in his head. Harry screamed, and his pain seemed to please the other man. “Yessss – so different from the last time we met; eh, Harry? Your mother’s sacrifice saved you then – to Quirrel’s demise, but no more. Now we shall stand on equal ground – wizard to wizard.”

Cackling madly, Voldemort stepped back from his prey and, waving his wand, released Harry from the Angel’s arms. Harry stumbled and fell, returning circulation knifing through his legs.

“We shall duel, Harry. Pick up your wand and face me like a man! Pick it up!” He commanded, clearly impatient.

Grunting with effort, Harry reached over to his wand and felt returning warmth as it fit snugly in his hand. He levered himself to his feet and turned to face his nemesis.

“No one shall interfere,” Voldemort commanded. “This death is mine, and mine alone to deliver; and it shall be done honouring the proper protocols!” Murmurs rose from the circle that sounded like people agreeing to the conditions. Riddle turned back around to face his opponent.

“Now, remember your lessons, Harry – we bow to each other, taking each other’s measure like so.” He bowed – his wand raised in front of his face and Harry matched him move for move. “Excellent, Dumbledore did teach you properly.”

“Not Dumbledore,” Harry said coldly, addressing the older wizard for the first time since the man had risen from the ashes of the cauldron. “My father.”

They began slowly circling each other, eyes never wavering.

“I see. Well let us see how well you learned your lessons – Confringo!”

“Protego!” Harry cried, bringing up his shield just in time to reflect the blasting curse so that it exploded on the ground between them, sending up clods of turf and dirt. “Impedimenta!” he shot back which Voldemort batted aside with a small flick of his wand.

A few more exchanges like that and Harry was panting, realising that he was in over his head. Voldemort was able to parry everything Harry sent him and Harry was barely keeping the other’s curses at bay. He decided to switch to non-verbal spells, trying to gain some time until his father could find him. He had to believe that the man would try to rescue him, although he didn’t know how that could be accomplished.

A non-verbal Incarcerous actually managed to start binding the Dark Lord before he finited the spell with a growl, sending an Expulso headed straight at Harry. Seeing himself close to a grave marker, Harry jumped behind it, letting the granite take the brunt of the spell, showering him with broken bits. Raising his head slightly to see where the man was, Harry sent off “Locomotor Mortis”, imagining Voldemort’s legs locking together. But the man was able to block it at the last second and Harry was forced to duck again as another blasting curse took off the top half of the grave stone.

“Come out, Harry – you are not playing fairly. You are supposed to face me like a wizard,” Voldemort taunted. “Not cower behind stones.”

Harry was tired and he didn’t know how much longer he could last. His magical reserves were feeling the strain of this duel. He finally remembered Draco’s Portkey in his pocket, having duplicated the earring before handing over the copy to his father at Dumbledore’s behest. He’d gotten very good at transfiguring things into jewellery. Reaching a finger into the tiny pocket, he touched the earring, whispering the trigger phrase.

He felt a yank, but something blocked him moving and he realised that Voldemort or Pettigrew must have raised wards around the area after Cedric had ported out. They wouldn’t have affected Dark Marks, as those were advanced summoning charms built into the evil tattoo. Sighing in frustration, he pictured in his mind his family and friends, thankful he’d been able to get Cedric out of harms way. Diggory hadn’t signed up for this when he’d entered the tournament; but Harry had somehow known from the beginning that this would most likely be the outcome of this contest. Somehow he’d be facing Voldemort once again. Thinking of his father and Draco and the love he had for them and all his friends, he squared his shoulders to meet his destiny full on. Fine, if this is what everyone wanted, this was what they would get.

Slowly he raised himself up from behind the stone, keeping his eyes on Voldemort and his wand, his own holly and phoenix feather wand pointed before him. Harry walked around to place himself squarely in line with the older wizard, ignoring the rest of the Death Eaters. And he ignored the near silent crack of Apparition off to the side, but Voldemort let his gaze shift and a smile came over his face as he refocused on Harry.

“This night shall end with Death, Harry. Yours – as it was written in the stars. Avada Kedavra!” His eyes shone with red delight as he pronounced the death sentence.

But Harry was already there with one of the first spells he’d ever learned to duel with, “Expelliarmus!”

Both of them gasped as the spells left their wands at the same time and met in mid-air, causing an arc of energy to vibrate between their two wands.

****

Severus and Moody arrived in the graveyard just in time to see Harry stand up and face Riddle. The Dark Lord saw them, but spared them only a glance – obviously delighted in the timing of their arrival just in time to see him kill Severus’ son.

They were as stunned as everyone else when the wands connected and a soaring tone of Phoenix song suffused the night, lifting the hearts of all who heard it. A barrier sprung up around the two, encasing them in a bubble of energy that pulsated with the colours of the rainbow as it lifted them in the air and carried them to an open field.

The Death Eater’s followed, silently shadowed by the ex-Auror and the Potion’s master. No one, other than Voldemort, had noticed their arrival and Voldemort was vain enough to think that it didn’t matter. He would bring Severus down simply by destroying Harry while the man was forced to watch, impotent to do anything to help.

As they all gathered around the spell circle to watch, the two wizards seemed to be having a stare-off as they each held onto their wands with both hands, eyeing a bead of light that sat where the two beams of spell-light met. The little bead was moving slowly towards Harry’s wand and Severus could see his boy mustering all his strength to push mentally at the light, turning it away from his end of the arc.

****

Voldemort growled in frustration as Harry pushed and pushed the light back towards Riddle’s side of the circle, screaming when the bead finally reached its destination – the end of his wand.

Suddenly, the end of the yew wand exploded with colour and light, and a wisp of smoke seemed to float from the end, getting bigger as it floated towards Harry, gaining consistency as it neared him. Harry nearly lost his concentration when he realised he was seeing an apparition that looked like an old man – the man from his dreams this past summer.

“Hold tight, boy – that man is evil. Killed me without a by-your-leave. You have the power in you, I can feel it!” He floated off to one side as a green light exploded with sparks from the end of the wand, Harry holding his determination to keep that bead where it was. Another vague ethereal form spoke to Harry, this time a middle-aged woman.

“I thought I was being taken to see my sister, but he only wanted information – information on when the tournament was happening and then he discovered out about Mr Crouch, my boss... when you get back, look for Barty Crouch... junior...  Hold tight, Harry...” And she drifted to the other side of the circle, across from the old man.

Another green spell residue erupted and then a form appeared that nearly had Harry dropping his wand, but he held on with both hands, grimacing in the exertion.

“Harry, darling,” Lily spoke. “You are so precious to me and your father. He is here now; hold fast for a little longer... and here is your little friend to help you...I love you, son.” Harry gulped in relief when he heard that Severus was present but he began to worry when he felt Silicia slither up his arm and down his back and leg. She’d been quiet during the whole tournament, letting him handle things on his own. But he couldn’t even spare her a glance; he had to hold his attention on the spell-beam. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her move through the un-mown grass, her passage silent.

A pulse from the bead, another green light show, and a fourth ghostly figure – this time James Potter.

“Harry; I was always proud to call you my son. You have done everyone proud. You just need to hold on a little longer. When we tell you, break the beam and go to your father. We will buy you enough time to escape...” He joined the other spectres now spinning along the inside of the dome, taunting Voldemort and moving ever closer and closer. Harry had tears streaming down his face from seeing his mom and step-dad, and the strain of holding this spell was taking its toll.

A thrashing sound came from his right and soon after his familiar was wending her way up his body again. “I shall tell you when we get back...” she promised him. The ghosts were twirling madly now and his mother’s shade suddenly cried out “Now, Harry, now!”

He tore his arms to the side, ripping the streams apart in a spectacular show of light and screams as the dome collapsed, the ghosts converging on Voldemort.

The Death Eaters were caught unawares, as Harry cried out his father’s name. He felt a yank as a spell dragged him off to the southwest edge of the area into his father’s waiting arms as Moody shot off spell after spell giving them time to duck down under the cover of a monument.

****

Severus looked on as the ghostly reminders of Voldemort’s victims began to show up inside the domed duelling sphere. Those on the outside could not hear what was being said as the shades whispered in Harry’s ear, but the boy seemed to gain strength every time one spoke to him.

And then his wife appeared.

Moody had thrown an arm in his path as he’d cried out her name, blocking him from storming into the circle – which surely would have meant his death. Those circles were meant to keep others out as well as keeping deadly spellwork confined within the circle itself.

“Get a hold of yourself!” The old man growled.

Lily spared a look for him, her smile gracing her face for one moment before she concentrated on their son. He didn’t even begrudge Potter a moment with Harry.

Then Silicia decided to head off on her own mission and Severus was seriously contemplating using her for potion’s ingredients when he realised what she was doing. Surprised, but grateful, he watched as she wove her way back to her master. She was back on her master’s arm quickly and Severus and Moody began to cautiously move forward.

When the barrier came down, Harry’s cry of “Dad!” galvanised him into action and he Accioed Harry into his arms, throwing both of them behind a huge stone marker before the Death Eaters realised what had happened.

“Thank Merlin you’re alright. Do you have your Portkey with you?” Severus asked as soon as he could let himself release the boy. Harry nodded.

“I gave you the duplicate I made. The original is still in my watch-pocket. I just could never reach it, and the one time I was able to, he still had the wards up...”

“Well, they are down now. That explosion of the dome took them all down. Use it now – we won’t be long behind you. And stay where you land! Don’t go anywhere!” Harry nodded again before reaching a finger into his tiny jeans’ pocket and, whispering “home”, was ported to safety.

Severus turned and fired off several curses, cutting through the battling ranks of remaining Death Eaters who’d been alerted to their presence when Harry had been spirited away, while the murdered ghosts still swarmed around Riddle.

“Damn it, they are like golems!” Moody complained, setting his back against his friend’s. “Where are the rest of my Aurors – what are they waiting for, an engraved invitation from the Minister of Magic?” They didn’t have any time to reach for, and activate, the remaining Portkey, which needed to touch both of them and no opportunities to Apparate, either. The spells were coming fast and heavy while Voldemort screamed his frustration. The wraiths could only last so long before dissipating on the wind. Eventually, they lost energy and drifted off – Lily floating towards Severus.

As she passed through him, he felt her whisper “I love you, Sev – take care of Harry...” He shuddered as the cold wind skelped him, then turned and fired off a slicing hex towards an anonymous Death Eater who’d sent one at Moody.

“Merlin, we need to get out of here! There are too many of them!” groused Mad-Eye. He spotted a large, ancient family Mausoleum and shot an Alohomora at the gate, releasing the lock. The gate creaked open on its rusty hinges, and Severus caught on to the plan – letting the remaining enemy herd them towards the massive structure.

Voldemort had joined the crowd, but from the rear, urging his followers on and shooting off his own spells periodically. Wormtail marched forward, new hand outstretched, a maniacal gleam in his eye as he spotted the quarry.

They had battled their way to the Mausoleum entrance, Severus opening the metal doors behind the wrought iron gate while Moody covered him. The Death Eaters, sensing a possible problem, redoubled their efforts to get the men before they disappeared behind protective stone. Belatedly, they finally heard distant pops as the relief troops arrived, but they were too little, too late. Just as Severus pushed open the huge metal doors, Moody’s body slammed into him from behind, propelling him through the opening. They landed in a huddle on the floor, but Severus quickly closed and locked the doors with a shouted “Colloportus!” before shoving the Auror off of him. A squelching sound, and orange flare around the edge of the double doors, signalled a successful casting of the spell.

In the dark, he couldn’t tell Mad-eye’s condition and he didn’t have time before the combined magics congregating on the other side of that door, broke through his spell. He could already hear a metallic hammering and could just imagine Peter’s metallic hand beating the door down. Holstering his wand he reached into his pocket and withdrew both earrings. Unable to determine which was which, he slapped both of them down on Moody’s chest, whispering “Home”.