What where they? Those horrific creatures of shadowed forms and frozen hearts. Those things that carelessly rip open old wounds and devastate the soul. . .

The screaming echoed throughout his head. His tears had all but run dry and a cold sweat covered his entire frame.

“Comfortable, Harry?” hissed a cold voice. “Do not fear the Dementors. They will not be the ones to harm you.”

Harry’s own scream filled the air as long, clawed fingers scratched down the length of his face.

“That’s right Harry. Scream! Scream for the Dark Lord. I want the world to hear your cries. I want the whole world to hear, and realise that a mere, pitiful child is no match for the power of Lord Voldemort!”

Harry bit down hard. He could feel his blood chill as it ran through his veins. ‘The whole world.’ A world which had bearly healed from the last fierce battle. The world he couldn’t protect. The world that he would fail to protect because he could not even protect himself or a fellow classmate.

Well. If he was to die here, so be it! But he would not let his death come easily, no. He would go down with nobility and dignity. Such that his parents would be proud of.

“Oh?” the cold voice mused. “What fire that comes to burn in those eyes. You wish to fight me Harry? Well, come on!”

The bonds around his loosened and Harry felt himself drop to the floor. His body racked in pain, but whatever survival instincts he had left in his sudden panic kicked in and he scrambled shackily to his feet.

The circle of Deatheaters closed in but widened immediately at the hard toned order. “NO! None of you will interfere! The boy is mine!”

Harry was not foolish enough to ignore the obvious threat that lingered among them however.

“Come now Harry. What do we do? We, bow.”

With that Harry felt his head and shoulders dip and his waist bend at the unexpected use of the Imperious Curse.

‘No good!’ he thought. ‘I have to be ready for everything! A plan! Yes I need a plan! Uh. . . Live! Yes, that’s a good aim. Er, get to Cedric and, uh, escape. How? The cup!! A portkey! But will it work to take us back?”

No time left to think about it. Quick reflexes earned him some dark hisses from the Deatheaters and a narrow miss from a curse.

The next attack was more easily predicted however.

‘He’s playing with me. He’s too cocky about his own advantage. Use it! . . . How?!? Shut up, just think of something!!!’

Jumping back to avoid the hit, Harry spun and brought up his wand with a disarming spell, but the Dark Lord was ready for it. He let out an attack from his own black wand and the two spells made contact in the air between them.

A communal ‘gasp’ was shared as the spells bonded and formed a golden barrier between the two duelling wizards and the circle of hooded spectators, which broke up and reformed in clumps about the barrier in various attempt to break it.

“NO! STAY AWAY!!” the Dark Lord screamed. “The child is mine and mine alone!!”

Using this distraction, Harry clutched his violently shaking wand in both hands and, for a reason beyond his understanding, began to push his magic forward.

Realisation dawning, the Dark Lord turned his attention back to the task at hand and began feeding his own dark magic down the connecting line.

Harry could feel the pressure build around him. His hands shook violently and his head felt it was beginning to split, but he refused to back down. He tightened his grip and drew up on reserves of magic that he didn’t even know he had, and catapulted everything he could muster forward!

Buckling, the Dark Lord rasped out a pained gasp as the magic forced its way into his wand.

The Dark Lord let out a horrified breath as smoky forms began to pour out from the tip of his wand and float towards a stunned Harry. Harry looked on, unable to decide whether he should allow fear or awe to preside.

One by one the figures glided over to him. The old man from his dream. . . . Cedric. . And! His, parents!

Harry could not help but smile sadly to himself. He really did look like them. . .

“We can only give you a short amount of time Harry,” his ghostly father spoke.

“Please take care of yourself my love,” his ghostly mother whispered.

With that the four figures moved forward to swarm the Dark Lord. The Deatheaters cried out in varying forms of anger, anguish and frustration.

Taking this as his cue that the level of distraction was at its peck, Harry tugged forcefully at his wand, breaking the barrier, and fled towards Cedric’s abandoned form.

More shouts and cries alerted him that the distraction was over. He threw his wand arm towards the cup while the other grabbed onto Cedric’s cold wrist and cried out “Accio Triwizard Cup!”

Curses flew towards him as his hand latched around the cups handle. He screwed his eyes shut in preparation for the lunging sensation of transportation.

But he felt nothing. . . .