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Harry's hands trembled slightly as he gripped his wand, his eyes fixed on Fleur across the empty classroom they'd commandeered for practice. The morning sun streamed through high windows, catching in her golden hair that cascaded down to her waist like liquid sunshine. Even now, with her face set in determination and her wand raised, Harry found it difficult not to be distracted by her beauty.
"Focus, 'Arry," Fleur said, her French accent more pronounced when she was concentrating. "Remember what my mother said about our connection. Feel it, don't just think about it."
Harry nodded, closing his eyes briefly. The strange warmth in his abdomen—where the sun symbol of their bond had appeared—pulsed gently, like a second heartbeat. He'd never expected that Fleur finding him singing by the Black Lake would lead to... well, whatever this was.
"Ready?" he asked, opening his eyes again.
"Always," Fleur replied with a smile that made his stomach flip.
They raised their wands simultaneously. "Protego Maxima!" they shouted in perfect unison.
The shield charm erupted between them, not the usual transparent bubble but a blazing wall of golden light that filled the room so brightly Harry had to squint. The desks nearest the shield scraped backward across the floor from the force of the magic.
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, lowering his wand as the shield faded. "It's getting stronger."
Fleur nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We should be careful in ze maze. If we use our full power together..."
"We might accidentally blast a hole through to China," Harry finished with a nervous laugh.
He crossed the room to her, his trainers scuffing on the stone floor. The Tournament felt both terrifyingly close and strangely unimportant. With whoever Moody was and Voldemort waiting somewhere beyond... who cared about winning a cup?
"We need to talk about strategy," he said, perching on a desk beside her. "For the maze."
Fleur's fingers intertwined with his, her touch cool and reassuring. "I've been thinking about zat. We will enter at different points."
"I'll find you," Harry said immediately. "The bond... I can feel when you're near now."
"It's against ze rules to help each other," Fleur reminded him, though her eyes told him she'd already made the same decision he had. Rules be damned.
"Since when have rules ever stopped me?" Harry grinned.
The smile she gave him in return made his chest tighten. Her blue eyes shimmered with something deeper than mere affection.
"'Arry," she said softly, both hands now holding his. "Promise me something."
"Anything," he replied without hesitation, and meant it.
"Whatever happens in zat maze... we protect each other first. Ze cup, ze glory, none of it matters."
Harry squeezed her hands. "I promise. You're more important than any tournament."
He didn't say what they both knew—that something was waiting at the end of this task, something Dumbledore and Sirius were preparing for.
Fleur leaned forward and kissed him gently. Harry responded, one hand moving to rest at the curve of her waist. When they separated, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered.
"Nor I to you," she replied. "L'Union du Soleil is rare for a reason, 'Arry. What we have... it is meant to protect us both."
A noise at the door made them separate. Harry turned to see a large black dog sitting in the doorway, intelligent eyes watching them.
"Sirius," Harry said, relief flooding through him.
Fleur squeezed his hand once more before letting go. "I will see you before ze task," she said, moving toward the door. She paused beside the dog, kneeling briefly to scratch behind his ears. "Take care of him for me," she murmured, then left the room, closing the door behind her.
The moment she was gone, the dog transformed into Harry's godfather. Sirius looked better than he had in the cave—cleaner, less gaunt—but worry lines creased his face.
"That's quite a witch you've found," Sirius said, approaching Harry with a half-smile.
Harry couldn't help the blush that crept up his neck. "She's... yeah, she's amazing."
Sirius clasped Harry's shoulder with a strong hand. "Your father would be proud. He always did have a thing for exceptional women." His smile turned wistful. "Your mother..." He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.
"Dumbledore explained to you about our bond?" Harry asked.
"He did." Sirius moved to sit on the desk Harry had vacated. "Veela magic is ancient and powerful stuff, Harry. It's tied to emotions in ways that wizarding magic often isn't. That could be your greatest advantage tonight."
The way Sirius said 'tonight' sent a chill down Harry's spine. This wasn't just about the task, and they both knew it.
"I'm scared, Sirius," Harry admitted, voicing what he hadn't been able to tell even Fleur. "Not of the maze, but what comes after. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort—"
"I know." Sirius cut him off, his face grim. "Which is why I brought you something."
From inside his robes, Sirius withdrew a small cloth pouch. He handed it to Harry, who opened it carefully. Inside was a simple silver pendant on a chain—a small stag, intricately carved, its antlers forming a protective circle.
"It was your mother's," Sirius said quietly. "James gave it to her the day you were born. Lily had a thing for protective charms—always researching them, improving them. This one... well, it's got her magic in it."
Harry stared at the pendant, his throat tight. He'd had so few possessions of his parents—the photo album, his father's cloak—and now this, something that had rested against his mother's heart.
"I can't lose you too, Harry." Sirius's voice was rough with emotion. "Whatever happens tonight, I will be there. I don't care what Dumbledore says about staying hidden. If you're in danger, I will come for you. I promise you that."
Harry looked up from the pendant, his vision blurring slightly. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me."
"That's not how it works," Sirius said firmly. "People aren't getting hurt because of you. They're fighting because it's the right thing to do, and you just happen to be at the center of it all through no fault of your own."
The door opened again before Harry could respond. Hermione stood there, her bushy hair even wilder than usual, as if she'd been running her hands through it anxiously.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, stepping into the room. "Professor McGonagall is looking for you, Harry. Champions are gathering soon."
"I'll be right there," Harry said, slipping the pendant over his head and tucking it beneath his shirt. The silver felt cool against his skin.
Sirius transformed back into a dog as Hermione approached, but her anxious expression didn't change.
"I've been in the library all morning," she said, wringing her hands. "Trying to find something, anything that might help. But I don't know what you'll face in that maze, and I feel so useless just sitting here while you—"
"Hermione," Harry interrupted, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You're never useless. I wouldn't have survived first year without you, let alone made it this far."
She gave him a watery smile. "I just wish I could do more."
"You've done plenty," Harry assured her. "More than anyone could ask for."
The dog beside them gave a low whine, and Harry knew Sirius was signaling that they needed to go. Time was running out.
They moved toward the door, Sirius padding silently beside them. In the corridor, Harry was surprised to see another figure waiting—tall, lanky, with red hair and freckles. Ron stood awkwardly, hands jammed in his pockets, looking anywhere but at Harry.
"Ron?" Hermione said, sounding as surprised as Harry felt.
Ron cleared his throat. "I, uh... I wanted to wish you good luck, Harry."
Harry felt his face harden. After months of jealousy, accusations, and silent treatment, now Ron wanted to talk?
"Thanks," he said stiffly, making to walk past.
"Wait," Ron said, putting a hand out but not quite touching Harry. "I know I've been the world's biggest prat. I've been jealous and stupid and... and the worst friend anyone could ask for."
Harry stopped, still not looking at Ron directly. The anger that had sustained him through their estrangement felt suddenly heavy and exhausting.
"I'm sorry," Ron continued, his voice cracking slightly. "Really sorry. I know our friendship might never be the same, and that's my fault. But I just wanted you to know that... well, that I'm sorry. And even if you never want to speak to me again, that's alright too. I deserve it."
Harry finally turned to look at his oldest friend. Ron's face was pale beneath his freckles, his expression so genuinely miserable that Harry felt his anger begin to dissolve despite himself.
"You have been the world's biggest prat," Harry agreed, but there was no venom in it.
Ron nodded miserably. "I know."
Harry sighed. He thought of the maze waiting for him, of Voldemort somewhere beyond, of all the dangers that had seemed so much more manageable when Ron had been by his side.
"We'll talk," he said finally. "After the task. I can't promise things will go back to how they were, but... we'll talk."
The relief on Ron's face was almost painful to see. "That's more than I deserve," he said quietly.
Hermione was beaming between them, tears in her eyes. Even the dog at Harry's side seemed to relax slightly.
"I should go," Harry said, glancing at his watch. "Champions' tent."
Hermione surprised him by throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug. "Be careful, Harry," she whispered. "Please be careful."
Harry ducked into the champions' tent, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grounds behind him. The familiar knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach—though whether from the impending task or the knowledge of what might await beyond it, he couldn't say.
The tent smelled of canvas and grass, just as it had before the first task. But unlike then, Harry wasn't the nervous, isolated boy he'd been. His mother's pendant rested against his chest beneath his robes, and the sun symbol on his abdomen pulsed with a warm, reassuring heat.
Cedric nodded at him from across the tent, his handsome face tense but determined. "All right, Harry?"
"Been better," Harry replied with a half-smile. Honesty seemed easier these days, perhaps another gift from his bond with Fleur.
Speaking of Fleur—Harry's eyes found her immediately, as if drawn by some invisible force. She stood with her back to him, her school-blue silk robes hugging the curve of her waist before flowing elegantly to the ground.
As if sensing his gaze, she turned, her blue eyes meeting his with an intensity that made the tent and everyone in it seem to fade away momentarily. The corner of her mouth lifted in a subtle smile meant only for him.
The moment shattered as Viktor Krum shouldered past Harry, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Watch it," Harry muttered, but Krum didn't seem to hear him.
Harry frowned. Something was off about Krum—more than just pre-task nerves. His movements reminded Harry of something, but he couldn't quite place it...
"Champions, gather round, please," came Dumbledore's voice as he swept into the tent, followed by Bagman, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. Behind them, Harry spotted the limping figure of "Professor Moody," and his hand instinctively moved closer to his wand.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention back to the center of the tent. "The third task is quite straightforward," the headmaster announced, his blue eyes moving between the four champions. "The Triwizard Cup has been placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."
As Dumbledore continued explaining the rules, Harry noticed the headmaster's left hand making a subtle gesture—three quick taps against his robes, followed by a circular motion. The signal they'd arranged. Be alert. Stay to the plan.
Harry nodded almost imperceptibly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fleur doing the same.
"Mr. Potter will enter first, followed by Mr. Diggory, then Mr. Krum, and finally Miss Delacour," Bagman was saying, bouncing on the balls of his feet with inappropriate excitement. "You'll enter at ten-minute intervals."
Harry's heart sank. That meant at least a thirty-minute head start before Fleur would even enter the maze. Finding each other would be challenging.
"Before we begin," Dumbledore said, "you may have a few moments with your families."
The tent flap opened, and several groups entered. Cedric's parents rushed to him immediately, his father clapping him proudly on the shoulder. Krum stood alone.
Sebastian Delacour entered, his elegant robes marking him instantly as both foreign and important. Beside him walked Apolline, her Veela beauty still striking even beside her daughter's, and little Gabrielle, who spotted Harry and waved excitedly.
Harry hung back, giving Fleur a moment with her family, but to his surprise, Sebastian beckoned him over.
"Harry," the French Minister greeted him warmly, clasping his shoulder. "We wished to see you both before this final challenge."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, surprised by how natural it felt to be included in their family circle. Gabrielle slipped her small hand into his, beaming up at him.
"You will win, yes?" she asked in her accented English.
Harry smiled down at her. "I'll do my best."
"Two minutes," Bagman called cheerfully from the entrance.
Sebastian stepped back, hands still on his daughter's shoulders. "Remember what your mother has taught you about the bond," he said quietly. "It is stronger than you know."
As Fleur's family moved away, giving similar words of encouragement to Cedric, Harry found himself alone with Fleur for a brief moment on the far side of the tent.
"Thirty minutes," he said quietly. "That's how long before you enter after me."
Fleur nodded, her expression calm but her eyes betraying her concern. "I will find you," she promised. "The bond will guide me."
Harry wanted to say more—to tell her again how much she meant to him, to remind her to be careful—but the words stuck in his throat.
Instead, he reached for her hand, fingers intertwining with hers. The moment they touched, a jolt of warmth shot up his arm, and the sun symbol on his abdomen blazed with heat for an instant.
Fleur gasped softly. "Did you feel—"
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "It's getting stronger."
From across the tent, "Moody" was watching them, his magical eye fixed unblinkingly on their joined hands. The expression on his scarred face was impossible to read, but Harry felt a prickle of unease.
"Champions, please prepare yourselves," Dumbledore announced. "Mr. Potter, you will enter when the cannon sounds."
Harry reluctantly let go of Fleur's hand, but she caught his wrist before he could step away.
"'Arry," she whispered, "whatever happens... remember what we are together."
He nodded, throat tight. "I'll see you in there."
As he moved toward the tent entrance, ready to face whatever lay ahead, Harry felt the weight of multiple gazes on his back—Dumbledore's concerned, Crouch's calculating, and Fleur's loving.
The cannon boomed, echoing across the grounds. Harry took a deep breath, fingered his mother's pendant beneath his robes, and stepped out into the gathering twilight, toward the towering hedge maze that awaited him.
The roar of the crowd faded behind Harry as he stepped through the narrow opening in the towering hedges. The instant he entered, the noise dimmed to an eerie silence, as if someone had cast Silencio on the entire world. The hedge entrance sealed itself behind him with a rustling finality that made his heart skip.
"Lumos," Harry muttered, his wand tip igniting in the gathering darkness. The maze stretched before him—oppressively tall walls of dense foliage on either side, the path ahead disappearing into shadow. The hedges seemed almost alive, rustling occasionally without any breeze to move them.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to orient himself. The cup would be at the center, so he needed to head... where, exactly? Without the sun visible above the high walls, it was impossible to tell which direction was which.
"Point me," he whispered, placing his wand flat on his palm. It spun and pointed north. Right, so the center should be roughly northwest.
The first fork came quickly. Harry hesitated, then took the left path, keeping as close to northwest as he could. The mist that clung to the ground swirled around his ankles as he walked, making the simple act of putting one foot in front of another seem somehow ominous.
After several minutes of walking, punctuated by more turns and decisions, Harry rounded a corner and stopped short. The path ahead was blocked by what looked like a solid wall of silvery webbing that shimmered in his wandlight.
"Brilliant," he muttered. He'd encountered something like this in Care of Magical Creatures—a Bundimun barrier. The fungal creature created powerful adhesive webs that would trap anything that touched them.
"Incendio," Harry cast, directing a controlled flame at the barrier. The webbing sizzled and curled away, revealing the path beyond. He stepped carefully through, making sure not to touch the smoldering remains.
Three more turns, and Harry found himself at another fork in the path. As he tried to decide which way to go, a cold, unnatural mist began pouring from the right-hand passage. His breath frosted in the air as the temperature plummeted.
Dementors. Or at least...
The dark, hooded figure glided into view, its face hidden beneath its cowl. Harry immediately felt the familiar cold despair washing over him, but something was off. The feeling wasn't as intense as it should be, and his mother's silver pendant seemed warm against his chest despite the chill.
"Riddikulus!" Harry shouted, remembering his third-year lessons. The Boggart-Dementor stumbled, its flowing robes suddenly transforming into a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. Harry couldn't help the quick bark of laughter that escaped him, and the creature exploded into wisps of smoke.
"Not bad, Potter," he said to himself, his confidence growing. He turned down the left path instead, pushing deeper into the maze.
The next challenge came without warning. As Harry passed a particularly dense section of hedge, the ground beneath him seemed to give way. Thick, ropy tendrils shot up around his feet and ankles, wrapping themselves tightly around his legs with surprising strength.
Devil's Snare. The plant's tendrils were already climbing higher, constricting around his knees.
"Lumos Solem!" Harry cast, increasing the intensity of his wandlight to mimic sunlight. The plant writhed and retreated slightly, but didn't release him completely.
"Come on," Harry grunted, struggling against the tightening vines. "Diffindo!"
The cutting charm sliced through several tendrils, but more simply took their place. This wasn't normal Devil's Snare—it seemed resistant to light and more aggressive than any specimen Professor Sprout had shown them.
Harry's mind raced. If light wouldn't work fully, what about heat? "Incendio," he tried, directing the flames carefully at the thickest vines.
This worked better—the plant recoiled from the fire, its grip loosening enough for Harry to wrench one leg free. He was about to cast again when the hedge wall to his right suddenly burst open, vines and leaves exploding outward.
Through the new opening rolled a massive, glowing blue sphere, easily three meters in diameter. It pulsed with an inner light that cast eerie shadows across the path. Harry stared, momentarily forgetting about the Devil's Snare still gripping his other leg.
The sphere began to spin, faster and faster, generating a high-pitched whine that made Harry's teeth ache. Small arcs of lightning crackled across its surface.
"What the bloody hell is that?" Harry muttered, raising his wand uncertainly. He'd never seen anything like it in any of his classes or books.
The sphere suddenly shot toward him, moving with surprising speed. Harry cast a hasty "Protego!" just as it collided with his shield. The impact sent vibrations through his entire body, like standing too close to a massive bell when it tolled. His shield held, but the sphere didn't bounce away—instead, it pressed against the magical barrier, the high-pitched whine intensifying.
To his horror, Harry realized his shield was beginning to crack, hairline fractures spreading across its surface like ice breaking on a lake. And he was still partially trapped by the Devil's Snare.
"Bombarda!" he shouted, aiming at the sphere.
The spell connected, but instead of exploding, the sphere absorbed the magic, growing brighter and spinning even faster. The lightning dancing across its surface increased, striking out at the hedge walls, setting small fires.
Harry's mind raced. If offensive spells made it stronger, and shields wouldn't hold, how could he—
A sudden warmth bloomed in his abdomen where the sun symbol lay hidden beneath his robes. The sensation was intense, almost like a warning, and instinctively Harry knew—Fleur was nearby. And in danger.
The urgency of this realization gave him new strength. He pointed his wand at the remaining Devil's Snare and thought the incantation with all his might: "Incendio Maxima!"
Flames erupted from his wand, far more powerful than he'd intended. The Devil's Snare shrieked—a sound he hadn't known plants could make—and released him completely. Harry rolled away just as the sphere crashed through the remains of his shield.
Without thinking, Harry turned and ran down a side passage that had opened in the hedge wall, following the pull of warmth in his gut. The strange sphere couldn't fit through the narrow opening and whined in apparent frustration behind him.
Harry sprinted through the twisting passages, guided by the increasing warmth of the bond. Left, right, another right—the paths seemed to be clearing before him, as if the maze itself was guiding him toward Fleur.
The sound came to him first—a woman's shout, followed by the clicking of massive mandibles. Harry rounded a final corner and skidded to a halt at the edge of a clearing within the maze.
Fleur stood with her back to a hedge wall, her blue robes torn at the sleeve and her golden hair partially free from its braid. Before her loomed an Acromantula the size of a small elephant, its eight gleaming eyes fixed on her as it advanced. Fleur's wand was raised, but she seemed to be favoring her left leg, a dark stain spreading on her robes just above the knee.
"Impedimenta!" she shouted, but the jinx merely slowed the massive spider momentarily before it resumed its approach.
"Fleur!" Harry called, rushing forward to stand beside her.
She turned to him, relief flooding her face. "Arry! Attention!" she warned as the spider lunged forward.
Moving in perfect synchronization, they raised their wands together. Harry didn't plan what spell to cast—he simply reacted, and somehow knew Fleur would match him.
"Bombarda Maxima!" they shouted in unison.
Twin jets of light—one red, one blue—shot from their wands, spiraling around each other before striking the Acromantula directly in its bulbous body. The instant the combined spell hit, the sun symbols on their abdomens blazed with heat.
The explosion that followed was far beyond what either spell could have produced alone. The Acromantula was blasted backward, its massive body crashing through the hedge wall opposite them. The concussive force of their combined magic rippled outward, flattening sections of the maze in all directions.
As the dust settled, Harry turned to Fleur, both of them panting from the exertion. "Are you alright?" he asked, eyes drawn to the blood on her robes.
Fleur nodded, her eyes wide with astonishment. "I... I've never felt magic like that," she whispered. "It was..."
"Brilliant," Harry finished, a grin spreading across his face despite the danger they'd just faced. "And terrifying."
Fleur smiled back, reaching out to touch his face gently. "I felt you," she said. "When the spider appeared, I felt you coming..."
"I felt it too," Harry confirmed, glancing around at the destruction they'd caused. At least four different passages were now visible through the blasted hedge walls. "I was trapped by some weird glowing ball thing, and suddenly I just knew you needed me."
He helped her sit on a chunk of earth that had been upturned by their spell. "Episkey," he cast on her injured leg, watching the wound close partially.
"Thank you," she said, testing her weight on it carefully. "We should keep moving. The cup can't be far now."
Harry nodded, helping her to her feet. As they stood together in the clearing they'd created, something shifted. The path ahead seemed to widen invitingly, the mist clearing from the ground.
"I think we're meant to go this way," Harry said, pointing down the newly formed path.
"Together," Fleur said, gripping his hand tightly.
Harry nodded, the warmth of their bond pulsing steadily between them as they moved forward. "Together."
The path ahead grew narrower as Harry and Fleur pressed deeper into the maze. The destruction from their combined spell had faded behind them, the hedge walls closing in once more like the maze was healing itself. Night had fully fallen now, and their wandlight cast long, dancing shadows across the ground.
They came to a fork in the path. Harry raised his wand, casting the Four-Point spell again. "This way should lead us closer to the center," he said, pointing to the right-hand passage.
As they turned down the new path, a low mist began to swirl around their ankles. It wasn't the bone-chilling cold of a Dementor, but something about it made Harry's skin prickle with unease.
"Ventus," Fleur cast, creating a gust of wind that temporarily cleared the mist, but it reformed almost immediately.
"I don't like this," Harry muttered, tightening his grip on his wand. "Stay close."
They had gone only a few more paces when the mist suddenly thickened, rising up to obscure everything beyond an arm's length. Harry felt Fleur's hand slip from his grasp.
"Fleur?" he called, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
"I'm here," she answered, her voice oddly muffled. "Just a step away—"
A jet of red light shot through the mist, missing Harry's head by inches. He dropped into a crouch instinctively, heart hammering.
"Protego!" he shouted, throwing up a shield just as another stunner sliced through the fog. "Ventus Maxima!"
The powerful wind spell tore through the mist, revealing a figure standing just meters away—Viktor Krum, his wand raised and his eyes completely blank, like dark pools of emptiness.
"Viktor, stop!" Harry called.
Krum gave no indication of having heard. He slashed his wand through the air, sending a cutting curse toward them. Harry deflected it, but Krum was already casting again.
"Stupefy!" Fleur cast from Harry's left, but Krum sidestepped with the trained reflexes of an athlete.
The duel intensified, spells flying back and forth through the narrow passage. Harry and Fleur fought defensively, trying not to seriously harm their fellow champion, but Krum showed no such restraint. A particularly nasty hex grazed Harry's shoulder, sending searing pain down his arm.
"We need to end this," Harry grunted, deflecting another curse.
"Expelliarmus!" they shouted together.
The disarming charm—usually a simple red jet of light—emerged from their wands as a brilliant golden beam that struck Krum squarely in the chest. His wand flew from his grip, arcing high into the air, and Krum himself was lifted off his feet and thrown backward several meters. He landed in a crumpled heap, unmoving but still breathing.
Harry rushed forward, checking his pulse. "He's alive, just unconscious," he confirmed, relief washing through him.
Fleur knelt beside him, raising her wand toward the sky. "Periculum." Red sparks shot upward, soaring above the hedge walls to signal that a champion needed rescue.
"The professors will find him," she said, gently placing Krum's wand beside his unconscious form. "He will be safe now."
Harry stood, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Fleur noticed immediately, her eyes narrowing with concern.
"You're hurt," she said, stepping closer to examine the wound.
"It's nothing," Harry insisted, but hissed when her fingers gently probed the injury.
"Don't be stubborn," she chided, withdrawing a small vial from an inner pocket of her robes. "Essence of dittany. My mother insisted I carry it."
The healing liquid stung as she applied it, but the pain in his shoulder immediately began to fade. Harry watched her face as she worked, struck by the intense concentration in her eyes, the slight furrow between her brows. Even disheveled from their battle, with smudges of dirt on her cheek and her hair tangled around her shoulders, she was breathtaking.
"What?" she asked, noticing his stare.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly, feeling heat rise in his face. "Just... thank you."
Fleur's smile was knowing, as if she could read his thoughts. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "We should keep moving," she said. "The cup can't be far."
They continued deeper into the maze, the passages growing increasingly twisted and disorienting. Twice more they encountered obstacles—a patch of ground that turned to quicksand beneath their feet, and a section of hedge that came alive, whipping at them with thorny branches—but together, they overcame them with relative ease.
"I think we're close," Harry said after they rounded another corner. The air felt different somehow, charged with anticipation. "The center should be just ahead."
The path widened suddenly, opening into a circular clearing. Unlike the rest of the maze, this area was well-lit by torches mounted on tall stone pillars. In the center of the clearing stood not the Triwizard Cup, as Harry had expected, but a massive creature with the body of a lion and the head of a woman.
The Sphinx regarded them with ancient, intelligent eyes as they entered her domain. Her tawny fur gleamed in the torchlight, and her woman's face—beautiful but utterly inhuman—wore an expression of serene amusement.
"Champions," she greeted them, her voice deep and melodious. "You have reached the final guardian before your prize."
Harry and Fleur stopped a respectful distance away. Harry had read about Sphinxes in Defense Against the Dark Arts—they were fiercely territorial and incredibly strong, but could be reasoned with.
"To pass," the Sphinx continued, "you must answer my riddle. Answer correctly, and I will allow you to proceed. Answer incorrectly, and I attack. Remain silent, and you may turn back the way you came."
Harry glanced at Fleur, who nodded slightly. "We'll hear your riddle," he said.
The Sphinx settled onto her haunches, her tail swishing slowly behind her. Her eyes moved between them, lingering on their clasped hands.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Two who seek to win as one. Very well, here is your riddle:
"I am found in the darkness, yet made by the light.
I am present in absence, yet vanish from sight.
What joins two souls across a divide,
Is stronger when broken, yet weaker when tied.
Half of me dwells in l'obscurité,
Half in la lumière, eternally.
What am I?"
Harry frowned, turning the words over in his mind. Something found in darkness but made by light? Present in absence? It sounded like a contradiction. And what were those French words she'd used?
"L'obscurité means darkness," Fleur whispered. "La lumière is light."
So the riddle was partially in French, Harry realized. It needed both languages to solve—just like they needed each other.
"It joins two souls..." he mused aloud. "Something that connects people."
"And is stronger when broken," Fleur added, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yet weaker when tied."
Harry's mind raced. What became stronger when broken? A secret? No, that didn't fit the rest. A promise? Closer, maybe. His eyes drifted to the space between them, to their joined hands, and suddenly it clicked.
"A bridge!" he exclaimed.
The Sphinx's expression remained impassive. "Is that your answer?"
Harry hesitated, doubt creeping in. It fit some parts of the riddle, but not all. He looked to Fleur, who seemed equally uncertain.
"Half in darkness, half in light," she repeated softly. Her eyes widened suddenly. "Le pont! The bridge!"
She turned to Harry, excitement in her voice. "In French, le pont—bridge—shares letters with both l'obscurité and la lumière. The letter 'o' is in darkness, and 't' is in light!"
"And bridges join two sides," Harry added, understanding dawning. "They're stronger when broken—when you break a bridge, you're creating distance, which makes the connection between people stronger because they have to work harder to maintain it."
"And weaker when tied," Fleur finished. "When the bridge is fully formed, you take the connection for granted."
They turned back to the Sphinx together. "Our answer is a bridge," Harry stated confidently. "Le pont."
For a long moment, the Sphinx merely stared at them, her inscrutable gaze revealing nothing. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile.
"Correct," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. "In both languages, as befits your unique bond. You may pass."
She stepped aside, revealing a new passage that hadn't been visible before. At the far end, Harry could just make out a glimmer of blue light—the glow of the Triwizard Cup.
"Thank you," Fleur said to the Sphinx, who inclined her head in acknowledgment.
"The cup awaits," the creature replied. "But remember, champions—what seems like an ending may be merely a beginning."
He tightened his grip on Fleur's hand as they moved past the Sphinx and into the final passage.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Fleur's blue eyes met his, determination and affection mingling in her gaze. "As long as we are together," she replied.
The Triwizard Cup stood on a plinth in the very center of the maze, bathing the clearing in an ethereal blue glow. After everything they'd faced—dragons, the lake, and now the maze itself—the sight of it seemed almost anticlimactic to Harry. Just a trophy, really. A bit of metal and magic that had somehow become the center of his chaotic year.
Yet as he and Fleur approached it, hands still linked, he felt a curious mixture of relief and apprehension. Dumbledore's warning echoed in his mind: Be alert. Stay to the plan.
"We made it," Fleur breathed beside him, her voice tinged with disbelief. Her golden hair had mostly escaped its braid now. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and a tear in her robes, but Harry thought she had never looked more beautiful.
They stopped before the plinth, staring at the cup. Up close, Harry could see intricate runes carved into its handles, pulsing with magical energy.
"You should take it," Fleur said suddenly, turning to him. "You reached the center first. You deserve it."
Harry shook his head. "No way. We got here together. And honestly, I never wanted to be in this tournament in the first place."
"Your 'umility is charming, 'Arry, but you earned this." Fleur squeezed his hand. "You saved me from the Acromantula."
"And you saved me from that cutting hex Krum sent," Harry countered. "Besides, think how angry your father would be if I took all the glory after everything he's done to support us both."
A smile tugged at Fleur's lips. "Papa would never forgive you."
They stood in silence for a moment, both staring at the cup. The tension in Harry's chest eased slightly as he realized there was a simple solution.
"We'll take it together," he suggested. "Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, tied for the win. It's still a victory for both our schools."
Fleur considered him for a long moment, something unreadable in her blue eyes. Then she nodded. "Together," she agreed. "As we have done everything else."
"On three," Harry said, raising his free hand toward one of the cup's handles. Fleur mirrored him, reaching for the other. "One... two... three!"
Their fingers closed around the handles simultaneously. Instantly, Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel—the unmistakable sensation of a Portkey activating. The blue glow intensified, enveloping them both as the maze dissolved around them.
They were spinning through howling wind and swirling color, the cup locked to their hands like a magnet. Harry tightened his grip on Fleur, refusing to let go as they were hurled through space.
The spinning stopped abruptly as they slammed into solid ground. Harry's legs buckled beneath him, and he fell forward onto cold, damp earth, the cup flying from his grasp and rolling away across uneven ground. Beside him, Fleur landed more gracefully but still staggered, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
The air was cold and damp, carrying the musty scent of old stone and decaying leaves. As Harry's vision cleared, he found himself staring at rows of weathered gravestones stretching in all directions under a moonless sky. In the distance loomed the silhouette of what appeared to be a small church, its steeple a dark spike against the stars.
A graveyard. The same graveyard from his dreams.
"Where are we?" Fleur whispered, moving closer to him, her back nearly touching his as they stood defensive.
"I don't know," Harry replied, his eyes scanning the darkness between the graves. "But it's not Hogwarts."
Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped. Harry spun toward the sound, wand outstretched, the Protego charm ready on his lips. He caught a flicker of movement in the shadows.
Before either of them could react, a high, cold voice spoke from the darkness—a voice that made Harry's blood run cold.
"Welcome, Harry Potter," it said, the words like shards of ice. "I've been waiting for you."
White-hot pain exploded in Harry's forehead, his scar burning as if someone had pressed a heated poker against his skin. He cried out, his free hand clapping over the lightning bolt mark as he doubled over.
"'Arry! What's wrong?" Fleur's alarmed voice seemed to come from far away, beyond the roaring in his ears.
Through the haze of pain, Harry felt something wrap around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. Thick ropes—conjured from nowhere—dragged him backward until his spine slammed against the cold stone of a large tombstone. More ropes wound around him, binding him securely to the marker. A few feet away, Fleur suffered the same fate, her struggles useless against the magical bonds that secured her to a neighboring grave.
"Do not harm the girl, Nagini," the cold voice commanded. "She may yet prove useful."
Harry forced his eyes open despite the throbbing agony in his scar. A massive snake—easily twelve feet long—slithered across the damp earth, its triangular head raised as it regarded Fleur with cold, predatory interest.
"Leave her alone!" Harry shouted, his voice hoarse with pain and fear.
A soft laugh answered him, and then a figure stepped from the shadows into a pool of faint moonlight. Harry's breath caught in his throat.
Lord Voldemort.
He was tall and skeletally thin, draped in robes as black as the night around them. His face was barely human—chalk-white and gaunt, with scarlet eyes that gleamed like coals in the darkness. Where a nose should have been, only snake-like slits remained. His lipless mouth curved into a terrible smile as he observed Harry's horror.
"At last we meet again, properly," Voldemort said, his voice somehow both soft and penetrating. "Face to face. No longer a wraith, no longer a memory. Flesh and blood once more."
Harry stared, unable to look away from the nightmare made real before him. The pain in his scar was nauseating, but fear for Fleur overrode even that.
"She is alive only because she is the French Minister's daughter," Voldemort continued, his red gaze flicking briefly to Fleur. "Political leverage may yet be useful, though I confess, Harry, I had not anticipated you would bring a... companion."
"When did you get a new body?" Harry demanded, trying to keep Voldemort's attention on him rather than Fleur. "How—"
"All will be explained, Harry," Voldemort interrupted, raising his wand—bone-white and terrible. "But first, a taste of what awaits those who oppose Lord Voldemort. Crucio!"
It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced. His bones were on fire, his head splitting along the seam of his scar, his very skin felt as if it were being peeled away strip by strip. He couldn't help the scream that tore from his throat, echoing across the silent graveyard.
The curse lifted as suddenly as it had begun, leaving Harry limp against his bonds, panting. Through blurred vision, he saw Fleur struggling against her ropes, tears streaming down her beautiful face as she watched his torture, unable to help.
"That was but a sample," Voldemort said conversationally. "A mere taste of the suffering that awaits my enemies." He cast the curse again, and again white-hot agony consumed Harry's world.
When it finally ended for the second time, Harry slumped forward, held upright only by the ropes binding him to the tombstone. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and the taste of blood filled his mouth where he had bitten his tongue.
Voldemort smiled, stepping back slightly. "You see, Harry, Lord Voldemort always keeps his promises. I promised we would meet again, and here we are."
He raised his left arm, pulling back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a vivid red mark—a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand against the mark, and it turned jet black.
"Now," he said, his eyes never leaving Harry's face, "we shall have an audience for your final moments."
The air around them seemed to shimmer, and dark figures began to materialize throughout the graveyard—hooded and masked forms that appeared like wraiths from the shadows. Death Eaters. Eight of them, forming a circle around Voldemort, Harry, and Fleur.
One by one, they fell to their knees, crawling forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"Master," one whispered, his voice trembling. "Master, forgive us..."
"Thirteen years," Voldemort said coldly after the last had backed away. "Thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as if it were yesterday... I confess myself disappointed."
"Master!" a large, broad-shouldered Death Eater exclaimed, falling to his knees again. "We did not know! Had there been any sign, any whisper of your whereabouts—"
"There were signs, my slippery friend," Voldemort interrupted silkily. "And more than whispers."
"I returned," said another voice—high, frightened. Harry recognized it as belonging to Wormtail, though he couldn't identify which masked figure it came from.
"Out of fear, not loyalty," Voldemort corrected. "Still, you helped restore me to this body, however reluctantly, and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers... when they do not disappoint him."
He moved around the circle, addressing each Death Eater in turn, naming their failings and cowardice. When he reached a particularly tall, elegant figure, he paused.
"Lucius," he said softly. "My faithful servant... or so you have always claimed."
The figure removed his mask, revealing the pale, pointed face of Lucius Malfoy. "My Lord," he said, his voice steady despite the fear evident in his eyes. "Had I detected any sign—"
"Yet you ran from my Mark at the World Cup," Voldemort interrupted. "You never searched for me. You slipped back into your comfortable life, claiming innocence and ignorance."
As Voldemort continued to berate his followers, Harry's mind raced. The Recognition Dial had been activated—Dumbledore would be coming. If he could just keep Voldemort talking, distracted...
"How did you survive?" Harry called out, his voice stronger than he expected. "After that night in Godric's Hollow. How are you here now?"
Voldemort turned back to him, something like pleasure flickering in those terrible red eyes. "Ah, curious, Harry? I suppose you've earned the right to know before you die."
He began to pace, his bare, pale feet silent on the damp earth. "When your mother's sacrifice ripped me from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. One of my experiments had succeeded, you see. I had gone further than anybody along the path to immortality."
Voldemort described his years of half-existence, possessing the bodies of small animals until, three years ago, a foolish young wizard named Quirrell had wandered into the forest where he was hiding.
"But you thwarted me again, didn't you, Harry?" Voldemort's voice took on a dangerous edge. "Even without your powers, the protection your mother left in your blood proved too strong. An interesting conundrum for me to solve."
He continued his tale—how Wormtail had found him a year ago, how they had plotted together, how they had secured help from an unexpected source.
"My faithful servant at Hogwarts," Voldemort said, his lipless mouth curving into a cruel smile. "The one who ensured your name was entered in the Goblet of Fire, who guided you through each task, who made sure the Triwizard Cup would bring you here."
Harry's mind flashed to Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Moody. Dumbledore had been right.
"Dumbledore is a fool," Voldemort continued, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "Trusting where he should suspect, offering second chances to those who deserve none." He laughed, a high, cold sound that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "He even trusts Severus Snape, believing his remorse genuine."
He pointed a long, white finger, and Harry's gaze followed it to a figure standing apart from the others, slightly removed from the circle. Unlike the rest, this Death Eater was unmasked, his sallow face and hooked nose unmistakable even in the dim light.
Snape.
Harry's stomach dropped. Despite everything—all of Dumbledore's assurances—Snape had been loyal to Voldemort all along. He felt sick.
But something about Snape's stance caught Harry's attention. The Potions Master was standing oddly rigid, his wand hand making subtle, precise movements at his side. His eyes, usually cold and empty, burned with an intensity Harry had never seen before.
"Severus," Voldemort called, his voice suddenly sharp. "What are you doing?"
Snape raised his head, his black eyes meeting Voldemort's red ones without flinching. "You should not have killed her," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying clearly in the silent graveyard.
Before Voldemort could respond, Snape slashed his wand through the air in a complex pattern. "Luminos Maxima Totalis!"
Blinding white light erupted from his wand, flooding the graveyard with a radiance so intense that Harry had to close his eyes against it. Even through his eyelids, the light burned like a miniature sun.
In the midst of the brilliant flash, Harry heard Snape's voice again, intoning words in a language he didn't recognize—not Latin, nor any spell he'd ever heard at Hogwarts. "Locus Revelio Maxima Congregato!"
The ground beneath them trembled slightly, and Harry felt a strange ripple in the air, as if an invisible barrier had suddenly dissolved.
When the light faded, five seconds later, chaos had erupted. Death Eaters were shouting in confusion, and Voldemort's high voice rose above them all, demanding to know what Snape had done.
The answer came in a series of loud cracks that echoed through the night—the unmistakable sound of Apparition. Many Apparitions, all around them.
Dark figures appeared throughout the graveyard, wands raised and ready. Harry recognized Sirius first, his godfather's face set in a mask of cold fury as he materialized beside Arthur Weasley. Then came Bill Weasley, and a young witch with shockingly pink hair whom Harry didn't know. More wizards appeared—some familiar, others strangers—until the Death Eaters were surrounded.
Professor McGonagall appeared near Harry, her normally stern face alight with righteous anger as she cast a quick spell that severed the ropes binding him to the tombstone. Across from her, Professor Flitwick did the same for Fleur.
Then, with a final crack that seemed to reverberate through the very earth beneath them, Albus Dumbledore appeared in the center of the graveyard. His usually kind face was transformed, radiating power and fury that made him suddenly seem as terrifying as Voldemort himself.
The Headmaster's blue eyes, no longer twinkling but hard as steel, fixed on Voldemort's red ones.
"Hello, Tom," Dumbledore said quietly.
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