Nico di Angelo and the Goblet of Fire

Chapter 22: Truth Ends

Harry slammed into the ground. He stumbled forward and fell. His head was swimming. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground. Sounds behind him were confusing-people were screaming.

A pair of hands turned him over. "Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was staring at the starry sky, with Albus Dumbledore crouching over him. The shadow of the crowd was nearing, encasing him. Everything was swimming in and out of focus.

Harry let go of the Triwizard Cup, but grabbed Dumbledore's wrist instead. "He's back," Harry whispered. "He's back. Voldemort."

"What's going on? What happened?" The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared. "Where is Mr. di Angelo?"

"Voldemort took him," Harry muttered. It seemed important to explain this. "He killed him and I couldn't find him."

Dumbledore bent down, and with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin, raised Harry from the ground and set him on his feet. Harry swayed.

"What's happened?" "What's wrong with him?"

"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Fudge was saying loudly. "He's ill, he's injured-Dumbledore..."

"I'll take Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him-"

"No, I would prefer-"

"It's all right, son, I've got you...come on...hospital wing..." Someone larger and stronger than he was was half pulling, half carrying him through the frightened crowd. Harry heard people gasping, screaming, and shouting as the man supporting him pushed a path through them, taking him back to the castle.

"What happened, Harry?" the man asked. It was Mad-Eye Moody.

"Cup was a Portkey," said Harry as they crossed the entrance hall. "Took me and Nico to a graveyard...and Voldemort was there...Lord Voldemort..."

"The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?"

"Killed Nico...they killed Nico...."

"And then?"

"Made a potion...got his body back..."

"The Dark Lord got his body back? He's returned?"

"And the Death Eaters came...and then we dueled..."

"You dueled with the Dark Lord?"

"Got away...my wand...did something funny..." Harry trailed off.

"In here, Harry...drink this..." Moody helped tip the stuff down Harry's throat; he coughed, a peppery taste burning his throat. Moody's office came into sharper focus, and so did Moody himself. . . . He looked as white, and both eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon Harry's face. "Voldemort's back, Harry? You're sure he's back? How did he do it?"

"He took stuff from his father's grave, and from Wormtail, and me," said Harry.

"What did the Dark Lord take from you?" said Moody.

"Blood," said Harry, raising his arm. His sleeve was ripped where Wormtail's dagger had torn it.

Moody let out his breath in a long, low hiss. "And the Death Eaters? They returned?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Loads of them."

"How did he treat them?" Moody asked quietly. "Did he forgive

them?"

"What?" said Harry.

"I asked you," said Moody quietly, "whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn't even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky." He took his wand out and pointed it at Harry.