The moment Harry's feet hit the ground, he knew something was wrong. Cedric landed beside him with a thud, clutching the Triwizard Cup tightly in his hands. The air smelled of damp earth and decay, and the eerie silence made the hairs on Harry’s arms stand up.
“It’s a Portkey...” Cedric said in amazement, lifting the cup slightly as if confirming it had transported them.
“I don’t think this is part of the Task,” Harry murmured, eyes scanning the shadowy graveyard around them. Crumbling headstones jutted out of the overgrown grass, and an uneasy chill crept down his spine.
“Maybe it is, and we have to figure out how to get back?” Cedric suggested uncertainly.
“In any case,” Harry said as he drew his wand, his voice firm, “we shouldn’t be here. We have to get back.”
Before either of them could take another step, a loud BANG shattered the silence, making both of them jump. A violently purple triple-decker bus screeched into existence right in front of them, its brass headlights illuminating the desolate graveyard. The doors swung open, and a familiar voice called out.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard—” Stan Shunpike’s well-rehearsed speech came to an abrupt halt as his eyes landed on Harry. His jaw dropped. “Ernie! Look ‘oo it is! ‘S Mr. Potter!”
Harry and Cedric exchanged stunned looks. The sheer absurdity of the moment rendered them speechless.
Stan gestured frantically for them to get on. “Well? What’re you standin’ ‘round for? You look like you could use a ride.”
Harry wasn’t about to question his luck. He grabbed Cedric’s arm and pulled him onto the bus. As soon as they stumbled inside, the doors slammed shut with another loud BANG and, without warning, the bus lurched forward. Cedric yelped as he was thrown onto one of the springy beds, clutching the cup to his chest. Harry barely managed to land on the bed beside him before being tossed backward.
Stan plopped down on a chair near the front, his wide eyes locked onto the Triwizard Cup in Cedric’s hands. “Blimey, that’s a fancy lookin’ trophy,” he said, nudging Ernie through the glass. “Where to, Mr. Potter?”
“Hogsmeade Station. Right outside Hogwarts,” Harry answered, already fumbling in his pocket for fare.
Stan nodded enthusiastically. “Right you are, Mr. Potter!” He knocked on the glass behind Ernie. “You ‘eard ‘im, Ern! Hogsmeade Station!”
With another ear-splitting BANG, the bus took off at a breakneck speed, sending Cedric tumbling backward again. He let out an undignified “Oof” as he landed on his back.
Harry, meanwhile, was gripping the bed frame for dear life, bracing himself for every sharp jolt and turn. “You alright, Cedric?”
Cedric groaned but gave a weak chuckle. “I think I’ve had enough surprises for one night.”
Harry exhaled, his grip loosening slightly. His heartbeat, which had been pounding in his ears since they’d landed in the graveyard, was finally beginning to slow. “That was—”
“—ridiculous?” Cedric offered.
Harry grinned despite himself. “Yeah. Completely mad.”
Back in the graveyard, a very baffled-looking Wormtail stared at the empty spot where the Knight Bus had disappeared just as he had been about to make his dramatic entrance. The Dark Lord, still feeble and fuming in his arms, let out a strangled, furious hiss.
“WHERE IS POTTER?!” Voldemort shrieked.
Wormtail gulped. “I—I don’t know, my Lord! One moment he was here, and the next, this—this bus appeared and—and—”
“FIND HIM!” Voldemort roared, but his words were lost to the howling wind.
Voldemort clenched his frail fingers into fists, his eyes burning with fury. “This cannot be,” he whispered venomously. “He was mine.”
Wormtail trembled, shifting nervously. “M-My Lord, perhaps—perhaps there is another way?”
Voldemort shot him a deathly glare. “I do not need your suggestions, Wormtail! I need action!”
Wormtail shuddered, nodding furiously. “Yes, my Lord. Right away.”
The Dark Lord seethed, the rage boiling beneath his pale skin. He had been so close. So close. But fate had intervened in the most ridiculous manner possible.
The Knight Bus skidded to a stop just outside Hogsmeade, and Harry and Cedric barely had time to right themselves before Stan yanked the doors open.
“Here we are, gents!” Stan said cheerily. “That’ll be eleven Sickles each.”
Harry quickly counted out the coins and handed them over before he and Cedric stumbled off the bus. They barely had time to get their bearings before another loud BANG announced the Knight Bus’s departure.
They stood in stunned silence for a moment before Cedric let out a breathy laugh. “That was... definitely not how I thought tonight was going to go.”
Harry grinned, shaking his head. “You and me both.”
They shared a look—one of relief, of disbelief, of knowing that they had just cheated death in the most unexpected way possible. And then, without another word, they started the trek back to Hogwarts, leaving behind the graveyard, the Dark Lord, and one very bewildered Wormtail.
As they walked, Cedric turned the cup over in his hands, frowning. “You think the Ministry’s going to ask what happened?”
Harry snorted. “Probably. I’ll let Dumbledore handle it.”
“Good plan,” Cedric agreed. “I just hope this doesn’t end up in The Daily Prophet.”
Harry sighed. “It probably will.”
The castle loomed in the distance, lights twinkling in the towers. As they approached the gates, the adrenaline of the night began to wear off, replaced by exhaustion. But one thought kept running through Harry’s mind: they had escaped. Against all odds, against whatever Voldemort had planned—fate had handed them a completely insane, utterly miraculous way out.
And Harry would take that win any day.
Little did they know, miles away, in the cold darkness of the graveyard, Voldemort was already devising his next move. The failure of the night would not be forgotten, nor forgiven. The boy who lived had escaped yet again, but he would not be so lucky next time.