And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open. The pain was so excruciating for Harry he had gone deaf and blocked out his surroundings and passed out.
"Harry!" Cedric yelped, racing over to the younger boy, his heart pounding in his rib-cage he felt for a pulse on his wrist and sighed slightly. It was small and erratic.
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare."
Harry opened his eyes and looked at Cedric.
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"
The emerald light rushed passed Cedric giving off a breeze heading straight towards Harry's chest who now lay useless and unusually limp. No. This can't happen. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Triwizard Champion, Gryffindor's youngest quidditch player... d-dead?
Cedric stared into Harry's handsome face, at his open unique but beautiful midori eye now, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before Cedric's mind had accepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Cedric, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And then Cedric saw underneath the hooded cloak and saw someone known to be dead for 13 years, Peter Pettigrew. His grey eyes widened...
It was as though Peter Pettigrew had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind - but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing he had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Cedric had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face - no child alive ever had a face like that - flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
Cedric then witnessed the most disgusting thing he had ever seen, sure to give him nightmares for an eternity, the re-birth of You-Know-Who. His arm was pounding from the deep gash spilling blood onto the grave stone of Tom Riddle.
You-Know-Who smirked at the sight of Harry on the floor lifeless a tear ran off of Cedric's cheek and You-Know-Who began lecturing apparated Death Eaters who he hadn't seen for years, including Lucius Malfoy. The ropes on him loosened and he fell to the floor at You-Know-Who's feet.
"Now Cedric, we are going to teach you a lesson on what happens to fools who argue," Voldemort stated and Cedric braced himself for whatever pain was going to visit.
Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Cedric. He raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
It was pain beyond anything Cedric had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end...to black out...to die...
And then it was gone. He was shaking on the ground and he looked into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter. Without warning, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cast the curse again and he moaned in agony.
"And for finals," Cedric knew what was coming and with all the strength he could muster he got up and ran, the curse hit the stone he was bounded to a while ago and fell with a boom echoing throughout the graveyard. Dust blinded them and Cedric felt his way through to Harry and his wand dodging showers of colourful spells sent. He thought on what Harry said on getting back to the cup before he passed out from pain.
"Accio!" Cedric yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup. It flew into the air and soared toward him. Cedric caught it by the handle -
He heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment that he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked - it was speeding him away in a whirl of wind and color, and Harry along with him...They were going back.
Cedric felt himself slam into the ground, his face pressed into the grass; the smell filling his nostrils. He did not move. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Harry's body. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting...waiting for someone to do something...something to happen...
A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams...He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass...
Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.
Cedric looked up at the familiar face of his best friend Jeff Slikkin, cheerful and proud, unaware that someone died at a far too young age.
"Mate, you WON!" Jeff cheered and a group of Hufflepuff's cheered as they heard Jeff. Cedric didn't even care about winning the cup he loosened his hold on the cup and clutched harder onto the corpse of Harry.
"What's wrong?" he asked peering into his friends grieving face. Before he could say what happened he fainted. He awoke and Albus Dumbledore was crouched down and looking at both of the boys faces paling considerably at Harry's grey pallor, cold and lifeless.
The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Cedric; it looked white, appalled.
"My God - Potter!" he whispered. "Dumbledore - he's dead!"
The was a loud whisper of furtive whispers on which of the two were gone from further ahead. And for those who were closed shrieked and sobbed some pointing at the corpse of Harry Potter and some spreading the message.
A group of fiery red hair, bushy brown hair and Gryffindor's who looked like fourth years with 'Potter' written in red on their foreheads stormed through to see the sight for themselves.
Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, screamed into the night collapsing in tears, all paling considerably. Ron and Ginny cried silently dropping onto the floor next to Harry, Hermione crawling weakly soon after sobbing into his dead body. The Weasleys all comforted each other for losing the boy who they seen as their own son despite his black messy hair and freckle free face. Mrs. Weasley sobbed into Mr. Weasley's chest who had tear rolling down for the child they loved. He stared at the scene traumatised.
"He's dead!" "He's dead!" "Harry Potter Dead!" "The-Boy-Who-Lived!" "Eez dead!"
Cedric felt disgusted as he got directed by Moody at some of his fellow students who were crying just because they didn't have their saviour and not because just Harry died.
"You can't help him now. It's over. Let go."
