TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 39 страница

“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert, ” came Lucius Malfoy’s voice swiftly from beneath the hood. “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me —”

“And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer? ” said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. “Yes, I know all about that, Lu- cius. . . . You have disappointed me. . . . I expect more faithful ser- vice in the future. ”

“Of course, my Lord, of course. . . . You are merciful, thank you. . . . ”

Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space — large enough for two people — that separated Malfoy and the next man. “The Lestranges should stand here, ” said Voldemort quietly. “But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is

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broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us. . . they are our natural allies. . . we will recall the banished giants. . . I shall have all my devoted ser- vants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear. . . . ” He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

“Macnair. . . destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide. . . . ”

“Thank you, Master. . . thank you, ” murmured Macnair. “And here” — Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures — “we have Crabbe. . . you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle? ”

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

“Yes, Master. . . ”

“We will, Master. . . . ”

“The same goes for you, Nott, ” said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Mr. Goyle’s shadow.

“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful —”

“That will do, ” said Voldemort.

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.

“And here we have six missing Death Eaters. . . three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return. . . he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever. . . he will be killed, of course. . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service. ”

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The Death Eaters stirred, and Harry saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks.

“He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight. . . .

“Yes, ” said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry’s direction. “Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor. ”

There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Worm- tail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy’s voice spoke from under the mask.

“Master, we crave to know. . . we beg you to tell us. . . how you have achieved this. . . this miracle. . . how you managed to return to us. . . . ”

“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius, ” said Voldemort. “And it begins — and ends — with my young friend here. ”

He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle.

“You know, of course, that they have called this boy my down- fall? ” Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. “You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him — and unwit- tingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not fore- seen. . . . I could not touch the boy. ”

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry’s cheek.

“His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. . . . This is

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old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it. . . but no matter. I can touch him now. ”

Harry felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch him, and thought his head would burst with the pain. Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away and continued address- ing the Death Eaters.

“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah. . . pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have pre- pared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost. . . but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know. . . I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal — to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked. . . for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as pow- erless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself. . . for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand. . . .

“I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist. . . . I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited. . . . Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me. . . one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body. . . but I waited in vain. . . . ” The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing. “Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies

of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me.

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I sometimes inhabited animals — snakes, of course, being my pref- erence — but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic. . . and my pos- session of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long. . . . “Then. . . four years ago. . . the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard — young, foolish, and gullible — wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of. . . for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school. . . he was easy to bend to my will. . . he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took posses- sion of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my or- ders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted. . . thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter. . . . ”

Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glitter- ing eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort, and upon Harry. “The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been, ” Voldemort continued. “I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers. . . . Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour. . . I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess. . . and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me. . . . ”

One or two of the masked wizards in the circle moved uncom- fortably, but Voldemort took no notice.

“And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last. . . a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out

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of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to re- turn to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumored I was hiding. . . helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them. . . .

“But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food. . . and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic.

“Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Wormtail, and of my last hope for regenera- tion. But Wormtail — displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him — convinced Bertha Jorkins to accom- pany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her. . . he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams. . . for — with a lit- tle persuasion — she became a veritable mine of information. “She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things. . . but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her pur- pose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her. ”

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Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

“Wormtail’s body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instruc- tions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth. . . a spell or two of my own invention. . . a little help from my dear Nagini, ” Voldemort’s red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, “a potion con- cocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini pro- vided. . . I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.

“There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer’s Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was de- stroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chas- ing immortality. I set my sights lower. . . I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength.

“I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight — I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant. . . .

“My father’s bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe. . . Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me. . . as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter’s blood.

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I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thir- teen years ago. . . for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too. . . .

“But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better pro- tected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy’s fu- ture. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy’s protection as long as he is in his relations’ care. Not even I can touch him there. . . . Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup. . . . I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wiz- ards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is un- der the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him?

“Why. . . by using Bertha Jorkins’s information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament — that he touched the Triwizard Cup first — the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore’s help and protection, and into my wait- ing arms. And here he is. . . the boy you all believed had been my downfall. . . . ”

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand.

“ Crucio! ”

It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar;

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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 hanging limply in the ropes bind- ing him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.

“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me, ” said Voldemort. “But I want there to be no mistake in anybody’s mind. Harry Potter es- caped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini, ” he whispered, and the snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching.

“Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand. ”

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ormtail approached Harry, who scrambled to find his

feet, to support his own weight before the ropes were un- tied. Wormtail raised his new silver hand, pulled out the wad of material gagging Harry, and then, with one swipe, cut through the bonds tying Harry to the gravestone.

There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have con- sidered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled. Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where Cedric’s body lay and returned with Harry’s wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry’s hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters.

“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter? ” said Volde- mort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness.

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At these words Harry remembered, as though from a former life, the dueling club at Hogwarts he had attended briefly two years

ago. . . . All he had learned there was the Disarming Spell, “ Expel-

liarmus ”. . . and what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his

wand, even if he could, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one? He had never learned any- thing that could possibly fit him for this. He knew he was facing the thing against which Moody had always warned. . . the un-

blockable Avada Kedavra curse — and Voldemort was right — his

mother was not here to die for him this time. . . . He was quite unprotected. . . .

“We bow to each other, Harry, ” said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. “Come, the niceties must be observed. . . . Dumbledore would like you to show manners. . . . Bow to death, Harry. . . . ”

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort’s lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him. . . he was not going to give him that satisfaction. . . .

“I said, bow, ” Voldemort said, raising his wand — and Harry felt

his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever. “Very good, ” said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. “And now you face me, like a man. . . straight-backed and proud, the way your father died. . . .

“And now — we duel. ”

Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit again

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by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life —

And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.

“A little break, ” said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, “a little pause. . . That hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you? ”

Harry didn’t answer. He was going to die like Cedric, those piti- less red eyes were telling him so. . . he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. . . but he wasn’t going to play along. He wasn’t going to obey Voldemort. . . he wasn’t going to beg. . . .

“I asked you whether you want me to do that again, ” said Volde-

mort softly. “Answer me! Imperio! ”

And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought. . . . Ah, it was bliss, not to

think, it was as though he were floating, dreaming. . . just answer

no. . . say no. . . just answer no. . . .

I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won’t answer. . . .

Just answer no. . . .

I won’t do it, I won’t say it. . . .

Just answer no. . . .

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“I WON’T! ”

And these words burst from Harry’s mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him — back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body — back rushed the realization of where he was, and what he was facing. . . . “You won’t? ” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. “You won’t say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die. . . . Perhaps another little dose of pain? ”

Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself side- ways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort’s father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him. “We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry, ” said Voldemort’s soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. “You can- not hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry. . . come out and play, then. . . it will be quick. . . it might even be painless. . . I would not know. . . I have never died. . . . ”

Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope. . . no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was be- yond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet. . . he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible. . . .

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Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone, Harry stood up. . . he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.

Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted, “ Expelliarmus! ” Volde-

mort cried, “Avada Kedavra! ”

A jet of green light issued from Voldemort’s wand just as a jet of red light blasted from Harry’s — they met in midair — and sud- denly Harry’s wand was vibrating as though an electric charge were surging through it; his hand seized up around it; he couldn’t have released it if he’d wanted to — and a narrow beam of light con- nected the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold. Harry, following the beam with his astonished gaze, saw that Voldemort’s long white fingers too were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating.

And then — nothing could have prepared Harry for this — he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They glided away from the tomb- stone of Voldemort’s father and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves. . . . The Death Eaters were shouting; they were asking Voldemort for instructions; they were closing in, reforming the circle around Harry and Voldemort, the snake slithering at their heels, some of them drawing their wands —

The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a

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cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now. . . .

“Do nothing! ” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was hap- pening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connect- ing his wand with Harry’s; Harry held onto his wand more tightly, with both hands, and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you! ” Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters.

And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air. . . . It was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound Harry recognized, though he had heard it only once before in his life: phoenix song. It was the sound of hope to Harry. . . the most beautiful and welcome thing he had ever heard in his life. . . . He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him. . . . It was the sound he connected with Dumbledore, and it was almost as though a friend were speaking in his ear. . . .

Don’t break the connection.

I know, Harry told the music, I know I mustn’t. . . but no sooner had he thought it, than the thing became much harder to do. His wand began to vibrate more powerfully than ever. . . and now the beam between him and Voldemort changed too. . . it was as though large beads of light were sliding up and down the thread connecting the wands — Harry felt his wand give a shudder under his hand as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily his way. . . . The direction of the beam’s movement was now toward him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder angrily. . . . As the closest bead of light moved nearer to Harry’s wand tip,

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the wood beneath his fingers grew so hot he feared it would burst into flame. The closer that bead moved, the harder Harry’s wand vibrated; he was sure his wand would not survive contact with it; it felt as though it was about to shatter under his fingers —

He concentrated every last particle of his mind upon forcing the bead back toward Voldemort, his ears full of phoenix song, his eyes furious, fixed. . . and slowly, very slowly, the beads quivered to a halt, and then, just as slowly, they began to move the other way. . . and it was Voldemort’s wand that was vibrating extra-hard now. . . Voldemort who looked astonished, and almost fearful. . . .

One of the beads of light was quivering, inches from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. Harry didn’t understand why he was doing it, didn’t know what it might achieve. . . but he now concentrated as he had never done in his life on forcing that bead of light right back into Voldemort’s wand. . . and slowly. . . very slowly. . . it moved along the golden thread. . . it trembled for a moment. . . and then it connected. . . .

At once, Voldemort’s wand began to emit echoing screams of pain. . . then — Voldemort’s red eyes widened with shock — a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished. . . the ghost of the hand he had made Wormtail. . . more shouts of pain. . . and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort’s wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke. . . . It was a head. . . now a chest and arms. . . the torso of Cedric Diggory.

If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though

the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory ( was it a ghost? it looked so

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solid) emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort’s wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel. . . and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke.

“Hold on, Harry, ” it said.

Its voice was distant and echoing. Harry looked at Volde- mort. . . his wide red eyes were still shocked. . . he had no more expected this than Harry had. . . and, very dimly, Harry heard the frightened yells of the Death Eaters, prowling around the edges of the golden dome. . . .

More screams of pain from the wand. . . and then something else emerged from its tip. . . the dense shadow of a second head, quickly followed by arms and torso. . . an old man Harry had seen only in a dream was now pushing himself out of the end of the wand just as Cedric had done. . . and his ghost, or his shadow, or whatever it was, fell next to Cedric’s, and surveyed Harry and Voldemort, and the golden web, and the connected wands, with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick. . . .

“He was a real wizard, then? ” the old man said, his eyes on Voldemort. “Killed me, that one did. . . . You fight him, boy. . . . ” But already, yet another head was emerging. . . and this head, gray as a smoky statue, was a woman’s. . . . Harry, both arms shak- ing now as he fought to keep his wand still, saw her drop to the ground and straighten up like the others, staring. . . .

The shadow of Bertha Jorkins surveyed the battle before her with wide eyes.

“Don’t let go, now! ” she cried, and her voice echoed like Cedric’s as though from very far away. “Don’t let him get you, Harry — don’t let go! ”

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She and the other two shadowy figures began to pace around the inner walls of the golden web, while the Death Eaters flitted around the outside of it. . . and Voldemort’s dead victims whispered as they circled the duelers, whispered words of encouragement to Harry, and hissed words Harry couldn’t hear to Voldemort.