The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them… and then others shouted it—screeched it—into the night—
“He’s dead!”
“He’s dead!”
“Cedric Diggory! Dead!”
“Harry, let go of him,” he heard Fudge’s voice say, and he felt fingers trying to pry him from Cedric’s limp body, but Harry wouldn’t let him go. Then Dumbledore’s face, which was still blurred and misted, came closer.
“Harry, you can’t help him now. It’s over. Let go.”
“He wanted me to bring him back,” Harry muttered—it seemed important to explain this. “He wanted me to bring him back to his parents…”
“That’s right, Harry… just let go now…”
Dumbledore bent down, and with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin, raised Harry from the ground and set him on his feet. Harry swayed. His head was pounding. His injured leg would no longer support his weight. The crowd around them jostled, fighting to get closer, pressing darkly in on him—
“What’s happened?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Diggory’s dead!”
“He’ll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge was saying loudly. “He’s ill, he’s injured—Dumbledore, Diggory’s parents, they’re here, they’re in the stands…”
“I’ll take Harry, Dumbledore, I’ll take him—”
“No, I would prefer—”
“Dumbledore, Amos Diggory’s running… he’s coming over… Don’t you think you should tell him—before he sees—?”
“Harry, stay here—”
Girls were screaming, sobbing hysterically… The scene flickered oddly before Harry’s eyes…
“It’s all right, son, I’ve got you… come on… hospital wing…”
“Dumbledore said stay,” said Harry thickly, the pounding in his scar making him feel as though he was about to throw up; his vision was blurring worse than ever.
“You need to lie down… Come on now…”
Someone larger and stronger than he was was half pulling, half carrying him through the frightened crowd. Harry heard people gasping, screaming, and shouting as the man supporting him pushed a path through them, taking him back to the castle. Across the lawn, past the lake and the Durmstrang ship, Harry heard nothing but the heavy breathing of the man helping him walk.
“What happened, Harry?” the man asked at last as he lifted Harry up the stone steps. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. It was Mad-Eye Moody.
“Cup was a Portkey,” said Harry as they crossed the entrance hall. “Took me and Cedric to a graveyard… and Voldemort was there… Lord Voldemort…” Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Up the marble stairs…
“The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?”
“Killed Cedric… they killed Cedric…”
“And then?”
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Along the corridor…
“Made a potion… got his body back…”
“The Dark Lord got his body back? He’s returned?”
“And the Death Eaters came… and then we dueled…”
“You dueled with the Dark Lord?”
“Got away… my wand… did something funny… I saw my mum and dad… they came out of his wand…”
“In here, Harry… in here, and sit down… You’ll be all right now… drink this…”
Harry heard a key scrape in a lock and felt a cup being pushed into his hands.
“Drink it… you’ll feel better… come on, now, Harry, I need to know exactly what happened…”
Moody helped tip the stuff down Harry’s throat; he coughed, a peppery taste burning his throat. Moody’s office came into sharper focus, and so did Moody himself… He looked as white as Fudge had looked, and both eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon Harry’s face.
“Voldemort’s back, Harry? You’re sure he’s back? How did he do it?”
“He took stuff from his father’s grave, and from Wormtail, and me,” said Harry. His head felt clearer; his scar wasn’t hurting so badly; he could now see Moody’s face distinctly, even though the office was dark. He could still hear screaming and shouting from the distant Quidditch field.
“What did the Dark Lord take from you?” said Moody.
“Blood,” said Harry, raising his arm. His sleeve was ripped where Wormtail’s dagger had torn it.
Moody let out his breath in a long, low hiss.
“And the Death Eaters? They returned?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Loads of them…”
“How did he treat them?” Moody asked quietly. “Did he forgive them?”
But Harry had suddenly remembered. He should have told Dumbledore, he should have said it straightaway—
“There’s a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There’s a Death Eater here—they put my name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end—” Harry tried to get up, but Moody pushed him back down.
“I know who the Death Eater is,” he said quietly.
“Karkaroff?” said Harry wildly. “Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?”
“Karkaroff?” said Moody with an odd laugh. “Karkaroff fled tonight, when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the Dark Lord to wish to meet them… but I doubt he will get far. The Dark Lord has ways of tracking his enemies.”
“Karkaroff’s gone? He ran away? But then—he didn’t put my name in the goblet?”
“No,” said Moody slowly. “No, he didn’t. It was I who did that.” Harry heard, but didn’t believe.
“No, you didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t do that… you can’t have done…”
“I assure you I did,” said Moody, and his magical eye swung around and fixed upon the door, and Harry knew he was making sure that there was no one outside it. At the same time, Moody drew out his wand and pointed it at Harry.
“He forgave them, then?” he said. “The Death Eaters who went free? The ones who escaped Azkaban?”
“What?” said Harry.
He was looking at the wand Moody was pointing at him. This was a bad joke, it had to be.
“I asked you,” said Moody quietly, “whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn’t even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky.”
“You fired… What are you talking about…?”
“I told you, Harry… I told you. If there’s one thing I hate more than any other, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. Tell me he hurt them, Harry…” Moody’s face was suddenly lit with an insane smile. “Tell me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful… prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all… you.”
“You didn’t… it—it can’t be you…”
“Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, under the name of a different school? I did. Who frightened off every person I thought might try to hurt you or prevent you from winning the tournament? I did. Who nudged Hagrid into showing you the dragons? I did. Who helped you see the only way you could beat the dragon? I did.”
Moody’s magical eye had now left the door. It was fixed upon Harry. His lopsided mouth leered more widely than ever.
“It hasn’t been easy, Harry, guiding you through these tasks without arousing suspicion. I have had to use every ounce of cunning I possess, so that my hand would not be detectable in your success. Dumbledore would have been very suspicious if you had managed everything too easily. As long as you got into that maze, preferably with a decent head start—then, I knew, I would have a chance of getting rid of the other champions and leaving your way clear. But I also had to contend with your stupidity. The second task… that was when I was most afraid we would fail. I was keeping watch on you, Potter. I knew you hadn’t worked out the egg’s clue, so I had to give you another hint—”