Unofficial Portkey Archive

As usual, my thanks go to beta readers Bexis and George, without whom this story would probably have sunk ignobly sometime during the last 5 years.

All canon characters, situations and anything else not invented by me belong to JK Rowling. I'm just glad to be allowed to play in her sandpit with all the wonderful toys.

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"Oof!" Hermione grunted. The impact of her hard and clumsy landing forced the air from her lungs. She had yet to manage arrivals by Portkey in any elegant fashion.

Shaking her head, she rose gingerly to her feet, ready to acknowledge the plaudits of the long-waiting crowd.

Nothing.

Coming rapidly to her senses, Hermione realised that not only were the supposedly crowded stands deathly silent, but that the Quidditch pitch itself was completely dark.

The sun had faded behind some dark hills a long way off. The moon, a mere sliver of a crescent, provided pitifully little illumination.

Hermione shuddered. Wherever she was, it was not Hogwarts. This could not be good.

No adoring audience awaited her. Judging by the sickly moon's position, she doubted she was even in Scotland.

She was in a valley between imposing rolling hills, but they were not rugged Highland mountains. A way off a huge isolated prominence announced itself as a deep black irregular shape against the sky's rapidly darkening indigo. Hermione could barely make out a series of rolling fields broken by dry stone walls. In the far distance isolated pin-pricks of light denoted sparse human habitation; farms, perhaps.

'If this isn't Kansas, I'm not going to play Dorothy.'

A high but thankfully stationary hedgerow blocked any backwards movement. At its foot ran a rough pathway that wound up a short but steep slope. In the opposite direction the path curved around the hedge and disappeared from sight.

The top of the incline featured a more regular stone wall along its short crest, whitish-grey against the deeper shades, almost silver in the pale moonlight. Beyond, on a higher rise, what looked to be a substantial dwelling brooded in the gloaming.

Wherever the Portkey had deposited her, Hermione had only two choices: uphill or downhill.

She still held the Triwizard Cup in a tight grip. A sudden wave of revulsion washed over her and she dropped it. With an audible clatter, the metal haphazardly reflected moonlight as it bounced on the broken ground before rolling into the hedge.

'Why was I so determined to win? What have I done?'

Her irrational desire to beat the competition and prove her worth to the magical world had been overwhelming. It had driven her to take out a friend with the cheapest of cheap shots.

'How will Viktor ever forgive me?'

Despite Cedric having the advantage, she had seized his cession with literally both hands. Had her natural competitiveness flooded everything, submerging her sense of fair play? Hermione had never before thought in terms of winning the tournament. Previously she freely admitted her participation was unwarranted and unwanted. Her "win at all costs" mentality was usually confined to academic pursuits and a fierce protectiveness for Harry Potter.

Protecting Harry... This had to be the start of the endgame. She had been delivered here for a reason; Hermione doubted that her one-way trip had been intended for any of the other champions.

She stared at the loathsome Cup. "Accio!" It flew into her hands but, as Hermione had suspected, did not whip her off to another location.

"Portus!" She had neither the knowledge nor the skill to activate a Portkey herself, but saw no harm in trying.

Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Moody had all hinted that, if they were to expose a nefarious plot, Hermione would have to see the Triwizard Tournament through to its conclusion. Hermione now had no doubt that she was in the middle of such a plot. The only question was whether she or Harry was the intended target.

In either case the safer option, she knew, would be to turn and run, down the slope behind her. With luck she might find a village in the valley. A telephone... even if her parents were out of contact, perhaps she could call the police...

Hermione gave that but a few seconds thought. If Dark wizards were around, the last thing she wanted to do was bring them down on a Muggle village like wolves on a fold. Local police against wizards prepared to kill - the thought made her shudder once more.

No, for good or ill her destiny lay uphill.

Banishing what was now a useless trinket back into the hedge, Hermione started the journey upwards. She surmised that the truth might lie in that large, apparently uninhabited country house.

After a few seconds she breasted the crest, the path running away along the wall. About twenty paces on a rickety lych-gate broke the line of stomach-high stone. An offshoot of the path led through the gate and up another short rise, where there seemed to be an abandoned church, barely visible in the shadow of a yew tree.

Hermione halted, her wand already drawn. Weeks of training with Mad-Eye had drummed readiness into her. Ahead she assumed the path continued up the steepening slope towards the large manor house. Should she continue uphill, or did the answer lie within the church grounds?

Some irrational thought impelled her through the lych-gate and she stepped into an overgrown graveyard. Even in the thin moonlight she could tell that the headstones were heavily weathered and pitted. Some were broken, perhaps by frost, and large pieces lay snapped off in the untended grass. Occasionally a memorial in the form of a cross, simple or ornate, broke the monotony of slab-sided grave markers.

Hermione shivered. Harry had told her about his nightmares, and their setting eerily and worryingly echoed her current location. Sure now, yet otherwise more uncertain, Hermione inched warily towards the church.

Against the dark melody of shadows and dirty grey stone, one patch of white stood out starkly. It reflected the slight moonlight in a way that invited inspection. Hermione moved cautiously towards it.

She found a grander, more expensive memorial than anything else in the cemetery. White marble columns, perpendicular and fluted, supported the sloped top of a tomb, probably the resting place of the family that owned the manor house.

"Lumos!"

In bluish-white wandlight Hermione's fingertips trailed over the engraved words as she spoke them.

"In Memory of George Edward Riddle and his wife, Alexandra, and their son... Oh Merlin!" Hermione suddenly felt nauseous. "Thomas..."

Thomas Riddle.

Hermione had no doubts. This could not be coincidence. The name was identical to Voldemort's given one.

With a sinking feeling and a suddenly parched throat, she finished the commemoration in her mind alone. 'Taken Sixth June, Nineteen Forty-four.'

Was this Voldemort's family?

Whatever she had expected to find, this was not it. Her mind rang with danger. Turning swiftly, keeping the tomb at her back, Hermione's scrutinised the graveyard. She knew she could not detect any wizards who were Disillusioned, but this was the best she could do.

By now the sun's last rays had abandoned the horizon. The only source of illumination, aside from the crescent moon, was Hermione's wand.

The church door emitted a creak, unnaturally loud in the unearthly silence, and swung open despite protests from long disused hinges. Hermione extinguished her lit wand tip and fell into a defensive crouch.

Three hooded figures emerged from the pitch-black interior into the barely better light of the graveyard. Hermione tracked them with her wand, ready to strike if they betrayed even a hint of evil intent. She doubted they were holy men in a seemingly abandoned churchyard.

They halted about ten paces away. Their cloaks were certainly not holy orders, but the hoods cast their faces into blackness, rendering them unrecognisable.

"You Hermione Granger, girl?" The questioner had the harsh tones of Ulster.

"What is it to you?" Hermione replied with faux confidence. She hoped no tremor in her voice gave away her fear.

The middle figure, shorter and squatter than his companions, turned to his left and addressed the one who had spoken. "It's her," she heard him confirm quietly. She had heard that voice before; when..?

Raising her wand and aiming it directly at her reception committee, Hermione cast out a warning. "Don't come any closer if you know what's good for you!"

"For feck's sake, it's only a slip of a girl." The third figure also appeared to hail from the Emerald Isle, albeit much further south than his companion.

Steeling herself, Hermione moved a couple of steps to her right, away from the Riddle tomb and opening up an avenue of escape if needed. "Who are you and how do you know who I am?" she demanded.

The one in the middle, their apparent leader, reached up and shrugged off his hood.

"You!" Hermione seethed. Her arm now fully extended, tendons taut as steel cables, her wand trained implacably on her now revealed foe. "Peter Pettigrew!"

The greying and balding wizard flinched slightly at the vehemence invested in those three words, yet neither he nor his two Irish accomplices showed any obvious signs of either attacking her, or even defending against an armed and alert witch. That alone sent warning alerts screaming in Hermione's brain. She was missing something...

"You know," Pettigrew whined, "you'll save yourself a lot of pain if you put down your wand."

Hermione's fingers gripped her wand even harder. "No chance," she snarled. "If you think -"

"Expelliarmus!"

Instantly her wand was ripped from her grasp. Hermione was hurled back a few feet until stopped by the solid bulk of the marble tomb with a sickening thud. Only by chance did she not break her neck.

Dimly her brain registered crunching gravel a little way down the hillside, the direction from which she had been disarmed. Her vision was fuzzy, but gradually she became aware of her attacker. Soon he stood looming over her, pale faced but with an incredible sense of anger.

"Moody'd be upset with his prize pupil," he spat. "Stupid Mudblood caught unawares."

His was another voice she'd heard before, and his face swam in front of her unfocussed eyes. He held something shiny in his hands that caught her attention. As her senses returned, Hermione recognised the object as the Triwizard Cup. Then she recognised the fair-haired newcomer.

'Oh Merlin!'

"You," she groaned. "You killed that man in the forest." Her accusation was slurred.

His fury was intense. He let the Cup fall from his fingers and thrust his wand in her face. "I did what I had to do, and if I had my way, you'd have joined that traitor." His ferocity filled her with fear, but did not submerge her curiosity. Surely Mac... whatever his name was, had been a Death Eater? That did not make sense.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked dully.

"A loyal follower of the Dark Lord," he snarled. "That's all you'll ever know, Mudblood bitch!" He looked towards Pettigrew. "Is everything prepared, Wormtail?"

"Yes, of course," Pettigrew simpered.

Hermione realised he was as terrified of the latecomer as she was.

The lean, pale Death Eater nodded once, and then returned his attention to his victim. "Take off that jersey," he ordered.

Hermione froze, then shook her head rapidly. "No, why?" She had no intention of being stripped naked - not while life remained in her body.

His smile was a grim parody. "I was hoping you'd say that." He aimed his wand directly at her chest. "Crucio!"

Taken unawares for a second time, Hermione was utterly unprepared for the waves of unimaginable pain that crashed over her. Her bones bent until the point of snapping; her blood boiled; every nerve seemed scorched by live current. The splitting pain in her head eclipsed all prior headaches and migraines by an unfathomable factor.

When the Unforgiveable ceased, Hermione curled up in a ball, whimpering. The pain continued for several seconds, abating slowly, allowing her to catch her breath.

The man's wand was thrust against her neck. "You have no idea how long I've waited to cast that. Wanna see worse? I can strip a corpse just as well. Now, give me that jersey!" The instruction was hissed furiously, accompanied by a sharp wand jab to her throat.

Sobbing quietly, Hermione uncurled. Awkwardly she pulled Harry's Quidditch jersey over her head, letting it fall into the unkempt grass.

Pettigrew snatched it up instantly. He was about to pass it over to one of the Irishmen when the fair-haired wizard stopped him. "Let's make it a little more convincing." He chuckled evilly while aiming his wand at Hermione's upper arm, where her skin emerged from under her t-shirt. "Diffindo!"

Hermione bit her tongue as her flesh was sliced open, producing a thin gash some three inches long that quickly oozed blood. As her tormentor bent down and dabbed at the wound with the jersey, she spat out an insult. "Cowardly bastard!"

Instantly he backhanded her across the left cheek, the force making her teeth rattle. "Shut up if you know what's good for you. I need you alive, but that covers many conditions."

He placed his wand tip against her left hip. "One tiny little spell would smash your pelvis; even if they could re-grow it you'd walk with a limp for the rest of your life and you'd never bear children. Not a bad thing that... not that you'll be doing so anyway."

Slowly his wand traced upwards, over her chest, slightly caressing her neck with almost a lover's delicate touch, before dragging it roughly lengthways across her cheek. "I don't care what you look like, if your teeth are all smashed in, or you've only got one eye." His wand tip was an inch from Hermione's right eye. "Am I making myself clear?"

Hermione swallowed hard then forced her submission through suddenly dry lips. "Perfectly."

His free hand retraced its path, this time dealing another teeth-rattling blow to her right cheek. Hermione felt the coppery taste of blood seeping from that corner of her mouth as more of the same fluid smeared Harry's jersey. Finally he appeared satisfied.

"McCracken, take this down the hill; leave it where the path meets the hedgerow, then come back here as quickly as possible. Make sure it can't be missed."

Hermione heard rapid footsteps as someone scrambled to fulfil his orders. She tried to sit up, but without the support of the Riddle family tomb she would have collapsed back to the ground. She sucked in draughts of air, her heart hammered against her ribcage. What role did Harry's jumper play? Even her temporarily befuddled brain recognised that made no sense.

"McClure!" Another order was being barked out. "Keep an eye on this one. I'd prefer she remains breathing for now."

"Right."

The straw-haired man moved away, as inconspicuously as possible, Hermione strained to listen in to his conversation with Pettigrew.

"Is He prepared?"

"Yes," Pettigrew hastened to assure him. "I don't see why we need Potter though."

"It has to be the damned boy," came the angry reply, "unless you want Him to be a Her. Besides the Prophecy demands it. You know what you have to do?"

'Prophecy?'

Pettigrew's response was lost as her guard cried out in alarm and jumped back. Hermione heard something moving through the lush uncut grass, then stifled a scream.

A large snake, it had to be the size of that full-grown python in Chessington's reptile house, slithered towards her, its forked tongue testing the air. But this was no half-tame import. No, its back had a zigzag pattern of scales of light and dark, although Hermione could not judge the colours. What kept her attention were its burning red eyes, each split by a narrow black vertical pupil.

She shivered. That snake appeared to be sizing her up as a potential meal.

"Get away!" McClure screamed, aiming his wand at the oversized serpent. It appeared to divine his attentions, and coiled itself up, ready to strike.

"Avada Kedavra!" The flash of sickly green light came not from the Irishman's wand, but struck home instead on his chest. Killed instantly, he crumpled to the ground. The snake hissed in alarm and drew back until the enticing prospect of a cheap dinner overcame its caution.

"Crouch, you fool!" Pettigrew's alarmed but hushed admonition caught Hermione's attention.

'Crouch? Barty Crouch? That wasn't possible.'

"Shut up, Wormtail."

Uncomfortably aware of the large snake's proximity, Hermione was actually glad when the murderer strode over and providentially interposed himself between her and the serpent. Something about him was incongruous, not fitting the picture, but Hermione could not put her figurative finger on the source.

Out of the darkness a weak, hoarse voice barked a peremptory command. "Nagini... Come..."

The snake turned as dismissively as a reptile could. Ignoring fresh meat, a choice between dead or alive, it weaved between the nearest headstones and disappeared into the dark.

Hermione released a breath she had been holding subconsciously. As carefully as she could she subjected 'Crouch' to scrutiny.

That person could not possibly be Bartemius Crouch, Polyjuice or no. The fast movements and impression of energy demanding to be unleashed bespoke a young man in his prime, not an aged wizard slouching towards his end. Was there a younger generation of the Crouch family? A nephew perhaps?

"You didn't have to kill him," Pettigrew whined.

"I didn't need him alive," Crouch responded in chilling, matter-of-fact tones. He shot a venomous glare in Pettigrew's direction. "You'd do well to remember that, Wormtail."

Hermione recalled how easily this man had killed in the Forbidden Forest. Her peril was worse, not less. Whoever he was, she was certain that he would not hesitate to murder again.

"Incendio!" The corpse burst into enchanted flames.

"That'll be trouble with McCracken," Pettigrew grumbled.

Crouch did not even bother looking in his direction. "He's expendable too, if need be." Abruptly he turned and fixed Hermione with a fierce stare, before pointing his wand straight at her.

"Incarcerous!"

Magical cords whipped out and wrapped themselves tightly about Hermione's body, tying her arms to her sides and her torso to the cold marble. The binding pulled tight until she could not even struggle unavailingly.

"Who are you?"

"Persistent little Mudblood, aren't you. Did it ever occur to you that some things you're better off not…."

He was interrupted by the distinct sound of someone running up the path, which carried clearly through the still night air. Crouch quickly doused the flames and banished the ashes before McCracken returned. "Done," the new arrival panted. Crouch just nodded sharply.

"Right... Now, over there." Crouch motioned with his wand to the shadows of the yew tree. "Stay there and don't move until I cast my first spell or call you out."

The Irishman nodded once in reply, turned to go as ordered, then hesitated. "Where's Mick?"

"Already in position. Now move!"

Hermione thought for a second of warning the Irish wizard of his compatriot's murder, but Crouch, standing only a few feet away, was a far greater threat. "Wormtail?"

Pettigrew came closer. "Yes?"

Crouch handed over Hermione's wand. "You know what you have to do?"

Pettigrew nodded.

"Fine." Crouch turned on his helpless captive. "You're going to cry out for Potter, Mudblood."

Hermione shook her head. "No."

Crouch bent down and grabbed a hold of Hermione's long hair. He yanked hard, pulling up and back so that the back of her skull cracked against the unyielding marble. "Does the Mudblood bitch want another taste?"

Despite the pain, despite literally seeing stars, Hermione dug deep in her wells of courage, replying: "I'll not betray Harry." It was obvious now that Harry was their target. She would rather die than lead him into a trap.

Of course, if Harry arrived, she hoped he would be bringing along the cavalry in the person of Mad-Eye Moody.

She knew, of course, she was inviting the Cruciatus Curse, if not worse, and steeled herself for another bout of overwhelming agony.

Crouch seemed poised to deliver. "Muggle filth" he spat, brandishing his wand. "You deserve nothing more than a piece of this," he snarled. "If you thought the first was bad, just you wait -"

"We have a simpler alternative," Pettigrew interrupted. Crouch's glare had him shrinking back.

"Right," Crouch added, releasing his grip on Hermione's hair and contemptuously tossing her aside. Standing erect, he smiled cruelly down at her. "The third Unforgiveable."

Hermione knew a brief moment of relief. The Imperius Curse! Of course, they did not know that she could throw that spell off thanks to Moody's training. She could pretend and then, at the right moment -

"Imperio!" Crouch's spell cut across her thoughts, which disappeared in a miasma of contentment. Despite her predicament she felt utterly relaxed.

"You're hurt," a quiet, friendly but insistent voice broke her comfortable sensation. "Your friend Harry is coming to save you. Just call to him."

Hermione knew she must not, but something impelled her on. "Harry!" she croaked.

"Louder; you must call out louder."

This was all extremely perplexing. Hermione knew she could defeat the Imperius Curse, but had absolutely no desire to do so.

"Harry!" Her volume increased in a mixture of pain and fear.

This was wrong! It was important that she did not lure Harry into a trap, but it was surprisingly easy to acquiesce, like floating in a hot bath.

"He's coming," Crouch muttered, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

'No!'

Crouch Disillusioned himself in front of Hermione, becoming himself virtually invisible in the dark. To Hermione's surprise, Pettigrew remained in full sight as the crunch of feet on the path became noticeable.

She felt something cold dribble down her head to her neck and then her back. Crouch had evidently moved without her noticing. A Disillusionment Charm had been cast on her.

To her shame and regret Harry suddenly burst onto the scene, panting heavily. She could not see if he were alone or not in the almost complete absence of light. But from the lack of accompanying footfalls, Hermione realised with a sharp stab of alarm that he was almost certainly on a one-man mission.

"One more time for me," Crouch's invisible whispers were from very close.

"H... H..." Hermione gave her all this time to fight the desire. Frustration at being unable to repeat her classroom accomplishment when it mattered most burned fiercely in her chest. "H... Harrrryyyyy!" It came out as a gurgling, half-stifled scream.

"What the... Lumos!" The sudden illumination confirmed that Harry was by himself, breathing heavily, distressed and utterly unprepared for what was coming. His eyes darted from the seemingly unthreatening Wormtail and then glanced around the graveyard, sliding straight over her.

"Hermione?" Confused, Harry took a couple of steps in her general direction then halted. Turning to Wormtail, he demanded harshly: "Where is she?"

Hermione's throat was parched and her eyes choked with tears. Fighting against a continued sensation of complacency, she tried hard to warn him. "Harry... it's a... trap," she gurgled.

"Hermione, where are you?" Harry sounded frantic now. He menaced Pettigrew with his wand. "Where is she? Tell me, damn it!"

"Put down your wand, Harry," Pettigrew snivelled.

"Don't, Harry!"

Harry took her advice and stepped forward, towering over the older wizard and clearly frustrated by his helplessness.

Hermione felt something warm sweep over her.

"If you want your friend to live, Potter, you'll do as he says," Crouch ordered smoothly, suddenly visible again.

Harry swivelled abruptly and almost stumbled, but he nonetheless had his wand trained on Crouch in a trice. His eyes widened as he saw his friend trussed up. "Hermione?"

She felt a wand tip jammed well into her ear.

"Put the wand down, Harry, if you want her to live," Pettigrew advised. "Do you really think you could disarm him before he could fire a Reductor?"

Hermione knew Harry was good at Defence, but she also grasped that her head would be blown to bits before he could even blurt out the first syllable of any spell.

Caught in a dilemma, Harry swallowed hard. Shaking noticeably, he finally dropped his wand to the ground. Pettigrew stepped forward and plucked it from the long grass.

"No, no, no!" Hermione's cheeks burned with shame that her weakness had led to the one situation she had sought hardest to avoid.

Harry Potter was in the hands of Death Eaters.

Where in Merlin's name was Moody?

Pettigrew ushered Harry to another, more prosaic, headstone some distance away. There he secured their new captive with similar conjured ropes.

"Lumos! McCracken!" Crouch called out as his own spell replaced that provided by Harry's. The Irish wizard broke cover from behind the tree and entered the pool of illumination. "Watch them."

"Where are you off to?"

Crouch fixed him with a deadly glare. "You're almost as nosy as that bitch. You don't need to know."

McCracken shrugged. "Where's McClure?"

For a second Hermione feared she might witness a third killing.

"Again, you don't need to know." Crouch's repetition and tone brooked no further questioning. "He's right where I want him."

'If I could just get to McCracken and tell him what happened to the other one, perhaps he'd help us,' Hermione thought, but to her dismay he wandered over to keep watch on Harry.

Meanwhile Crouch was obviously preparing to leave. "They're all yours," he said to Pettigrew. "Fail, and if He doesn't kill you, I'll do it myself." He turned and started down the path, taking a quick swig from a hipflask.

Hermione thought that Pettigrew was almost as relieved at Crouch's departure as she was, but still something about Crouch bothered her, something she could not pin down.

"Hermione?" Harry's shout broke her concentration. "Are you... okay?" It was s stupidly worded question but she knew what he meant.

"Yes, I'm fine," she called back, "all things considered," she added in a whisper he could not possibly hear. That was yet another little white lie. Her body still shuddered involuntarily from her introduction to the Cruciatus, let alone the aches, pain and tiredness from the now irrelevant Third Task.

Still, Hermione was determined to hang on as long as possible. Surely Moody could not be far behind Harry, and he would certainly bring reinforcements with him.

'Think, Hermione. Think!'

She focussed her attention back to Pettigrew. For a few seconds he had disappeared from her restricted view, seemingly leaving them alone, tied to their respective gravestones. Now he reappeared, dragging down the gravel path something large and heavy from out of the church. He stopped close to Harry, the exertion leaving Wormtail panting. From her relatively distant vantage point, with her head skewed to the left; she thought it looked like an abnormally large cauldron, perhaps the equivalent of a Balthazar or even a Nebuchadnezzar.

As she watched Pettigrew went back and forth, building a small pyre of firewood underneath the cauldron. When he lit the fire the contents reacted quickly, sending up not only clouds of coloured steam, but occasionally emitting bursts of sparks as large and bright as the flames below. Copious vapour soon obscured much of Hermione's view. The cold ground beneath left her now suffering from pins and needles all over her body, but that was nothing compared to her fears for Harry.

Then Pettigrew abandoned his work again for a few seconds. When he returned, his arms were full with what looked like a bundled cloak.

Whatever it was, Hermione spied both Harry and McCracken recoil in horror. Worse, Harry suddenly screamed out in pain, causing Hermione a moment's panic, as she had not seen any spell or curse hit him. He writhed against his bonds, and she found herself doing the same.

Even from this distance, McCracken appeared bilious. Repressing an urge to call to Harry, Hermione strained her every sense to try and follow what was happening.

What the..? Was that a child Pettigrew had just thrown into the cauldron? McCracken was barking out questions but receiving no answers. All the while Harry strained unavailingly to break the magical bindings.

Pettigrew held up his wand. "Bone of the Father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

With a sudden and horrible certainty, Hermione knew why they were in this place and what Pettigrew had dropped in the steaming cauldron.

The Riddle family grave contained the father.

Harry had told them of Tom Riddle's shade in the Chamber of Secrets and the anagram of flaming letters.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

The son.

They were witnessing the resurrection of Voldemort!

The tomb at her back shuddered and groaned. A solid slab of marble on the top slid agonisingly to one side. A gnarled looking object floated over her shoulder and towards the waiting Pettigrew.

A bone from Voldemort's father.

As it dropped into the cauldron even Hermione could hear the hiss. With his right hand Pettigrew grasped the side of the cauldron, which must have been charmed not to conduct heat. He drew out a savage looking knife in his left.

"Flesh of the Servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!"

Hermione felt sick as Pettigrew leant onto his right hand with all his weight behind it, and chopped off one of his remaining fingers.

McCracken was stamping around, uncertain what to do yet seemingly afraid to run.

The bubbling liquid in the cauldron flashed blood red and the sparks increased in number and velocity.

To Hermione's increasing panic, Pettigrew staggered over to Harry, still wielding the deadly-looking blade.

"Blood of the Enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

"Harry!"

Hermione screamed as the blade flashed in the moonlight and was brought down on the helpless Harry.

She wanted to die herself, instead... No...

He was moving!

Harry still lived!

Through her tears Hermione saw him continue to struggle futilely against his bonds as Pettigrew held something against Harry's right arm. He must be collecting blood. Her latest fear almost prevented her from breathing... Would it..?

Then Pettigrew stopped. Hermione almost sagged with relief at the relatively small amount required. She had feared Harry's body might have to be drained.

Pettigrew moved back to the cauldron and poured the precious drops into the bubbling liquid. It erupted immediately in a tremendous flash. Then everything faded to black as the cauldron ceased emitting sparks. Instead a thin trail of steam curled up, gradually increasing in size and opacity until a white curtain of magical vapour formed a cloud of mist, totally obscuring her view.

Off to one side, McCracken frankly looked terrified and rooted to the spot. Pettigrew now sat heavily on a nearby grave, whimpering and cradling his butchered right hand. Harry was staring intently at the cauldron. Even at this distance Hermione could clearly see his face white with fear.

A shadow moved within the curtain of magical mist, tall and thin. Hermione hoped against hope that it was not what she knew it had to be.

"Robe me." A thin, reedy voice commanded from inside the fog. Pettigrew scrambled to his feet and picked up the discarded garment that had carried the original horror to the cauldron not five minutes ago.

As though emerging from an early morning shower, Voldemort stepped from the cauldron and allowed Pettigrew to slip the fine black robe over his gaunt body. As his head turned Hermione could not prevent a gasp escaping her lips.

Voldemort's head was as bald and white as a snooker cue ball. It had no semblance of a nose; only thin slits for nostrils. But what captured Hermione's attention were the vivid burning red eyes, prominent even from yards away.

"My wand, Wormtail." The voice might be high but it was cold and controlled. Pettigrew reverently passed a wand to Voldemort who stared at it almost lovingly. "Thank you."

"Wh- wh- what... what the feck is this?" Hermione had almost forgotten about McCracken, but realised the Irishman was making a supreme mistake. "I didn't sign up for this!" He aimed his wand at the horror arisen before him, and started to back away.

To keep from screaming herself, Hermione bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"We can dispense with the hired help: Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort sounded bored as he cast the Killing Curse almost as an afterthought. McCracken's body was silhouetted by the deadly green flash. His corpse fell on its back not far from Hermione, his face forever fixed with a look of abject terror.

"Hmm." Voldemort nodded his head slowly in satisfaction, rolling his wand between his abnormally extended fingers. "One never loses the ability, does one, Wormtail?"

"Master?" Pettigrew knelt as a supplicant, his mangled right hand held out before him, with two flesh and bone fingers joined by a silver appendage. "Please..?"

Voldemort's smile was a sick and cold effort. "Of course. After all, I did promise." He moved his wand in an intricate swirl. A thin silver thread issued forth from the tip. Voldemort worked like an expert potter on the wheel, forming the thread into a metallic digit, which floated down and attached itself firmly in place of the freshly sacrificed finger.

Pettigrew fell to his knees and kissed his Lord's robes. "Thank you... thank you," he sobbed.

"Do not be so hasty to thank me, Wormtail," Voldemort replied coolly. "You serve me through fear, not loyalty." Pettigrew froze. "However," Voldemort continued, "you have begun to repay your debt, and I doubt that your loyalty will ever waver again, will it?"

The question was put as if in ordinary conversation, but Pettigrew prostrated himself. "Never, Master; never, my Lord."

Voldemort leaned down seemingly effortlessly for such a tall, thin figure. "Of course not. Arise, Wormtail, I have further need of your services." He almost appeared to smell the air. "My most loyal servant, has he departed?"

"Yes, my Lord." Pettigrew hastened to assure Voldemort. "To Hogwarts as planned."

Hermione's blood ran even colder. She had seen Barty Crouch at Hogwarts before she left. What did this murdering newcomer hope to accomplish?

"Good... good." The Dark Lord nodded his head in approval again. "I wonder after all these years how many others will answer my call, Wormtail."

Pettigrew evidently knew what was to come. He rose to his feet and rolled back his sleeve, baring his arm. Voldemort ran his long fingers up and down the flesh almost longingly.

"It is back," Voldemort purred with obvious satisfaction. "My followers... or those who claimed to be my followers, surely they have noticed by now. They will be wondering, has He returned? We shall see how many answer my call." With that he pressed firmly on Pettigrew's forearm.

Pettigrew howled but Harry's loud screams of pain were even more extreme. That unfortunately drew him to Voldemort's attention.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he said almost avuncularly. "So good of you to aid my return." Voldemort's voice dropped to a whisper and Hermione could not catch his words, but she heard Harry's screams deepen when the Dark Lord pressed a finger onto Harry's forehead.

Hermione felt she had no choice. "No. No! No!! Leave him alone!" she screamed herself.

Let him torture her, instead. Her failures deserved nothing less.

Voldemort turned slowly and fixed his attention upon the young witch. He... drifted... would be the best word to describe how he covered the ground, Pettigrew scrambling in his wake.

"Hermione Granger." Voldemort observed her from above as though she were a specimen to be dissected. "The Muggleborn who nearly foiled all our plans." He shook his head in mock sadness. "You angered my servant. I believe you met him earlier tonight in his true guise." He leaned in and Hermione tried to shrink away. "It cost one of my old followers his life."

Hermione thought if she more than breathed it would be her last act. Still, she was keeping him from Harry...

Voldemort reached out and gently brushed strands of hair from Hermione's forehead, causing her to flinch. "Yet you played your part exactly as forecast. A Mudblood Triwizard champion?" He snorted. "I think not."

Hermione whimpered.

"Still, I am told that some consider you one of the finest minds to have entered Hogwarts for many a year." He held up his wand as if examining it in the pale moonlight. "Yet inherited magical ability differs vastly from what one learns in a book. That gap cannot be bridged, despite what that Muggle-loving fool believes. Your wand?"

"I... I... don't have it," Hermione admitted.

Pettigrew had it, and held out his enhanced hand. "Here, my Lord."

Voldemort took it and studied it for a few seconds. "Vine wood with... dragon heartstring core? Dear me, Lucius will be outraged." He spoke with mock solemnity and a hint of cold amusement. Then he flexed the instrument between his fingers, testing its durability. "You don't deserve a wand, my dear child." Hermione watched with dawning realisation; he was going to snap her wand!

A loud crack caught Voldemort's attention.

"Please excuse me. I have some old friends to welcome... and to chastise." As if bored with it, he let Hermione's wand slip from his fingers and drop into the long grass.

Although sobbing at her close escape, Hermione marked where her wand had been discarded. Perhaps even now there was hope. Surely, if Harry had somehow been able to follow her, then Moody could do the same? Nor would Sirius and Remus miss this fight.

Even as she started to formulate an escape plan, the odds shifted even more heavily against their favour.

One after another, anonymous wizards began Apparating into the graveyard. They were dressed in black cloaks and white masks that hid their identities. As they arrived they were alert and poised for action. Then, as each one caught a first look at Voldemort, they hastened to abase themselves before him. If not so dangerous, it would almost have been amusing. They almost struggled to be the first to kiss Voldemort's robes before collectively quailing under his reptilian glare. After each one kissed the hem he or she rose and backed away, forming a wide circle about the returned Master.

Hermione counted. Seven; there were seven Death Eaters. The odds were nine to two, with one of the ennead being Voldemort himself. Her despair was almost overwhelming.

And she was the lure that brought Harry to this awful place…

"Well, my friends, welcome to my old home," Voldemort began. "It has been, what? Nigh on thirteen years since we last met in happier times." His voice grew dangerously quiet. "After thirteen years you answer my call as though it were yesterday. What loyalty." His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Thirteen long years I languished in limbo, waiting for my loyal followers to set me free. Thirteen years in which some grew contented, some fat, some rich. I wonder how often you thought of your Lord as you begged for your own freedom. How many of you recanted? How many kissed the feet of the Ministry?"

Voldemort's was a dangerous mood, and Hermione saw the Death Eaters bow their heads.

"And yet seven of you answered my call. Seven!" Voldemort almost spat out the number. "I have more loyal followers languishing in Azkaban! Well, that will change soon.

"Four have given their lives to my cause."

At that, Hermione detected a visible frisson of fear run through the Death Eaters as some tried to work out who was missing. At least one, to Hermione's knowledge, fit that description. Macnair had been killed by Crouch. If Malfoy was there, he possessed that information.

"Another has felt my justice and rests in his grave."

'Karkaroff, I assume.'

"One has left me forever, and will suffer the same fate."

'Professor Snape?'

"Yet my most loyal servant, faithful always, never betrayed his Lord."

At that, the Death Eaters stirred uneasily. They seemed a little confused, as though Voldemort had miscounted. Perhaps they did not know about Barty Crouch?

"I am, however, surprised by one absentee," Voldemort continued, his tone ominous. "Perhaps he has been delayed..."

Those words had scarcely left Voldemort's lips when Hermione heard a soft 'pop' as yet another Death Eater Apparated into the cemetery, further lengthening her odds. The others had heard it as well, and the latecomer was the focus of everyone's unwelcome attention. He stood as though astonished by the scenario before him.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort said silkily with a fringe of ice. "I almost thought you had declined my invitation."

Hermione was sure that Malfoy flinched behind his mask.

"Either that or lost your way. Pity... I never thought you would prove so... inadequate in your punctuality." The Dark Lord's wand drifted dangerously close to being trained on Malfoy. "Or etiquette," he breathed viciously.

Malfoy immediately flung himself to the ground in front of Voldemort. Just like the others he sought to touch his lips to his Master's robes, but Voldemort took a step sideways.

"My Lord..?" Hermione could sense distinct fear in Malfoy's voice. His next words had to chosen carefully, for if they did not mollify Voldemort, his life was worthless.

"I thought perhaps you had grown too fond of your fortune to pay your respects to your old Master."

"Never," Malfoy croaked.

"A fortune built over these last thirteen years," Voldemort continued. "Thirteen years!" His tone took on a darker aspect. "And in that time did you ever think of searching for your Lord? No?" He turned swiftly, his robe sweeping dramatically over the prone Malfoy as he addressed the remaining seven. "Did any of you? Or were you too busy pleading your innocence with my enemies and kissing the robe of that foul Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore? You've run to fat in your comfortable existence."

At first no-one moved, then another flung himself to the ground alongside Malfoy. "Forgive me, my Lord," he cried.

"Forgiveness, Yaxley? Is this what you begged from the courts? And yet you have travelled so far among the Aurors." Voldemort leaned down. "And what else did you tell them? How many colleagues did you betray to save your worthless hide?"

Hermione could not help but notice the man trembling on the ground; sure his last moments had come. Voldemort's mood swings were worthy of psychoanalysis.

Another flung himself down, then a fourth, sparking a last desperate rush not to be the only one left standing.

"I may be merciful and forgive... this time, but I never forget," Voldemort continued. "You all have a debt to repay, one that has garnered thirteen long years of interest and my penalties can be far more permanent than Gringotts'."

He paused and no-one dared break the silence.

Presently, Voldemort returned his interest to Lucius. "I do hope your explanation is a good one, my slippery friend."

"I... I... I was with... the Minister, my Lord. At Hogwarts when your signal arrived." Malfoy raised his eyes, glimpsed Voldemort's countenance, and returned his stare to the dirt. "I came as soon as I could slip away without attracting attention. One cannot Apparate from the grounds -"

"This I know." Voldemort cut him off. "Tell me, Lucius; was the Minister still there when you left?"

"He was, my Lord."

"And that lowlife head of the Aurors"

"Scrimgeour?" Malfoy seemed a little confused by the line of questioning. "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort contemplated this information for a moment. "And Albus Dumbledore?"

Malfoy risked raising his eyes. "Fudge was only too pleased to state that he was secured in a Ministry cell."

"Th- that is true, my Lord," Yaxley stammered in an obvious attempt to curry favour. "Thicknesse confirmed this to me himself."

Voldemort's smile chilled Hermione to the bone. "My old friends," his words now cordial, "you bring me excellent news. Come now, there is no need for you to remain prostrate. Rise, all of you, rise as have I again."

Hermione's hopes that Voldemort's fury might whittle the numbers against them were dashed, but the Death Eaters remained cowed, even when on their feet again.

"I am pleased that you join my rebirthing party. Some of you have met my guest of honour." Voldemort gestured to the bound figure. "Harry Potter," he added, then seethed: "The Boy-Who-Lived. Soon to become an ironic soubriquet indeed."

The Death Eaters began clustering respectfully around their newly-arisen leader. Hermione struggled to catch the continuing conversation. Voldemort explained certain miscalculations that had caused his downfall, his long wait before any of his followers to try and find his reduced form, and the stories of the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets. It was macabre yet fascinating to hear these events told from such a different perspective.

His final triumph was thanks to a young Death Eater whose name would be exalted in their company, beneath only the Dark Lord himself. She saw the shivers of fear pass through the disciples as Voldemort contemplated their failures and the thrill of envy as they were compared to this new, most loyal servant.

Hermione learned of the fate of Bertha Jonkins in far away Albania, how Voldemort had been informed of the Triwizard Tournament, and - proving her right all along - his plan to lure Harry into the Tournament. As he spoke, Voldemort again placed his finger on what Hermione assumed was Harry's famous scar, and again Harry's cries told of unimaginable pain. She could not stand the sight and sound of that torture.

"Leave him alone," she shouted once more. That attracted everyone's attention.

"Oh, please forgive me," Voldemort observed with exaggerated politeness. "I have not introduced you to my uninvited guest." The whole cabal followed their leader the short distance necessary to surround her. "This is the Mudblood Hermione Granger. I am afraid that Hogwarts' entrance criteria are sadly lacking these days. I am told that she is the most intelligent student to enter the school for some years." He bent down.

"Look where your cleverness has brought you, girl!" he hissed, before standing again.

"Of course, one of you needs no introduction." Voldemort's scarlet eyes flashed dangerously. "Do you, Lucius Malfoy?"

Malfoy removed his inanimate mask, again under close scrutiny from colleagues who would as gladly sell him out and dance on his grave as support him. "My Lord?"

Voldemort ignored him. "Lucius, my dear, sought to have you eliminated during the Second Task." He glared at Malfoy whose pallid colour whitened even more. "He thus risked our revised plans and cost my servant Macnair his life."

An audible hiss of inhalation arose from the remaining Death Eaters. Hermione had difficulty in deciding whether their contempt was for her or one of their own.

"I was tempted to allow Lucius' little ambush to succeed," Voldemort continued. "After all, the result would have been one less Mudblood. But, sadly, my loyal servant was forced to sacrifice Macnair. I know that Walden would have appreciated the price he paid for my return."

Mad-Eye had been right: that man had been murdered because he had intended to kill her.

"You see, the Mudblood had her uses. She was perfect for luring the famous Harry Potter here."

Everything she had suspected was confirmed. Hermione hung her head in shame. From the way Voldemort was gloating, she must have played her part perfectly. Despite being clad in but a t-shirt in the cool June night air, she burned in humiliation.

"For a proper return, I required the blood of the same boy who defeated me all those years ago. With her as bait, he followed like a lovesick pup. And now I stand before you, reborn.

"And nothing would befit the occasion more than to offer the Boy-Who-Lived an opportunity to fight not only for his own life, but for his little Mudblood's too..."

With a flick of his wrist, Voldemort shot a Stinging Hex of some sort at the unsuspecting Hermione.

"Owww!" she howled, before catching herself.

"It can be much worse, Mudblood, as you can well imagine," Voldemort threatened. "For now no senile Dumbledore will ride to the rescue, no phoenix, no mother's protection. I will strike Potter down, as I did his father, and in so doing I shall strike fear into the hearts of all who might oppose me."

Turning his back on her, Voldemort glided towards Harry, leaving Hermione a helpless spectator once again. The prospect of being an unwilling and helpless spectator as Harry duelled with Voldemort terrified her.

Voldemort clicked his skeletal fingers. "Wormtail, Potter's wand." Pettigrew produced it from his shabby robe and handed it to the Dark Lord. He examined it cursorily before turning. Hermione cringed and closed her eyes as he cast a spell directly at Harry.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Hermione found the courage to look up. Harry's bonds were severed and he half fell forward onto his knees.

Voldemort tossed Harry's wand to Pettigrew. "Come now, Harry," he said, all oily faux concern. "We shall meet as equals."

Harry glared at him, and his declaration carried clearly to Hermione. "I'll have no part of this unless you let Hermione go."

His insolence drew dark censorious looks from the Death Eaters, but Voldemort himself ignored it. "You know how to duel, don't you, Harry?" he asked as if tutoring a failing student.

Harry nodded grimly.

"Then I shall make you an offer. Refuse it, the Mudblood dies, and you will walk from this place alive. But if you duel with me I shall let the Mudblood go free."

An odd shocked gasp arose from Voldemort's followers.

"Will another Mudblood woman die in order to save you, Harry?" Voldemort stared hard at his foe. "Just like your mother, unfit for this world, significant only in her sacrifice. Does this one love you as much as Lily Potter did?"

"Don't you dare say my mother's name!" Harry shouted defiantly. "She outdid you, that's for sure, and Hermione's just as good."

Somewhere, beneath her cold terror, Hermione felt a touch of warmth arise within her.

Voldemort was relentless. "I killed your mother, just as certainly as I will kill this Mudblood. I have posed the question once; you are fortunate as I seldom offer a second chance."

Harry shook his head. "No, it has to be better than that," he said determinedly. "I don't trust your followers to keep your word."

On one level this blasphemy shocked the surrounding Death Eaters; on another it did not.

"You demand magical proof, then?" Voldemort replied. "That the Mudblood will be permitted to return to Hogwarts alive?"

"No, that's not -"

"Don't do it, Harry!" a horrified Hermione screamed. "Not for me! It's not -"

"Crucio!"

Voldemort's curse was stated conversationally and from twenty yards away, but if Hermione thought Crouch's Cruciatus was unendurable agony, it was a soft tickle compared to the power now cast.

Every bone, every sinew, every tendon, every nerve felt stripped and shredded to breaking point. Her skin was doused in an acid bath. Blades of fire slashed through her flesh. Her arteries and veins carried not blood but razor wire drawn slowly through each and every vessel. Her eyes boiled and her tongue burned.

Hermione arched her back, straining against unbreakable bonds until she bled. That pain was ignored as miniscule compared to what Voldemort's curse visited upon her.

When she realised the curse had been lifted, the ringing in Hermione's head did not clear until she realised her own screaming was filling her ears.

"Mudblood's wet herself," one of the unidentified Death Eaters commented with a harsh laugh. The damp patch in her jeans was mere balm compared to the agonies that left her body spasming as her nervous system failed under the strain.

The world pulsed in and out of her vision with a vivid carmine backdrop. She became aware of the sharp coppery taste of blood in her mouth, but lacked the immediate strength to spit it out, instead letting it dribble from the sides of her mouth. Even breathing was painful. She gulped air in short, hard gasps, allowing her battered lungs some respite in her constricted chest. Her heartbeat thundered painfully in her ears.

Dimly Hermione became aware that Harry was shouting at someone again. She wished he did not as her head felt as heavy as lead and as fragile as an eggshell.

As her sense and senses rose slowly towards minimal normality, Hermione lifted her head wearily.

Harry was being restrained by two burly Death Eaters, preventing him throwing himself bodily at Voldemort, who had turned his back on the boy and was now towering over her. The Dark Lord reached down and roughly cupped Hermione's chin, gently twisting her head from side to side none too gently.

"It is poor form to interrupt one's superiors, Mudblood. I trust I shall not have to repeat the lesson?"

With his followers hooting at his jest, Voldemort released his hold and roughly pushed her back against the marble tomb. Then he again turned his back on the insignificant girl.

Her head aching from another smack against the cold stone, Hermione simply lacked the strength to lift it. It lolled back, her chin resting on her chest.

"You coward! Attacking an unarmed girl. Come and try it with me!" Harry demanded.

Hermione groaned and found she lacked the puff to put forward another counter-argument.

"You agree then?" Voldemort asked expectantly.

"If you let Hermione go unharmed before we fight."

Voldemort shook his head. "No: I shall let her watch you die, so that my return is documented properly, but I give you my word she will then be returned to Hogwarts without any further harm."

Hermione almost broke down again at the prospect, but focussed instead on evident consternation within the Death Eater ranks. Malfoy had stepped forward. "Ahem... my Lord?"

Voldemort shot him a glare just shy of fatal. "You presume upon my patience, Lucius. It is not inexhaustible."

Malfoy swallowed hard. "My Lord, you cannot be serious about allowing the Mudblood to return. It is a... joke?"

Voldemort looked hard at him. "I am not renowned for my sense of humour, Lucius. Who better to relay news of the Boy-Who-Lived's demise than his Mudblood lady friend? I shall even mark her as mine so that there is no doubt I have returned."

The idea of bearing the Dark Mark repulsed Hermione. The consequences could be horrendous; the reason for the disfigurement terrifying.

Malfoy shrank back, but another stepped forward.

"My Lord, the Mudblood has seen us; she will reveal our true allegiances to the Ministry."

Voldemort's patience was palpably running out. "That would be no bad thing, would it, Avery? I do not intend to fight from the shadows this time. I will know who is with me, and if they are not, then they stand against me and will suffer my wrath. After thirteen years there will be no turning back, Yaxley. No more denials, Rowle."

He turned to address the other nervous Death Eaters. "You swore eternal loyalty to me. Do not test that vow."

Hermione realised that her knowledge would be Voldemort's instrument for tying his Death Eaters for him once and for all. She was worse than mere bait; she was now his tool.

"My Lord, our vaults at Gringotts will be seized."

"You disappoint me Lucius. Here we stand, on the brink of overthrowing the Muggle-loving Ministry, and you worry about mere money."

"My Lord," Malfoy sounded hoarse with fear. "I only seek to place it at your disposal, as always."

"Of course." Voldemort's eyes burned intensely. "Our funds will remain safe. Within the hour the Ministry and the Auror Office will be decapitated; the Boy-Who-Lived will gain a sadly different name. By tomorrow morning our friends in Azkaban will again be fighting at our sides and Albus Dumbledore will be found dead in a Ministry cell.

"Magical Britain will know that it is at war, and every witch and wizard will have to choose with whom to side. No more excuses." He favoured Malfoy with an oily grotesque parody of a smile. "I have no doubt that Gringotts' goblins will find it... beneficial to maintain their neutrality."

Some Death Eaters still appeared disconcerted, and Hermione could tell that Voldemort had also observed this. "Come, my friends. In honour of your past service, I will allow those of you who doubt to choose to leave."

Hermione noted that Voldemort mentioned only their choice. He did not say they were actually free to leave - or live - should they choose wrongly.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward once again. "I have never doubted you, my Lord, and would count it an honour to serve under you once more."

"I too, Master." Nott stepped forward, then Avery, to be followed by the rest. Even Crabbe and Goyle, restraining Harry, had grasped what hesitation would cost them, let alone desertion.

Voldemort spread his arms wide. "I never doubted the strength of our 'family.' We stand and triumph together." He turned and issued Pettigrew a quiet command with a gesture towards Hermione. Pettigrew moved through the graves and stood with his wand aimed at her heart.

"So, shall it be the Boy-Who-Lived or the Mudblood who is spared?" the Dark Lord demanded of Harry, who glared pointedly at Pettigrew. "Oh, merely a gesture of good faith."

Pettigrew severed the ropes binding Hermione to the tomb. Fearing the worst and suddenly deprived of their support she slumped forward onto the grass, but with a purpose. She kept her eyes trained on the tuft of grass where she had last seen her wand. However, before she could try anything and pounce, Pettigrew dragged her to her feet, his forearm locked tightly around her throat.

The knot of Death Eaters began moving away from her, assuming the result. Harry was half-dragged towards a more open, level patch of ground a little further away. Some of the Death Eaters provided wandlight illumination. Voldemort was easy to spot, easily a head taller than anyone else.

Hermione struggled and twisted but could not break Pettigrew's grip.

"You promise you'll let her go?" Harry sounded desperate and mistrustful.

"Of course. Lucius?"

Malfoy once again moved to his Master's side in trepidation "Yes, My Lord?"

"Give me your arm."

Hermione could hear but to her frustration could not see what was occurring. Malfoy sounded hesitant. "Are you sure, my -"

Voldemort turned on his follower. "Damn you Lucius Malfoy, you presume on me too much tonight! Have thirteen years made you forget your loyalty? Ever question me again and you will have breathed your last!"

Malfoy visibly flinched as Voldemort moved and blocked Hermione's view of Harry. She could not see but the words spoke clear enough.

"I, Lord Voldemort, do swear on my magic, that Hermione Granger will be let free to return to Hogwarts at the conclusion of this duel, and will not be harmed by my followers or I." Voldemort must have pressed his wandtip into Lucius' Dark Mark, just as he had done earlier with Pettigrew. With some small measure of satisfaction, Hermione heard Malfoy hiss in pain. He was not alone; all the Death Eaters clutched at their arms.

Voldemort then leaned forward and said something to Harry that Hermione could not hear. Suddenly, out of nowhere the Triwizard Cup, gleaming in the face of multiple wand tips, flew through the air and was effortlessly caught by the Dark Lord. 'Wordless summoning,' Hermione's analytical side took note without thought of another skill from a very dangerous adversary.

"Portus!" The trophy glowed a bright blue before the aura faded. Voldemort then banished it to stand atop an old tomb, tantalisingly close, yet far away behind his Death Eaters. "You see, I have even provided her with a free trip home," Voldemort announced as if awarding a prize. "Then she can tell all those who await how you begged for mercy, which I provided, and how your sad, short life was ended."

The Death Eaters formed a loose circle around the main event. From beyond their ranks, Hermione caught a glimpse of Voldemort returning Harry's wand, before the two of them retreated from each other along the diameter.

"Make your peace, Harry Potter," Voldemort taunted his young opponent. "Soon you can say hello to your blood traitor father and his muggleborn bitch..."

Hermione caught her breath. Voldemort was looking to needle Harry into making a false move.

"…And your own Mudblooded Achilles Heel will no doubt follow shortly. I make no promises beyond tonight."

Voldemort succeeded. Harry lunged forward and cast the first spell.

"Expelliarmus!"

Voldemort's short laugh of disgust echoed as with obscene ease he flicked his wand and caused Harry's Disarming Spell to ricochet away into the dark sky.

"Is that the best Hogwarts can do?" he jeered. "I thought you finally had a half-decent Defence Against the Dark Arts tutor. You see, this is how a real wizard duels... Crucio!"

Hermione would have screamed had she not been throttled by Pettigrew's constricting hold, but any scream would have been lost in Harry's cries of torment. She watched helplessly as Voldemort maintained the Cruciatus Curse on Harry for a good half minute. She had lost sight of Harry when he had fallen to the ground, obscured by spectators and headstones.

Wormtail was craning his neck trying to spectate. Hermione seized that opportunity to look for, and locate, her wand half-hidden in the grass not very far away.

Finally the Dark Lord lifted the Curse and mercifully Harry's screams ended. Voldemort moved slowly around the circumference of their ad-hoc arena, obviously stalking Harry. As long as Harry was moving, Hermione thought, there's still a chance. Could he hold Voldemort off long enough for an ever more belated rescue party to arrive from Hogwarts? Surely by now...

Voldemort taunted Harry again and again about his dead parents, drawing laughs and more abuse for Harry from the biased audience. Harry threw every hex, curse, jinx and spell he knew, but Hermione observed that Voldemort was cruising effortlessly. He was biding his time, toying with his prey, and Hermione wondered if he really did expect Harry to be driven to submit and beg release from this torture.

She could not just stand here and watch her friend sacrifice himself for her. She grabbed hold of Pettigrew's arm and tried to bite into the flesh, but it had no effect on the Death Eater, who was heavily robed. Pettigrew just squeezed that bit harder.

For a second her eyes had drifted away from the battle. They shot back when she heard the two words that she dreaded.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light from Voldemort's Killing Curse lit up the graveyard with emerald brilliance.

"Oh Merlin! Harry!"

Yet amazingly the sickly lime turned into brilliant gold, so bright it hurt Hermione's eyes to look at it for more than a second. She saw silhouettes of Death Eaters, no longer carefree spectators at an execution, but confused and temporarily leaderless drones.

Voldemort came back into view, rather higher than she expected, almost off the ground. He seemed as nonplussed as everyone else as he... well, floated... slowly away from the fight's starting point.

Pettigrew gawked along with everyone else at this strange sight. Hermione felt his attention wander as unwittingly he slightly relaxed his hold. Now was the moment - now or never.

She went limp in his arms, her head hanging forward. Between trying to watch the spectacle before him and bear the dead weight of his captive, Pettigrew shifted his hold. Hermione raised her right foot, then slammed it down with as much force as she could muster whilst also throwing her head backwards with a sharp jerk.

Her boot scraped Pettigrew's right shin as it smashed down onto Wormtail's dorsum pedis. At the same instant her head cracked satisfyingly against Pettigrew's face. Caught unawares, the stocky wizard's grip faltered and he struggled to stay upright. His reaction allowed Hermione to twist around and take a step back before swinging her right boot upwards.

Its solid toecap connected directly with Pettigrew's groin, and he started to crumple at the knees, his wand hand forgotten. Hermione stepped forward, grabbed his head and slammed it down into the point of her right knee, now thrust upwards again. All those years humping an overloaded book bag proved to have a useful, indeed lifesaving, side effect.

Contact produced an immensely pleasing squelch as Pettigrew's nose was plastered all over his rat-like features. He went down with a pained groan, but still moved. He was not yet out of the fight.

Hermione threw herself back and to her left, her hands scrabbling in the dark for her wand. Unfortunately her position had shifted substantially while downing Pettigrew. Desperate, she could not find it, and judging from Pettigrew's agonised breaths and moans, she was running out of time. Then, just as in the First Task, her fingers providentially brushed against her vine wood. In a flash, without rising from the ground, Hermione twisted on the grass, coming face to face with Pettigrew hunched up, his hands rubbing both loins and face.

"Stupefy!"

Finally, Pettigrew was out for the count.

Hermione rose to her knees. She had no idea if her minor scrap had drawn attention from the main event, which plainly continued given the brilliant arcs of spellfire that lit up the graveyard; Harry had not yet been vanquished. Hermione wondered why her local victory had gone entirely unnoticed, but with the iridescence from the duel so bright, anything beyond its immediate umbra was in the deepest dark.

The magical light show was even closer than before, and it put the Blackpool Illuminations to shame. Now free to move about, Hermione could clearly see Harry and Voldemort, locked in mortal combat, with a brilliant golden thread of magical light linking their two wands. She suspected that if either broke the deadlock, the other's spell would instantly strike home. Knowing what Voldemort's last spell cast was, she hoped that Harry would not be tempted. She was almost persuaded to yell a warning.

With a series of gunshot-like reports, the light began splintering at the confluence of the two spells, refracted and arcing away until the two combatants appeared to Hermione to inhabit a giant gilded cage. The Death Eaters were at as much a loss as she was, and they scampered about the perimeter of the glistening circle, powerless to intervene. Voldemort kept yelling at them to: "Do nothing!" He was obviously hoping to overpower Harry through sheer magical brute force, but for the first time Hermione thought she saw hesitancy in the Dark wizard's movements and heard uncertainty in his voice

Was it just wishful thinking or was Voldemort's spell, now light green infused with gold to create a burnished bronze rope of light, retreating back towards the caster?

It was! Imperceptibly the burning golden light absorbed the greenish hue, moving further towards a now visibly alarmed Voldemort.

As hope was born in Hermione's heart it was swiftly and ruthlessly smothered. With bronze light grazing his wand tip, Voldemort obviously cast a final defensive spell. Thick coils of grey smoke spiralled into the air in great clumps. First one, which dissipated almost as soon as it appeared; then another which drifted towards Harry.

Hermione almost cried out in despair. The smoke Voldemort had apparently conjured gradually coalesced into monstrous bodies, parodies of humanity. A third rose and started, menacing Harry, who appeared surprised, shocked and fearful.

She could not allow this to happen! It was a shot of a good thirty yards, but Hermione levelled her wand, aiming straight at Voldemort's body.

Then a fourth and a fifth diabolical shade emerged from Voldemort's wand, but now the Dark wizard appeared perplexed and fearful. These moved to surround Harry, who looked up disbelievingly.

Tremors in both her arms threw off her aim. Hermione re-aimed, but was shaking enough to preclude any chance of a steady shot. She needed...

After running forward a few yards, Hermione rested her left arm on a slightly-tipped cross marking some ancient grave, which provided a crook at just about the right height. She brought her right arm down and locked her left hand around her right wrist. Now with firm support she again selected her target, brilliantly illuminated in the cage of light, taking one deep breath.

"Reducto!"

Voldemort's right arm came apart at the elbow in a grisly spray of blood, bone, flesh and muscle. He emitted an inhuman scream and, with a thunderbolt of a crack, Disapparated.

With one duellist's departure the bright golden threads of magic enclosing them flared out of existence. Instantly the entire graveyard was plunged back into darkness.

Hermione, sweating and shaking, slumped for a moment against the crucifix, praying that Harry had escaped those ghastly ghosts conjured by Voldemort.

From out of the dark she heard shouts, then some loud 'pops' and 'cracks' reminding her of continuing peril. Were the Death Eaters Apparating away? Or calling in reinforcements?

First one, then another wand provided minimal illumination among the gravestones. Shadows milled about in evident confusion.

Hermione twisted at the sound of someone skidding in gravel behind her. Her wand, steadier after Voldemort's departure, drew a bead on a shadowy figure. Faint moonlight glinted off a pair of glasses.

"Harry!" Never had she invested any name with so much emotion. She wanted nothing less than to hug him half to death.

"Lumos Maximus!" Lucius Malfoy's voice carried clearly as the graveyard lit up like Wembley.

Harry was sweating profusely, yet his face was pallid; he looked beyond scared as he crouched down next to her. "You okay, Hermione?"

She nodded. She would smother him in hugs at a more appropriate time, when the only chaperones to dodge would be Hogwarts' staff and not angry, confused Death Eaters. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I suspect. Nice shot, by the way." He sighed, glancing up towards the site of his felicitously truncated duel, ignoring her pending question, instead posing a couple of his own. "Now, how the Hell do we get out of here? And where is bloody Mad-Eye?"

"Wait!" Malfoy's shout again carried clearly. "No-one Disapparates."

"I was asking myself the same," Hermione muttered

"If I could track you, I'm damned sure Moody could." Harry squinted over the transom of the crucifix. Hermione first thought the distance was defeating his weak eyes, then saw that one of his lenses was cracked, and both obscured by dirt and sweat. With more composure than she felt, she replicated the spell she cast when they had first met.

"Occulus Reparo!" she muttered, barely aloud, tapping his glasses gently with her wand.

Harry did not seem to notice. He was focussing on what Malfoy was saying, "If we allow either of them to escape, we might as well snap our own wands and surrender to the Aurors." Hermione could just make out his lustrous silver-haired head.

He had noticed. "Thanks." Harry removed his glasses for a moment and admired her handiwork, before whispering: "Down the hill," and turning to look over his left shoulder. "I'm sure there's a village down there. Perhaps we could find help."

Death Eaters felt no need to whisper. "What do you suggest, Malfoy?" Yaxley's voice was like a corpse dragged over gravel.

Hermione shook her head. "We can't lead a group of bloodthirsty Death Eaters into a Muggle village. And who could help us? Juliet Bravo? It's not like we can dial nine-nine-nine for the Aurors."

Another Death Eater spoke up, his voice heavily accented. "We'll kill them both, nein?"

"Besides," Hermione continued, "I don't think we have time to spare. They're out for blood."

"Our Lord was most insistent that Potter is his to kill, Rowle. Do you want to usurp him by bringing him Potter's head?"

"So, do we wait for the cavalry then?" Harry muttered, his anxiety less obvious than Malfoy's.

Another 'crack' of Apparation sounded from amidst the Death Eaters. At least one more had decided that discretion was the better part of valour.

"I don't think they're coming, do you?" Hermione risked another peek over the top of a grave marker before turning back to face Harry."

"No," he muttered, "They'd be here by now."

"Take the boy alive," Malfoy asserted, his growing anxiety obvious from his stressed tones.

"No, our best way out is the same way I came in." She pointed to the Triwizard Cup, still gleaming atop the gravestone Voldemort had selected. Unfortunately the Death Eaters were between them and the trophy.

Harry screwed up his eyes. "Can we make it there?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we bring it down here", she hissed urgently. "There's something I want as a souvenir."

"Kill the Mudblood."

"Hermione..." Harry thought for a couple of seconds, then dug into his pocket. "Bloody idiots only took my wand." Part of his body disappeared as he withdrew his hand, and Hermione could see the heavily-shadowed background. "Never took this." As he held up the material Harry himself disappeared.

"Your Invisibility Cloak!" Hermione hissed excitedly. They might both live after all.

"Find them, now! If you know what's good for you, you won't come back here until you do!"

Harry flung it over to her. "They want me alive," he observed with grim satisfaction. "I'll go and keep them busy. You trot up there, nick the Cup, and I'll see you back here in - what, a couple of minutes?"

"Make it five if you can. After all, you're not going anywhere without me." She grinned slyly at him.

Harry nodded. "Five it is." He glanced towards the Death Eaters, and then reached out, his fingers briefly brushing Hermione's cheek. Returning her grin, he whispered: "Take care." He took a firm grip on his wand and moved off, keeping low. She prayed it would not be the last time she saw him... alive...

On her own again, Hermione pulled the cloak tightly around her. Before setting off to grab the Cup, she had one more preliminary task - Pettigrew. Crawling the short distance to where he laid sprawled behind that damned tomb, she checked first that he was still breathing, easy enough with the blood on his face bubbling gently. Touching her wand directly to his midriff to conceal any flash, she let loose another point-blank Stunner. That would ensure he would not wake up any time soon. Then she rolled him into an approximation of the Muggle recovery position. To get to the bottom of this, she needed him alive.

A wave of nausea swept over her; presumably the lingering after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. She shook it off. Why worry about it now? Her future - and Harry's - lay with that damned Triwizard Cup.

At least she could help Harry in spreading confusion amongst the Death Eaters.

"Duplicus! Duplicus! Duplicus! Duplicus!" Four equally battered images of herself shimmered into existence. For a second she pondered if she really was in as bad a state as her reflections betrayed. Another issue for the future; she cast the thought aside as irrelevant. Hermione impelled her simulacrums with movement. Off they scarpered, heading straight for Lucius and his cronies.

Then the real Hermione set off, not straight up the hill but on a curved trajectory, avoiding known Death Eater positions. She kept to the lush grass rather than the pathways, so the crunch of gravel underfoot would not give her away. As quickly as possible she picked her way through long-abandoned graves, broken memorials and markers.

Before she had gone ten yards, volleys of spellfire erupted from where she expected Harry to be. Fretfully, she questioned her acceptance of the Cloak.

Off to her right, she espied one of her duplicates heading resolutely uphill. There followed a stentorian cry: "Refracto!" Her image appeared to pulse and then disintegrated in a cloud of pixels.

"This is no child's game, Granger!" Malfoy's magically amplified voice carried over the background spellfire. Hermione cursed: Malfoy had obviously remembered her little trick from the First Task. That meant Harry was pretty much without any help from her quarter.

Much closer by Hermione heard someone cast a Disillusionment Charm; it was not Harry so it had to be an enemy. She could not determine their location by sound alone, but could not let Harry be outflanked by Malfoy's newly invisible asset. Thinking fast, she spotted some loose masonry, broken off some decrepit monument, quietly levitated it above where she heard the charm uttered. As it reached that vicinity she trained her wand.

"Confringo!"

The lump of granite exploded and fell in a pulverised thick white mist, which Hermione's wand tip tracked. The dust drifted down, settling gently over marble crosses and limestone angels. It also settled over a shape that had not been visible a second ago.

"Stupefy!" Her Stunner slammed into the back of the suddenly revealed Death Eater and down they went. Hermione moved fast lest any of her three spells had been spotted. It was not a moment too soon as seconds later an unfamiliar purple spell and the now sickeningly familiar green Killing Curse cris-crossed a yard or two from her prior location. Two cries of pain suddenly echoed from out of the darkness.

Despite her invisibility Hermione still ducked behind the nearest substantial obstacle, a heavily weathered Portland stone marker over a cracked granite slab. That return fire had come from level and slightly behind her own position. She surmised the Death Eaters were now spread out and actively seeking her and Harry. He must have dealt with two of them as they revealed their positions casting at her. That meant with luck, her path to the Cup might be clear.

Moving as stealthily as she could, Hermione zigzagged towards the trophy. Sounds of duelling resounded to her right, and she easily detected Harry's urgent and distinctive spell casting. Thankfully he was still fighting vigorously, throwing Stunners and Reductor Curses. So far the only deliberately lethal curse cast had been against her.

The Cup gleamed maybe fifteen yards or so away. Hesitating, Hermione surveyed the immediate area. She saw no Death Eaters; nor made out any sound, difficult given the noisy wandfight only fifty yards away. The grass and gravel were free of footprints.

Moving forward, Hermione suddenly stumbled, tripping on some obstruction hidden in the lush untended grass. A ceramic vase toppled over.

"Accio Cloak!"

Harry's Cloak was dragged away with unexpected speed, before she could even raise a wand.

"The Mudblood!" Lucius Malfoy's disgust was evident, but his presence was not, until he shimmered into existence standing three feet above her, perched on another old family tomb. His wand was unerringly fixed on her chest, his Disillusionment Charm cancelled.

"Looking for a free ride back to Hogwarts, just as I suspected," he sneered, sounding extremely self-satisfied. "So I stayed, while sending the others to search. Now the Dark Lord will reward me..."

She could not possibly gain a bead on him before he could cast. Hermione's heart fell, leaden at this final let-down for Harry.

"I had hoped for the boy," Lucius sneered. "But at least we'll be rid of one inconvenience. Consider it payback for Macnair."

Hermione knew what was coming yet her legs could not move.

Drawing himself up imperiously to full height so that he could send this social inferior to her death while looking down his nose, Malfoy's arm was steady as iron.

"Avaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgh!" His attempted Killing Curse ended in a burbling scream. Malfoy dropped his wand as though it were white-hot, and clamped his now free right hand over his left forearm, doubling over in sudden and unexpected agony.

Reprieved, Hermione struck quickly. One swipe of her wand, and she pulled the stricken aristocrat's feet out from under him with a Clothesline Hex. With an oh-so-satisfying 'thunk' Malfoy's jaw connected with solid marble' Two unsteady steps had her looming over the shocked, barely conscious and defeated Death Eater. Judging by the blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth and rapidly swelling flesh, his jaw was broken - the second Malfoy mandibular fracture she had tallied in a few months.

"H... h... how?" Malfoy forced through ruined teeth.

'How indeed?' Hermione thought, before an epiphany. "Credit your so-called lord and master," she spat. "He did swear all of you to an oath on his magic, didn't he?"

The look of shocked realisation on Malfoy's face was priceless. Hermione only wished she had figured this out a few minutes earlier; it would have been a priceless advantage to exploit.

Painfully, Malfoy tried to scramble for his wand. Just because he could not directly harm her did not mean he could be ignored. Hermione landed one booted foot straight on his right hand, inches away from his objective. She stomped down hard, drawing an agonised hiss from Lucius as she heard two of his fingers break. Spying his signature silver serpent-headed wand, she bent down and grasped the elm stick. Breathing a little heavily, she ostentatiously snapped it over her knee in front of the Death Eater's eyes. She let the two halves fall to the ground and spitefully ground them into the gravel.

"You'll pay for that, you bitch," Malfoy mumbled around a mouthful of blood.

Sudden and extreme anger flooded Hermione, only partly a reaction to this evening's experiences. "Like father, like son!" She stepped forward and drove her right boot straight into the Malfoy crown jewels. Despite his smashed jaw, Malfoy's lips formed an almost perfect circle, but nothing was emitted except an agonised breath of red-tinted mist.

She stepped back from a sad shambles of black robes. "Give my regards to Draco," she panted, summoning his Death Eater cloak before casting spells that left Malfoy père bound and unconscious.

All the other Death Eaters were still away, searching for her on Malfoy's order. With so little visible magic employed, no-one appeared to have noticed their little spat. Hermione was unhindered when she Summoned the Cup and caught it in Malfoy's pilfered cloak. She could not touch it directly. If that happened she would be transported instantly back to Hogwarts, leaving Harry alone in a fight for his life.

The Invisibility Cloak was predictably nowhere to be seen, but she knew from Harry how to resolve that problem. "Accio Harry's cloak!" A patch of nothing flew into her hands, and she drew it around herself before considering a message to Harry that would also increase their chances. Casting Sonorus on her own throat, Hermione aimed at the bright point of light Malfoy had conjured. "Nox!"

The graveyard was instantly cast into almost total darkness. Even the bedazzling multicoloured exchange of spells died away as the combatants considered this new turn of events. Only faint moonlight provided any illumination.

Hermione knew she could not rely on the Death Eaters' continuing inability to harm her deliberately; a stray Reductor Curse would still take her head clean from her shoulders; and, wherever he was, Voldemort might be able to cancel his oath, assuming that was what disabled Malfoy.

And none of this was any direct help to Harry.

She was about fifteen yards from the Riddle tomb when disaster struck...

The snake struck from out of nowhere. It embedded its fangs in Hermione's left thigh, easily puncturing both the Invisibility Cloak and her thick denim jeans. Sharp pain seared her flesh. The massive snake's momentum had her tumbling backwards as it coiled itself for a second attack.

As Hermione tried to scramble back on her arse, the serpent sprang again.

"Reducto!"

Hermione cast more in desperate hope than with accurate aim, but with the snake so close it hardly mattered. The red spell fire of the Reductor Curse shot down its gullet, smashed through its spine and blew the back of its engorged head open. The rest of its body kept coming and slithered twitching over her legs.

Hermione pushed the reptile's gory remnants aside, every muscle spasm from the dead serpent causing her heart to race almost as uncontrollably. The pain in her thigh was localised but intense, yet she had other far more pressing problems.

Under a blanket of invisibility Hermione made her way carefully but unsteadily back to her starting point at the Riddle family tomb. Sudden waves of nausea washed over her, and on one occasion she had to kneel and retch, the foul mix of vomit, bile and saliva worse than at the end of the Tournament's prior tasks. Breathing became more difficult with every step, the tightness in her chest not just due to stress.

Fifteen yards. It could have been fifteen hundred the way she felt, but she made it back without further incident, perspiring heavily.

There was no sign of Harry, which spawned nightmarish thoughts. She was a little late, thanks to her encounter with Malfoy and that snake. Peter Pettigrew remained comatose where she had left him, and the rest of the cemetery betrayed as few signs of life as he did.

Fearing the worst, Hermione sunk to the ground, doubled up, and dry-heaved bitter sputum. Her heart was racing and she was starting to burn up with fever. She knew she badly needed treatment for the venom in her systems, and Hogwarts was but a touch away. But there was no way in Heaven or Hell she would abandon Harry now.

"Hermione?"

It was a sign of her fraying condition that the first Hermione knew of Harry's presence was his worried voice. She needed a second or two to realise she was still beneath his enveloping cloak. It was an effort to pull it away.

"Hermione!" There was no disguising his relief. As he bent down she could not help but hook her hands around his neck in an effort to hug him. Although she must reek of vomit, he pulled her close and used his strength to drag her up to her feet.

"Ready to go?" he whispered. In the dimmest of silver light he appeared unharmed and none the worse for his experiences.

Hermione disentangled herself from him, took a faltering breath, then shook her head. "Not yet. Not feeling too good." Another shuddering breath as her chest burned. "That huge snake bit me."

"What snake?" Harry hissed. Hermione looked pointedly at the smashed carcass up the path, impressive in size even that distance away. "Whoa!" Harry said quietly. "That snake." He sported the smallest of grins. "Still, mine was bigger." He also recognised the unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew for the first time. "Wormtail and Nagini both," he said with a tinge of pride. "My, you have been busy."

"Not sure what type of snake it was," Hermione observed, showing Harry the double bite mark in her jeans. She was sweating profusely now, her throat choked with profuse salivation, her lips and tongue felt thick. "Big enough for a constrictor, but the markings looked like an adder. Note the markings please, Harry, in case... Not sure if it was venomous or not, but V-V-Voldemort doesn't strike me as someone who shies away from poison."

"Congratulations."

"What?"

Harry grinned again. "You said the name."

Hermione was taken aback. "So I did," she said quietly. "I guess I earned it."

Not all of the Death Eaters had been vanquished and those remaining could be heard now, arguing and blundering about in darkness. Without their leader they were as useless as a... well, a decapitated snake.

"I could always, you know, suck the poison out," Harry offered, gently touching her leg. The intense pain had disappeared but her thigh tingled. She guessed it was the venom affecting her nerve endings.

Hermione sighed. "Brilliant, Harry. Take the poison into the one part of your body that guarantees absorption." She was trying to count how many opponents remained. "You've seen too many bad cowboy films." Her limbs were growing heavy and tremors were starting to affect her entire body. Nagini's venom was working its own insidious magic.

Harry glanced at her waxy complexion. "Let's get out of here, then," he said urgently. There were increased shouts and the sound of pursuit growing closer. Harry glanced in their direction, then fixed her with that piercing clear glare. "You're not well. We need to hurry."

"Here." Though weakening rapidly, Hermione led him to where Pettigrew lay. "You take one of his hands, I'll take the other," she instructed as she unwrapped the Triwizard Trophy from her second, less cherished, borrowed cloak. "Then on the count of three, we grab a handle each."

Harry's eyes grew wide as he understood what she intended. He nodded enthusiastically. "One."

"Rowle! Over there! I heard them"

"Two" Hermione took a deep breath. She did not think she could hang on much longer.

The incantation for a Blasting Hex was cut off in a scream of sudden and unexpected pain.

"Three!"

The dark cemetery disappeared into a fiery vortex.

* * * * *

Hermione thumped into the ground and feel onto her face, too feverish at first to tell whether they had been whisked away from danger.

Silence. Had Voldemort tricked them? Had they jumped from the frying pan into the fire of the Dark wizard's captivity.

Suddenly an unseen crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

Hermione stumbled as she tried climbing to her knees.

The cheering rapidly dissolved into a medley of shocked and surprised questions amidst flashes of light. Hermione's view was reduced to a couple of yards of tramped lawn.

"Hermione?" Harry sounded both anguished and anxious.

People were approaching; she could hear the thump of their feet and the urgency in their voices.

"Hermione?" That cry sounded like her mother.

'What's Mum doing at Hogwarts? Oh yes, that's right... she's here, isn't she?'

"Potter! What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" McGonagall's confusion was evident in her tone.

Hermione was dimly aware of a crowd gathering around them, but no-one stepped forward. She really needed help. The toxin in her bloodstream was causing unseen damage. Breathing was becoming ever more difficult, her chest felt painfully tight, and her inhalations were laboured in the extreme. With an effort she pushed off the Cup to raise her head.

The Minister stood a few yards off, his face a mixture of surprise and dawning outrage. Barty Crouch was at Fudge's shoulder, pallid and uncomprehending. Hermione's grip on her wand tightened.

"He's back!" Harry yelled breathlessly beside her. "He's back. Voldemort's back!"

The crowd recoiled and the volume of questions increased.

Hermione glanced up and saw her parents standing, stricken and at a loss.

"I tell you he's back! It was all a trap!" Harry repeated.

Her vision was stained with red. She struggled to stand and warn everyone about of Barty Crouch, but she was exhausted. She slipped and fell back on all fours.

"By Merlin, it's Pettigrew!"

"Don't be stupid he's de-"

"Hermione?" Harry crouched at her side, worried sick.

Black flowers blooming at the edge of her vision, Hermione knew she was slipping out of consciousness. With an effort she raised her head again.

Moody was there. Mad-Eye would know what to do.

The man who beat "Constant Vigilance" into her brain already had his wand drawn. That was expected. His look of thunderous incomprehension was not. He lurched forward, his hipflask swinging at his belt.

His hipflask...

Polyjuice ingredients missing...

Barty Crouch's name appearing in two places at once on the Marauders' Map...

Old man Crouch's sudden change of mind when not voting for disqualification...

The angry young man who hated her, yet killed to save her... and knew her as Mad-Eye's prize pupil...

Crouch's name being uttered at the graveyard...

Moody's failure to arrive at the cemetery despite promising her he would watch over Harry like a hawk...

His transparent surprise that they both made it back...

Hermione's brain retained just enough clarity to order all these links into an unanticipated chain.

She drew her wand shakily and aimed it at her Defence teacher.

"It's Barty Crouch," she wheezed. "He's not Moody... He's Barty Crouch's son..."

A moment's shocked silence. Hermione neither knew nor cared that she was the subject of numerous dumbfounded stares.

Moody's wand swung in an unexpected direction. Hermione caught a flash of light before her whole world went red before she crashed into blackness.

* * * * *

Yes, the chapter title is from the wonderfully bitter Abba track.

The incantations to resurrect Voldemort are taken from JK Rowling's "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" chapter #32.

The full moon in June 1995 occurred on 13 June, a fortnight before this evening.

The location of Little Hangleton is unknown, although judging by the village's name and that of its near neighbour, Great Hangleton, the odds are that it is in England. I have chosen to site it in the area around Pendle in Lancashire, which has a great tradition of ancient magic and witches.

Hermione refers to Dorothy's arrival in Oz.

I added McCracken and McClure to the story as I believed it was a risk to leave Pettigrew and Crouch junior to subdue both Hermione and Harry, even if taken separately. In canon it seems a stupid plan to have a fairly inadequate wizard to defeat Harry; as it was the risk was magnified by the arrival of Cedric with Harry. Prior planning prevents piss-poor performance. In this case two expendable assets provided a little extra security.

Although Nagini's species is never determined in canon, there are almost as many ideas in fan fiction as there are stories; popular choices include rattlesnake and python. I have chosen her (him?) to be a magically enlarged example of Britain's only natural venomous snake, the little adder (a.k.a. the viper). In reality its bite is seldom fatal, and in the sad isolated cases where death has occurred, there is usually a mitigating medical factor, such as severe allergies. In canon Nagini's effectiveness fluctuates: she is able to deliver a fatal blow to Snape; yet several bites failed to finish off Arthur Weasley. The symptoms Hermione suffers (local pain, nausea, profuse sweating, salivation, swollen lips and tongue, dizziness and breathing difficulties) are all common in those suffering adder bites. These are rarely fatal (10 cases in the last 100 years, the last reported in 1975) but are exaggerated in this case due to a greater dose of venom. Whether she is a Horcrux or not I leave up to you (or a sequel); my thought is that any living being is not made immortal through hosting a Horcrux, and they are as vulnerable to death as we are. After all, do we believe Harry would have survived all his adventures unless he was cut in two by the Sword of Gryffindor? It does take away a little dramatic tension.

Bexis reminded me that snakes hunt on smell and heat sensation as well as sight; Hermione was not protected from Nagini's strike by Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

Chessington is a zoo in Surrey.

An ennead is a group of nine. A nonet is specific to music.

Nebuchadnezzar and Balthazar are the two largest champagne bottle sizes.

The Blackpool Illuminations are the seafront of the Lancashire resort lit by thousands of coloured light bulbs; think Las Vegas, only tackier, a lot cheaper and a damned site colder! Wembley was, at that time, still undeveloped and the home of English football, with powerful floodlights; the new stadium is more spectator friendly but has lost the feel of "the venue of legends."

"Juliet Bravo" was an English police drama set in Lancashire in the 1980s and repeated by the BBC. 999 is the best known emergency services telephone number in the UK.