Chapter 1

It isn't supposed to be her. No one expects it to be her.

The Triwizard Champion.

Those words do not fit her.

But the cup is there, straight ahead. Fifteen steps, maybe twenty, separate her from the shiny, golden chalice that ensures her victory over those older, wiser, and more talented.

Harry's empty palms go damp. She can practically feel the cool surface of the cup in her grasp. For the first time, she wants that. She actually wants to win.

She takes the first step; it feels much too momentous to be a simple step. One foot in front of the other seems so mundane. This step is different, superior. It's the first step toward a new persona, a new Harry. She'll finally deserve a bit of the fame that's always surrounded her. She'll finally be more than the short, unkempt girl with overlarge glasses, more than a freak. She'll be a champion.

Harry tucks a stray, stringy curl behind her ear and smiles dazedly ahead. Hermione will be relieved, Ron, excited and maybe a bit jealous, her teachers, genuinely surprised, and Sirius… Sirius is going to be so proud.

"Uh, Harry?"

Harry flinches at the sudden noise. Her head tilts upward to identify the intruder, blinking back the sun's bright rays. It's Cedric. She can feel a hot rush of pink staining her pale face.

So much for champion…

"Oh. Hi, Cedric," she says, unable to keep the slight tinge of disappointment out of her voice.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Why the hell had she just stood there staring at the damn cup? She'd blown her only chance of victory. Cedric can surely outrun her.

But he doesn't move. He just stares at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to start sprinting. Does he want the satisfaction of beating her in a footrace? That doesn't seem likely. Cedric's too nice.

They'd become rather friendly during the course of the competition. She'd warned him about the dragons before the first task. Then he'd given her the clue about the second task. After that, they'd spent some time together, studying spells for the competition and trying to figure out what the final task could be. Neither one of them had guessed it would be a giant maze.

Harry lets out an exasperated sigh and purses her lips. "So, are you going to move, or should I?"

Cedric laughs lightheartedly. "I dunno. You saw it first. I would feel bad if I only won because I can run faster than you."

"Who says you can run faster?" she jokes, staring down at her scrawny legs. They look like twigs next to his. "Don't you want to win?"

"Of course, but I don't want to be rude."

"Classic Hufflepuff." Harry snorts and rolls her eyes.

Cedric just grins and shrugs, seeming to accept the title as a compliment.

"What if we both grab it at the same time, call it a draw?" Harry offers. Tying for champion is a hell of a lot better than losing outright.

Cedric pauses for a moment before answering. "I guess that's fair." He holds out a hand to her, and Harry takes it, grinning brightly. "We'll do it together," he tells her.

They both walk briskly toward the cup, hand in hand, stepping carefully over the obstacles in their path. Harry stumbles over a jumble of brush, but Cedric's hand helps her keep her upright. The golden goblet waits temptingly below them, beckoning them to reach out and grab it.

"On the count of three," Harry tells him.

They count together. "One. Two. Three."

Then both their hands shoot out and grip a handle of the cup. Harry feels a strange sensation of something pulling at her insides. Time and space seem to disintegrate around her, and she clenches her eyes shut to quell her nausea. When she feels the ground materialize beneath her feet, she opens them, expecting to be back at the start of the maze, but that's not what she sees.

Gone are the massive green, bushy walls of the maze. Instead, she finds herself in a clearing. Gone is the warmth and sunshine from the Hogwarts grounds; the air is much colder here, rain drizzles from the grey sky, and fog hangs heavy in the air. Gone is the feeling of excitement and anticipation; it has been replaced with curiosity and apprehension.

Up ahead, through the hazy mist, is a worn, gloomy looking house. It's about two-stories tall, with faded grey panels and an abundance of dirty windows. Up a hill to the right are several strange, dark stones and statues covered in moss and arranged in a circular formation.

Harry and Cedric share a bewildered look.

"What's going on?" Cedric asks her. He sounds worried.

An ominous feeling settles over Harry. She isn't sure what, but something definitely feels wrong about this situation. Her lightning scar tingles, and she reaches up a hand to rub her forehead.

"I dunno. They said all we had to do was grab the cup…. I think it was a portkey." Harry replies, glancing around. The cup lays near a tall, stone statue, forgotten in the grass.

In the distance, a figure appears through the fog. He is short and stout, and he carries a small bundle in his arms.

"Hello?" calls Cedric, gesturing to the stranger.

The man offers no reply. He just continues walking toward them.

Wrong. This is wrong.

"Ahhh!" A sharp pain explodes behind her scar. She lets out a gasp and doubles over in agony.

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?" Cedric exclaims. He places a comforting hand on her back and lowers her into a sitting position on the wet grass. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Everything is wrong. She knows that with every fiber of her being, but she's barely able to utter a single word. "Vold-Voldemort," she stutters. There isn't time to explain it to him. "R-Ru-Run, Cedric!"

But he doesn't run. Without hesitation, he places himself in front of Harry, pulls his wand from his holster and pointing it at the man. Cedric puffs out his chest and prepares to attack, but before he can utter a single spell, his wand flies across the clearing and lands in the stranger's hand.

Harry reaches up and grabs his arm, trying to pull him away, but he won't budge. She hoists herself up and stands next to him, ignoring the pain radiating from her scar. Cedric stares into her deep green eyes, looking frantic. Then he screams.

It happens so fast. Then Cedric is on the ground in front of her, letting out high screeches of pain. He writhes before her, his eyes locking onto hers and pleading with an expression of pure helplessness. She doesn't know what to do. She can't do anything! Tears leak from the corners of his eyes as his shrieks increase in volume and intensity. She knows what the spell must be.

The Cruciatus Curse.

The man in front of her, who is now close enough to make out clearly, is using an unforgivable on a teenage boy. She whips out her wand, determined to put an end to Cedric's pain, but with a flick of the man's wrist, her wand is gone too. He smirks at her with beady eyes.

It's Peter Pettigrew, her father's former friend turned Death Eater. She hasn't seen him in over a year. He'd been a sniveling shred of a person then, but now, he stands before her with a confidence she's never witnessed.

Thankfully, when he takes her wand, his hold on Cedric stops, and the boy stops flailing on the ground. He lets out short wheezes of breath, and Harry leans down to try and lift him to his feet. She pulls with all her might, but Cedric is too heavy for her to carry. It's hopeless. She attempts to drag him behind the shelter of a big, rectangular headstone instead.

Suddenly, a new voice breaks the tense silence. It's high and raspy, like a demonic toddler, but its words are strong and harsh. "Wormtail, prepare the elixir," it commands, and like a dutiful servant, Pettigrew obliges. He ignores Harry and Cedric for a moment, walks to the center of the stones and statues, and conjures a large, pitch-black cauldron filled with a bubbling liquid. He places several ingredients inside, and the pot produces copious amounts of steam at the introduction of the foreign materials.

"Your hand, Wormtail," It instructs coldly. Pettigrew looks like he wants to argue with the small, bundled creature, but finally, shaking slightly, he places his arm over the cauldron. He pulls a long knife from his robe, holds the glistening blade above his wrist, and then—Harry shuts her eyes, knowing what will happen next. She hears the noisy cries from Pettigrew as his left-hand splashes into the cauldron. When his screeches turn to faint blubbers, Harry peeks at the scene in front of her. The portly man is drenched in his own blood, struggling to wrap a towel over his gnarled stump. Harry watches with disgust and fear as the man turns to face them.

"Now the girl," It barks, and Harry feels the hair on her arms stand.

An invisible rope yanks her from her position beside Cedric, and she flies through the air. She thuds against a stone statue where shackles secure her in place. She struggles to escape, wiggling her arms and legs with fervor, but her efforts are futile. Another spell shoots from Wormtail's wand and her robe vanishes, leaving her only in a tank top and a pair of worn, holey jeans. She shivers in the cold, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cedric attempting to get up and help her. His face is beet red and his eyes are bloodshot, but there is determination evident in his movements.

"The boy too?" Wormtail asks, the first hint of hesitation seeping into his voice.

"Secure him. We can use him later."

With a flick of Pettigrew's wand, Cedric lands with a thud against a stone opposite of Harry. His body quakes harshly against his restraints.

Wormtail inches closer to Harry and pulls the giant dagger from his robes. Then, slowly he lifts the blade to her exposed forearm and slices with one fluid motion. Immediately, a fountain of blood gushes from her arm and glides across her body, staining her clothes with red.

Fucking shit!

Harry bites the inside of her cheek and forces herself not to scream. The gash in her arm stings horribly, but she doesn't want to give Pettigrew or that creature any satisfaction. She feels a bit of blood pooling in her mouth, and she swallows it, grimacing at the strong, coppery flavor. A single tear trails from the corner of her eye and slides down her cheek.

Wormtail grabs a vial and places it underneath Harry's arm. Her blood streams into the container like water from a tap, filling it quickly, and Pettigrew dumps the crimson liquid into the cauldron. Then he lifts the bundled creature with the only hand he still has and drops him inside the mixture.

At first, nothing happens. The air is silent and still all around them. Then, inside the cauldron, something jolts. A flash of light erupts from the pot as it hisses and spits just before a head emerges from the liquid.

The face is disfigured, melted, and malformed. Strong jaw bones jut out from below a wide, clown-like smile. The nose is nearly nonexistent and consists only of small slits. The eyes are a deep, dark red, lined with a myriad of thick eyelashes. He steps completely out of the bubbling concoction, exposing his full-length body and peers around his surroundings. Wormtail drops to his knees and bows, but he only seems irritated by the man's actions and turns away. He disregards Cedric, seeming to think him insignificant. Then he turns to Harry.

"Harriet Potter," he whispers, exchanging the high, childlike hiss for a deeper, manlier tone. "The girl who lived." A satisfied, gleeful smile settles onto his face.

She stares back at him with contempt, trying to calm the tremors that radiate throughout her body. Voldemort steps closer, running a long, claw-like hand tenderly across her cheek. Harry freezes under his touch and clenches her eyes closed. She has to do something. She has to find a way out of this.

"Don't touch me," she spits, trying to sound braver than she really is.

Voldemort lets out a mirthless chuckle, and then his expression darkens. He speaks clearly and confidently. "Stupid girl," he hisses. "I will do whatever I want."

The threat from the man hangs heavy in the air like the dense fog. Harry doesn't speak; she can't seem to remember how. Her body feels numb with fright, and she is unable to gain control. It's as if she's suspended underwater, only seeing and hearing in blurry pictures and muffled sounds.

The girl is only faintly aware of the demon-like man in front of her and the unfamiliar words he is shouting. But then there are people all around, a crowd of adults in dark costumes. They move toward her, grinning like Cheshire cats.

Then more words. More words that Harry does not hear. And then an angry shout and hot breath on her cold face. And then a slap that jostles her limp body roughly against the stone statue. And then a roar.

"PAY ATTENTION!"

The fog in her mind dissipates, and Harry clearly sees Voldemort's face inches from her own. His grotesque features are contorted into an expression of pure fury that send a new wave of tremors down her bony spine.

The fear must show in her eyes, for the wizard's sick smile returns.

"Look who's here, Harriet," he says, gesturing to the solitary figures that stand in a circle around them. "They're all here for you. To watch the girl-who-lived, the brave savior of the wizarding world. But that's not who you are. You're an insignificant child, a pathetic excuse for a witch. You are nothing."

"Then what's the point?" Harry asks. "If I'm nothing, then why make a big show of it? Why bring in all these people to watch you do whatever you're going to do to me?"

Harry is proud that her voice doesn't falter. The fear that she feels is not present in her words.

"I've brought my Death Eaters to show that you're not a threat to any of us. The fact that you lived to see your second birthday was a fluke and nothing more. I brought them here to watch you die."

He grips the glistening dagger, still stained with her blood, and raises it to her throat. She can feel the cool metal threatening to puncture her soft flesh, but she does not cry out. If she must die this way, then she will at least die with dignity.

"Get away from her," a boy's voice yells.

It takes Harry a moment to realize that it's Cedric. She'd forgotten that he was here.

Voldemort hesitates for a moment, still staring longingly at her. There is something gleaming in his eyes that Harry doesn't like, some sinister presence that makes her stomach roll. But then he calmly turns with the grace and precision of a ballet dancer and glares at Cedric. With a forward motion seemingly as casual as waving a hand, he plunges the knife deep into the boy's neck.

The blade slices clean through his flesh and hits the stone on the other side with a clink. Cedric's eyes bulge widely, and his mouth opens to scream, but no sound escapes. Instead, a river of crimson floods from his mouth and dribbles onto the ground. He gasps for air, clawing at his neck as blood spurts wildly from his wound, bathing his body and its surrounding area in red.

Harry hears a feral cry, her own cry, split through the air. It escapes from her throat without her permission. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't make a sound, but that was before. Now, Cedric is dying.

The boy continues to struggle, making choked gurgling sounds that make Harry want to vomit. Their eyes lock for a moment, and Cedric sends out a desperate plea with his gaze.

"CEDRIC! CEDRIC! NO!" Harry screams frantically.

Her words elicit a roar of laughter from the surrounding crowd, and Harry's blood boils. She struggles even harder against her restraints, and the shackles dig into her wrists, tearing her flesh. They will not budge. She is powerless to help him.

Eventually Cedric's eyes roll backward and his head slumps forward to rest on his chest. Harry lets out one final scream of anguish and her body shakes with sobs.

Cedric is dead, and it's her fault. She'd been the one to convince him to grab the cup. She'd been the one that Voldemort had wanted. He didn't have to die.

But he is dead. The boy that had helped her study and made her laugh and danced with her at the ball and held her hand and tried to protect her from Voldemort is gone. He'd been one of the kindest and most intelligent people she'd ever met. He'd been so young, he'd had a family, and now, he is dead because of her.

Hot tears well up in her eyes and obstruct her vision. She clenches them closed tightly, hoping to never see the image of Cedric's corpse again. Perhaps Voldemort will kill her quickly. He'll blast her with the killing curse, and then it'll all be over. It will be as simple as falling asleep.

She waits for death.

And she waits.

And she waits.

But death doesn't come.

She decides to take a peek, and immediately regrets it.

The Death Eaters have all gathered closer, staring in awe at Cedric's lifeless form. Some are smiling maliciously. Others are outright laughing. He is no longer attached to the statue. Instead, he is on the ground, splayed awkwardly with his arm extended at an unnatural angle.

One robed figure moves forward and kicks him. His corpse twitches horrifically and then rolls down the small hill, leaving a trail of red through the grass. The crowd cheers and laughs harder. The same figure jumps up and lands on Cedric's chest, causing a great fountain of blood to shoot upward from his wound. Some of the Death Eaters clutch their sides in amusement at the gruesome display.

"STOP IT!" Harry sobs.

How can anyone be so cruel?

One cloaked figure takes a step toward her and lets out a feminine snigger.

"Aww. Was Cedric your boyfriend?" She simpers.

"I don't think so," a broad-shouldered man snorts. "He could do much better than her."

The woman howls with laughter and plays idly with a strand of Harry's dark hair. "Poor girl. You'll never earn his love now."

Harry can't seem to stop the tears that flow down her cheeks. Her lower lip shudders pathetically as she attempts to compose herself.

Voldemort watches the exchange with an indiscernible expression. Then he whips out his wand and the woman collapses onto the ground. His bright red eyes gleam with ferocity as the female death eater writhes in pain. Her shrill screeches seem to go on for several minutes and then Voldemort turns away as if disgusted by her. He waves the crowd back with a threatening glare and moves toward Harry. With his blood-stained hand, he gently wipes the tears from her face.

"Are you afraid?" He whispers threateningly.

Harry isn't sure how to respond. If she nods, it will likely encourage him. But if she shakes her head, she may anger him even more. She settles for leaving him without an answer. Harry stares blankly ahead, refusing to look at the murderer beside her.

This is apparently the wrong choice, as Voldemort flicks his wand at her and she feels the bone in her upper left arm snap with a sickening crunch.

"You will answer me when I speak to you. Understand?"

This time, Harry nods, gasping for breath.

"Do you know how it feels to have the world believe that I, the most powerful wizard of all time, was defeated by a sniveling child?" Voldemort hisses. "It's humiliating!"

The man shoots a spell at the statue behind Harry and it explodes, sending tiny fragments of rock flying through the air. The blast sends Harry sprawling to the ground, and the minuscule shards rain down on her, littering her body with small cuts.

Harry starts to lift herself, preparing to run, but Voldemort is quicker. A yellow light springs from his wand and slams into her. She feels herself rising slowly, suspended in a bubble of air.

"My own followers believe me to be incompetent," He roars.

Voldemort breaks the spell, and Harry falls several feet, striking the ground painfully.

"You've nearly taken everything from me. You've humiliated me. Crucio!"

A bright burst of red shoots toward her, and pain explodes all over her body. Harry has never experienced anything like it. It's as if every cell and every nerve is on fire. She's burning from the inside out.

Shrill howls of pain escape from her throat. Her body convulses and flails beneath the light of his wand. She wishes for death to come and grant her a reprieve from the agony.

"And now, I'm going to show you what that's like. I'm going to take everything from you, every last trace of dignity. No one will ever be able to question my strength again."

Harry continues to writhe on the ground until the spell is lifted. Her body still feels the sting of the flames, and each movement is hell. She needs to run. She needs to escape. She can't.

"Do you have any idea what I have planned, Harriet?" Voldemort says with a gleeful smile.

Harry is barely able, but she manages to shake her head slightly.

That means that what she's experienced is only the beginning. The knife and the shattered bone in her arm are nothing. The torture curse wasn't even the finale. How could anything be worse than the cruciatus curse?

Harry doesn't' know what he's going to do. She only knows one thing: She's going to die.

"We're going to have some fun," he snarls. "We're going to put on a show. Loverboy may be dead, but don't worry, I can give you everything that he never would."

At first, she isn't sure what he means.

The hulking figure stalks closer, wearing an elated smirk that reminds her of a possessed clown. He kneels down beside her, running his hands along the length of her body.

Harry tenses. Her body has frozen. Her heart has stopped.

No. No. No. Surely, he isn't going to do what she thinks he's going to do. Surely even a man this deranged wouldn't do such a thing. She's only fourteen; she's a child.

But then what little clothes she has are gone, and the hands are on her, and she finally understands what it must feel like when a dementor sucks out your soul.

She tries to escape at first, but the man is too strong. He pins her to the damp earth and wraps strong hands around her windpipe until she sees black splotches. He tugs on her hair and grabs at her flesh.

Harry's body is too weak to move. She can only stare up toward the sky.

She hears laughter, and jeers, and grunts. But she only sees the sky. The sky is grey.

She feels pain like a knife ripping through her body. Harry wails. But she only sees the sky. The sky is like an endless sea of darkness.

A jumble of hands and limbs and skin encapsulate her. She feels like she's drowning. But she only sees the sky. The waves of gray are carrying her away. The sun is nowhere to be seen.

Harry's tears roll slowly down her cheeks.

"Scream and cry all you like, Harriet. I enjoy it," the voice whispers in her ear.

Harry sinks deeper and deeper. But she only sees the sky. The grey is all around her and inside her and everywhere. Where is the sun?

Harry can't stop screaming. But she only sees the sky. She only sees, hears, and feels grey.

The sun is gone forever.