A Greater Power

Chapter 25: Veritaserum

Third Person POV:

Willow felt herself slam flat into the ground; her face was pressed into grass; the smell of it filled her nostrils. She had closed her eyes while the Portkey transported her and her brother, and she kept them closed now. She did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of her; her head was swimming so badly she felt as though the ground beneath her were swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold herself steady, she tightened her hold on the two things she was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and her brother's hand. She felt as though she would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of her brain if she let go of either of them. Shock and exhaustion kept her on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting . . . waiting for someone to do something . . . something to happen . . . and all the while, her scar burned dully. . . .

A torrent of sound deafened and confused her; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. . . . She remained where she was, her face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. . . .

Then a pair of hands seized her roughly and turned her over.

"Willow! Willow!"

She opened her eyes.

She was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was crouched over her. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Willow felt the ground beneath her head reverberating with their footsteps. She had come back to the edge of the maze. She could see the stands rising above her, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above. Willow let go of the cup, and of Harry's hand. Though Harry was still clutching Cedric's body. She raised a free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist, while Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus.

Willow stood and her legs felt like jelly as she tried to move them.

"He's back," Willow whispered. "He's back. Voldemort."

"What's going on? What's happened?"

The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Harry; it looked white, appalled.

"My God — Diggory!" it whispered. "Dumbledore — he's dead!"

The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them . . . and then others shouted it — screeched it — into the night — "He's dead!" "He's dead!" "Cedric Diggory! Dead!"

"Willow?" Percy whispered, making the girl look up at him. "What happened?"

"Voldemort killed him, I tried to push him out of the way, but it was to late. I could not save him." Willow choked. She could feel the tears still streaming down her face. "It's my fault he is dead. If only I had been a little faster."

"Wilow, look at me." Charlie put both hands on her face and looked into her eyes. "None of this is your fault! You did not know that Cedric Diggory would be killed tonight. You did not know He-who-must not be named would return. You could not have stopped this. You understand?"

"It should have been me who died." Willow whimpered.

"No it should not have, you are still alive for a reason. Don't let Cedric's death be in vain." Percy added, "Cedric would want you to move own, to make his death mean something."

Willow did not say anything as she heard Fudge's voice, and she watched as they tried to pry her brother from Cedric's limp body, but Harry wouldn't let him go. Then Dumbledore's face, which was still blurred and misted, came closer.