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Harry rubbed his wrists, still raw from the ropes and warily watched the Aurors who had shown up to investigate. The pain relieving potion one of them had handed him helped a little, but he was bruised and achy and had a headache and couldn't wait until he was some place safe and allowed to sleep. A couple of the Aurors were standing guard nearby, looking fairly alert as they scanned the area for new threats. (Ordinarily, Harry wouldn't think he needed a guard, but given the events of the day, was just as glad someone else was keeping watch.) A third Auror was poking at the half-set concrete like sludge left in the cauldron. Another was casting ... spells of some sort. (Harry didn't have the energy to care as long as those spells weren't aimed at himself.)
"Mr. Potter? May I have a word?"
He turned to look at the stern witch bearing down on him and almost reflexively raised his wand.
"There is no need for that, Mr. Potter."
Harry flicked a glance over to Professor Moody's still body, Stunned and bound in at least three different spells Harry had never seen before, with yet another Auror standing guard over him. "Right. I was crammed into a death game tournament against my will, kidnapped for some twisted resurrection ritual by the traitor who sold out my parents, and attacked - again - by my Defense Professor who also happens to be a cop and is probably the one who forced me into said death game in the first place. Who are you?"
The witch followed his glance and grimaced. "I am Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I would like to speak with you about the events of tonight."
"Alright..."
Harry nodded at Cedric. He could hardly believe he'd actually survived the terrifying death tournament he'd been forcibly entered in, but there, before them stood the cup - his ticket out of this insanity.
"Together?"
"Together - a Hogwarts victory."
Grinning, they reached for the cup.
A sharp hook grabbed them by the guts, yanking them off their feet.
A flash of green, and Cedric lay dead on the ground.
A flash of red and he was groggily waking up, legs slightly akimbo in an awkward W-sitting position, arms tied securely behind him and around a roughly squared stone - most likely a gravestone similar to those surrounding him. His glasses sat askew on his nose, making half his field of vision blurry, and he could feel the injuries from traversing that blasted maze aching fiercely.
A dull scraping noise drew his attention and he rocked his head around until he could somewhat see - the angle was awkward and he almost lost his glasses entirely at one point, but it was enough. Wormtail was pouring copious amounts of a rather oily-looking potion into a grossly oversized cauldron before dropping a wadded bundle of rags in.
Harry began working one of his legs around into a more comfortable position, the stone dug painfully into his back and ropes bit his arms and torso as he wriggled as quietly as he could.
The ground cracked open at a wave of the Rat's wand.
"Bone of the Father, unknowingly given, you shall revive your son."
Well, drat. That didn't sound good.
"Flesh of the Servant, willing given, you shall restore your Master."
Harry worked his other leg around as Wormtail panted in pain from amputating his own arm, pulling his knees up to his chest. It wouldn't offer much protection, especially against magic, but it made him feel a bit better.
Wormtail approached, one arm clutched against his chest, the other gripping the bloody knife. Given the talk of restoring a Master, and the fact he was trussed up in a bloody cemetery, Harry was fairly certain that knife was not going to be used to cut the ropes and release him.
Maybe it was his position, forced to look up at an odd angle to keep track of the man, or maybe it was the distortion from his glasses' precarious angle, but Harry suddenly had a vivid recollection of facing a troll, and an idea sprang to his mind. He'd seen Professors do wandless magic - Snape making potions instructions appear on the board with a mere gesture was a regular occurence - and he'd done magic before ever getting his wand.
"A troll? Why a troll?"
"Well, in first year Hermione was in the bathroom and didn't hear the announcement about the troll Professor Quirrel let in to the castle to cause a diversion so he and Voldemort could get the Philosopher's Stone Dumbledore hid in a mirror. Ron and I went to find her and the troll found us. Something about the way Pettigrew was standing reminded me of the troll lifting his club."
"I...see? We will come back to this, as I have heard nothing whatsoever of any incident at Hogwarts with either a troll or the Philosohper's Stone - you do mean Flamel's famous magnus opus?"
"Nicholas Flamel? Yes, ma'am."
"I will have questions about that later, right now, please continue with your explanation of tonight's events."
Pouring all his desperation into the effort (and minding Hermione's lectures on correct pronunciation) he pictured himself wielding his wand in a perfect swish-and-flick, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The knife flew upward from Wormtail's hand.
What to do with it?
"bloop" went the waiting cauldron.
Perfect!
Doing his best to aim, Harry dropped the knife into the potion.
"You did what?"
"Dropped the knife into the potion. I almost missed since I could really only kinda see out of one eye, but it clanged off the edge and into the pot. I figured that, at the least, Wormtail - I mean Pettigrew - would have to pull it out of boiling-hot whatever and it would buy me a few more minutes to come up with something else."
"I...see. Quite clever. Do continue."
Wormtail watched the knife wobble through the air and splash into the cauldron incredulously. The glare he turned on Harry was murderous, and he took a few steps forward, clearly intending violence.
Harry froze, hiding behind his knees until Wormtail was almost upon him. He lashed out desperately; his foot happened to catch the man's knee and Wormtail stumbled back a half-step, cursing.
That seemed to snap him out of his first, violent impulse, and he drew his wand instead.
"fizz" went the cauldron, releasing a vaguely purple tendril of smoke.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The tattered hems of Wormtail's robe flew up, wrapping around his torso and head, obscuring his vision and caging his arms. It also revealed a better target. Harry used the opportunity to aim, and his next kick was much more effectively placed. (Wormtail's shrill screech as he dropped his wand to clutch the offended area was a nice bonus.)
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The wand drifted to land at Harry's feet, and he stomped on it as viciously as possible.
"snap" went the wand.
"blorpablup" went the cauldron as a large, mucousy-looking bubble burst, releasing a putrid stench.
Another memory jumped out at him.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" A barely-visible tree branch floated into the air from behind a nearby tombstone, dropping with a 'thump' on Wormtail.
Harry's aim was off, and it merely knocked the traitor to the ground, putting his now-muddy face in a much better position for Harry to clearly see his furious glare. The next strike landed true, knocking him out cold. (Harry then piled several large chunks of broken headstones on his back to keep him down.)
"sizzle-fizzle" went the cauldron, spitting puke-green sparks.
Harry was panting with exertion - wandless magic was hard! - but kinda thought he was comparatively safe for the moment. He couldn't see worth spit, but even straining his ears he couldn't hear anything moving about. Surely their absence had been noted. Surely people were looking for them. Right? (Harry had his doubts, but ignored them for lack of other options.)
He suddenly remembered Cedric, and looked around. His already precariously perched glasses threatened to join Wormtail in the mud, and he soon desisted. (Perhaps it was better, anyway, not to see the proof of what he knew was true. Not yet.)
Harry waited, catching his breath and trying to figure out what to do next.
The adrenaline ebbed and he ached, both from his injuries and the uncomfortable position he'd been in for ... however long. Probably not as long as it seemed. He knew from experience that time stretched when your life was being threatened. The whole scene with Wormtail had probably taken less than a half hour, even though it seemed longer.
A slug crawled across the toe of his shoe, and he found himself mentally reviewing the notes Hermione had forced them to practically memorize on the uses of slugs in potions...
Hmmm...
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The slug sailed into the cauldron.
"rumble" went the cauldron.
Harry smiled.
"Was there a purpose in adding the slug, or just boredom."
"Both, I guess. The Slytherins like to throw random crap into our cauldrons during Potions class and it always ruins the potion and often makes big fat explosions. Snape never cares, so they keep doing it. Just ruining the potion was plenty - I definitely didn't want to revive whatever Master Wormtail was with, since it's probably Voldie. I mean, that's who Pettigrew betrayed my parents to in the first place, and he'd already gotten close to coming back my first and second years, so it's a fair guess the rat ran to find him when he escaped in my third year, right? - but I figured a nice big explosion that let people know where I was would also be a good result."
"A bit of a risk, but not a bad idea. First year was whatever happened with the Philosopher's Stone, correct?"
"Yup. Quirrell had Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head and he flew away in screaming black smoke when I accidentally burned Quirrell."
"...we are definitely talking about that later. What was second year - briefly?"
"Mr. Malfoy gave Ginny Weasley a cursed diary that made her release Slytherin's giant basilisk and then tried to give her life to Voldemort's childhood ghost so he could be a real boy again. Kid-Voldie was a right arse, by the way."
"A basilisk!?!"
"Yeah. It's dead, now, don't worry. So's the Voldie-ghost."
"Right... we will talk about that in more detail, too. And your third year, given that it was Sirius Black who had escaped."
"Um... actually, Sirius is innocent. Peter Pettigrew framed him for everything. Sirius escaped Azakaban, but Peter escaped Sirius and Fudge didn't want to hear the truth. But Peter's here, now, so you can make him listen, right?"
Madame Bones heaved a deep sigh. "Of course that bumbler is involved. We will definitely look into that, then."
"Ok. um... back to tonight?"
Evening stretched on into night, and Harry had long since gotten cold and stiff. He'd added several other random items to the potion, and the cauldron had popped and rumbled for a while before going inert. The embers of the fire beneath it glowed in the growing darkness. He'd alternated between twisting to loosen the ropes (fruitlessly), singing 'Henry the Eighth' at the top of his lungs (57 verses was the limit of what he could stand), and practicing wandless levitation spells by whacking Wormtail over the head again every time he twitched. (He'd missed a few times, and was pretty sure Pettigrew's unamputated arm was broken. He didn't feel too bad about it.)
Harry had even tried summoning the Triwizard Cup, hoping that the Portkey would work both ways - though the Portkey they'd taken to the Quidditch World Cup had been dropped in a box and forgotten, so they were probably one way, one use items. (He'd really have to find out more about magical means of travel. Having some sort of emergency escape would be really useful right about now...) Unfortunately, despite the intense practice of 'Accio' for the first task, he couldn't manage it wandlessly. And since he couldn't see the cup, 'Wingardium Leviosa' wouldn't work for him, either.
He could hear things rustling around him as night fell. Hopefully it was just a fox or a stray cat. Ya know, normal animals that normally come out at night and don't try to make a meal of humans.
It was fully dark and he was on his fifth round of 'The Song That Never Ends' when several pops sounded to his left. He really hoped they were friendlies, since the one spell he could reliably use without a wand depended on being able to see the target.
Professor Moody's gnarled face leering out of the darkness was NOT friendly. While that was partly just what his face was, Harry just about thought he'd have a heart attack. Still, the old Auror-cum-Defense Professor did cut the ropes binding him, and helped him stand up. He stumbled and fell as pins and needles vied with his injured ankle to rob him of his balance when Moody promptly tried to drag him away from the other Aurors for questioning. With a grunt, Moody paused to let him find his legs, pulling his ever-present flask from a pocket and taking a drink.
Maybe it was just the really really long, awful day, or maybe it was some sort of thirst-induced delirium from having sung his throat raw, but when the grizzled old man went to put his flask away, Harry grabbed it and took a swig, too.
"Eeurgh!!! Oh, balls, that tastes worse than Polyjuice!" ...and speaking of Polyjuice, Harry recognized the feeling of his body being forced to change.
Well, crap. That was 4 for 4 Defense Professors who had tried to get him killed.
"You stupid boy," fake-Moody growled as Harry fell to the ground again, missing half a leg, now. He raised his wand, only to be felled by a Stunner from another Auror coming up behind them.
"And I'm pretty sure you know what happened after that."
Amelia Bones nodded. It was disconcerting to see her tough-as-nails, paranoid old mentor fidgetting like the nervous school boy he actually was.
"Can I ask a question, now? Before we get into my first and second years?"
She nodded again. "Certainly, Mr. Potter. We will take a short break before continuing. I'm sure you'd like something to eat and drink."
Harry grinned brightly at her (and that was even more distrubing to see on Moody's face), "If Professor Dumbledore calls Professor Moody an old and trusted friend, why would he not notice someone pretending to be him?"
"...that is a good question. I will try to find out."
"Cool. Oh! Hey, since Polyjuice makes it so I don't need my glasses while I'm being someone else, is it possible to fix my eyes for real? Because having to guess where I was aiming to hit Pettigrew so he couldn't kill me or turn back into a rat was totally not cool, and I've got a crick in my neck from trying to not lose my glasses entirely."