Chapter Text
The Portkey crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.The earth surged up to meet Harry, slamming into him. He rolled onto his side, gasping, still rattled by the brutal magic of the journey. Cold air rushed into his lungs like a frozen blade. And beside him…
“Cedric!”
The cry tore itself from his throat. The body lay there, still, in a strangely peaceful posture, as if asleep. But his open eyes stared at a sky he would never see again. The noises around them rose in distant waves. The crowd was shouting. Cheering. The enthusiasm swelled, still unaware of what had just happened. Harry staggered as he pushed himself up, the Cup still lying nearby.
“Voldemort…” he breathed, his voice breaking. “VOLDEMORT IS BACK!”
The first spectators approached. Familiar faces. Frozen laughter. Furrowed brows. Murmurs broke out like a spreading fire.
“Voldemort?”
“What is he talking about?”
“And Cedric… oh…”
Then the crowd split. A figure burst through, roaring a cry that ripped through the air:
“YOU KILLED HIM!”
Amos Diggory slammed into Harry. The breath was knocked out of him as powerful hands grabbed his collar. The world exploded into pain. Blows rained down.
“YOU KILLED MY SON! MURDERER!”
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. His arms tried to push away, but Amos’s grip was that of a broken father, fueled by a rage nothing could calm. Silhouettes intervened. A deep voice growled:
“Enough!”
Alastor Moody yanked Amos back, stepping between them. He placed a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder, almost protectively.
“Potter, come. We need to get you out of here.”
Harry stumbled, his mind still clouded.
“Voldemort…” he repeated louder. “VOLDEMORT IS BACK!”
The murmurs grew. Eyes full of doubt and fear turned on him. Moody dragged him away from the crowd. His movements were abrupt. Too abrupt.
“Let’s go to my office, Potter. Quickly.”
The door slammed shut behind them. The air seemed thicker here, heavy with a strange tension.
“So, Potter,” Moody said as he approached, his eyes, both of them, glinting with something strange. “Tell me. Everything. Every detail.”
Harry swallowed. He told him. The Cup. The graveyard. Cedric. Voldemort. The Death Eaters. He spoke quickly, the words tumbling out as if he had to get them out before the memory slipped away.
The fake Moody leaned forward.
“And… did he mark you? Touch you?”
Harry frowned, hesitating, confused.
“What? No, I... ”
He didn’t have time to finish. A scarlet light exploded in the room.
“Crucio!”
Pain shattered through his body. It was as if his bones were breaking, his skin burning, his nerves screaming all at once. He screamed, the sound echoing against the walls. The torture was back. Like in the graveyard. Like on the cold stone. He curled in on himself, gasping, tears blurring his vision.
The curse lifted.
“Again, Potter,” Moody pressed. “Talk. Tell me what he said. Everything. And fast, unless you want more pain.”
Harry backed away, gasping. His hands were shaking.
“Why… you… you work for him…”
Moody grimaced.
“Very clever, Potter.”
The wand rose again.
“Crucio!”
This time, Harry rolled to the side, knocking over a chair, his own wand snapping into his hand almost by instinct. A spell shot out, striking the desk. The room erupted into chaos. Moody advanced, relentless. Harry backed up against the wall, adrenaline smothering the pain.
Cornered, he had no choice.
“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, the spell slamming into its target.
Moody was thrown back, his wand rolling across the floor. The door burst open.
“Harry!”
Dumbledore appeared, his imposing silhouette filling the doorway. His gaze swept the scene in an instant: Harry, breathless, wand raised, and Moody, disarmed, gasping on the floor. The headmaster’s eyes gleamed with something Harry couldn’t read. It wasn’t anger. Nor compassion. It was… a cold incomprehension, as if he were trying to make sense of what he saw, and that sense simply didn’t exist.
“Enough!”
The word cracked like thunder. Harry, his heart pounding, lowered his wand by an inch, but his hands still trembled.
“You don’t understand! He was trying to kill me!”
Before Dumbledore could answer, a rush of cold air filled the room. Dark silhouettes appeared in the doorway. Aurors. Six, maybe more. Hard faces, cold eyes. They closed in on Harry, giving him no room to breathe. Strong hands grabbed his arms. His wand was torn from his grip.
“No!” he shouted, struggling. “It’s him! He works for Voldemort!”
But the fingers tightened, digging into his wrists until it hurt. He searched Dumbledore’s face. Searched for a sign. A word. A gesture. The old wizard stared at him, impassive. Then, slowly, he looked away. It was like a blow to the chest. The Aurors dragged him from the office, their grip like iron clamps. The door shut behind him with a sound like a sentence being passed.
The corridor stretched ahead, already filled with silhouettes. The noise, muffled at first, grew louder with every step.
“Potter…”
“So it’s true…”
“Moody…”
Faces appeared, gazes he knew. Students. Teachers. Some recoiled, as if his presence might contaminate them. Others stared with that morbid fascination reserved for monsters. Every step he took was an invisible blow.
“Listen to me!” Harry shouted, his voice cracking. “He works for Voldemort! Voldemort is back!”
No one answered. The eyes slid away, cold, unbelieving. The Aurors dragged him on, unyielding. His cloak trailed behind him like a black banner.
They reached the Great Hall.
And there… the crowd.
Dozens, maybe hundreds of eyes turned on him. A sea of frozen, fascinated faces. The whispers collided, overlapped, forming a continuous murmur, like a dark incantation.
“Potter attacked Professor Moody…”
“He’s dangerous…”
“Mad…”
Each word sank under his skin. Worse than a curse. Worse than Moody’s Cruciatus. Because this pain wouldn’t fade.
He searched for Dumbledore. His gaze lifted, desperate. The headmaster was there, at the top of the steps, frozen like a statue. Their eyes met. Harry felt an invisible thread tighten… then snap.
Dumbledore looked away.
It was worse than a knife in the chest. Worse than anything Voldemort had done to him.
He felt his world crack, shatter. Everything he thought solid, his friends, his school, his mentor was breaking beneath his feet.
The Aurors led him toward the great doors. His protests died, swallowed by the noise. Each step echoed like a tearing sound. And as the outside light blinded him, Harry understood that the pain ripping through him… he would never forget it. It would remain etched inside him, deeper than any scar.