Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Stun him
!” he heard Voldemort scream. 
Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to 
avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the 
spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from 
behind the angel — 
“
Impedimenta
!” he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his 
shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him. 
From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of 
them, but there was no time to stop and look; he jumped over the 

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PRIORI INCANTATEM 
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cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets 
of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab 
Cedric’s arm — 
“Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!” shrieked Voldemort. 
Harry’s hand had closed on Cedric’s wrist; one tombstone stood 
between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, 
and the cup was out of reach — 
Voldemort’s red eyes flamed in the darkness. Harry saw his 
mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand. 
“
Accio
!” Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup. 
It flew into the air and soared toward him. Harry 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 Cedric along with him. . . . They were going back. 

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C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - F I V E 
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670 
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VERITASERUM 
arry felt himself slam flat into the ground; his face was 
pressed into grass; the smell of it filled his nostrils. He 
had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept 
them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to have 
been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt 
as though the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a 
ship. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two 
things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Tri-
wizard Cup and Cedric’s body. He felt as though he would slide 
away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let 
go of either of them. 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 . . . and all the 
while, his scar burned dully on his forehead. . . . 
A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were 
voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. . . . He remained where he 
H 

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VERITASERUM 
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671 
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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. 
“Harry! 
Harry
!” 
He opened his eyes. 
He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was 
crouched over him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed 
in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his 
head reverberating with their footsteps. 
He had come back to the edge of the maze. He could see the 
stands rising above him, the shapes of people moving in them, the 
stars above. 
Harry let go of the cup, but he clutched Cedric to him even 
more tightly. He raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore’s 
wrist, while Dumbledore’s face swam in and out of focus. 
“He’s back,” Harry 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