Final Task
“Witches and Wizards! Find your seats and turn your eyes to the sky!” Ludo Bagman’s sonoroused voice rang above the crowd, “Tonight we have not just one, but two projections for each champion! Courtesy of the Black Lord.”
Hadrian prodded the golden pin on his lapel, the accompanying mirror in the sky briefly showing the tip of his finger.
Fleur scoffed, “Talk about privacy…”
Her voice carried across the stadium from her projection.
Her eyes flashed, and her fists clenched.
Hadrian reached for her forearm and squeezed it gently, “Easy, Fleur. Save it for the maze.”
She breathed out slowly and nodded, moving to a point where she wouldn’t have to stare at her reflection. The golden snitches weaved through the air above their heads, the whirring of their wings drowned out by the crowd.
It was easy for Hadrian, Cedric, and Krum to spot the tiny specs, but it seemed like Fleur was dead set on ignoring it.
“Now, our champions will enter the maze in the order in which their points stand. First, we have Hadrian Black with 100 points. He will enter the maze with a five-minute headstart. Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory, both with a total of 98 points, will enter second. Five minutes later, Miss Fleur Delacour, with 96 points, will enter the maze. The first to retrieve the cup will receive an additional 100 points and win the tournament!”
Hadrian stared into the black hole in front of him, the hedges swaying on either side of the opening. He swore he saw a hedge shift five feet to the left only a moment ago and really didn’t like the implication.
*BANG*
He squared his shoulders and strolled through the opening, feeling the rush of leaves as it sealed shut behind him. He turned and placed his hand on the hedge, feeling the leaves writhing beneath his fingertips.
He breathed in the musty scent of the greenery, “Only forward then.”
The only sound he could now hear was the faint whirring of the golden wings above him. Even his voice from the projections didn’t carry over into the maze. He glanced up and saw that the snitch was a good three meters above the hedge. He gathered the snitch was staying at such a height so the audience could see the obstacles he was approaching.
Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and let his magic loose, the small maze corridor warming as his magic caressed against him before spreading out. He felt the Gryffindor magic hum to his right, so naturally, he went left.
He set himself a relatively safe pace, not quite a jog, but a brisk walk. His senses and magic on high alert around every turn and crossroads. Coming to a four-way stop, he felt a hum before him and a violent tremble to his right. The left, however, swam with the sharp tang of dark magic. He chose to go forward.
A sound, like a snapping twig, behind him caused him to turn his head, failing to realize that it had been the ground itself that had made the noise.
He stumbled, and his ankle gave out, causing him to fall to his knees. Glancing up, he found the all too familiar snake-like tendrils of devil’s snare. It arched around his wrist and up his calf, snaking towards his torso. The plant was massive, and he was unsure how it had reached such a size while being exposed to the indirect sunlight from above.
Snarling, he brought his wand up, “Lumos Solem!”
Sunlight filled the maze corridor, causing the devil’s snare to hiss and withdraw to the bowels of the hedges. Hadrian rose to his feet and dusted off his knees.
He supposed the devil’s snare was native to Scotland, and the visiting champions would not know how to defeat such a plant.
Carrying on down the path, he felt the odd sense that he was experiencing far fewer obstacles than he should have. Yes, his magic was helping him, but this maze was said to be stocked to the brim with challenges. He came to a three-way stop, and he found only a faint hum to his left. Out of curiosity, he went left.
He was met with an odd mist-like substance in the middle of the path. He turned to look behind him and found that his original path had closed over. He shrugged and tried to disperse the mist. No luck. He picked up a rock and threw it through the mist. It flew through without any repercussions. Sighing, he twisted his wand, “Avis.”
A flock of crows flew from the tip of his wand, eight in total. He winced, wishing he could hear Luna’s reaction right now.
He sent one of the crows through the mist, watching closely for a reaction. It squawked as soon as it passed into the substance, but with the next beat of its wings, it completed the journey.
“Huh.”
Deciding he had spent all the time he needed to evaluate the situation, he dismissed the other crows and stepped into the mist. Immediately, his world turned upside down.
He laughed, “Limbo mist. Brilliant.”
With another step, his world was corrected. He silently thanked his father for his relentless pranks around the manor.
He walked forward for what seemed far too long, with no pathways diverging from his own. It struck him as odd and made the back of his neck prickle with anticipation.
Up ahead, he saw a massive form blocking the entirety of the path. With nowhere else to go, he cautiously crept forward until he could make out the creature. Her paws sat on either side of the path, her tawny body taking up the rest. Where there should have sat the head of a lion was instead that of a woman. Her almond-shaped eyes found his, blinking slowly before smiling with sharp teeth.
He had never imagined he would meet a Sphinx and silently wondered if any Ravenclaws were jealous of his luck.
“The path beyond me is the most direct path to what you seek. Solve my riddle, and I shall let you pass.”
Hadrian nodded once, “And if I fail to solve it?”
“If you choose to be silent, you may walk away. Answer wrong…” She grinned.
He couldn’t help but chuckle, “Very well, speak your riddle, my lady.”
She smiled a sharp grin, “First, think of the person who lives in disguise, who deals in secrets and tells nought but lies. Next, tell me, what's always the last thing to mend, the middle of middle and end of end? And finally, give me the sound often heard during the search for a hard-to-find word. Now string them together and answer me this: which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?”
Hadrian almost laughed out loud at the ease of the question. Hermione loved riddles, and Luna often repeated the ones she answered to enter the Ravenclaw common room.
“Spider.”
The sphinx smiled, “Very well, you may pass.”
As she stood to let him by, Hadrian paused, “Can I ask you a question?”
She stopped in her withdrawal and blinked slowly, “You may get one question per riddle. You must solve the riddle first.”
He nodded, “Very well.”
“What runs but never walks; Murmurs, but never talks; Has a bed, but never sleeps; And has a mouth, but never eats?”
Hadrian pondered for a moment before smiling, “A river.”
“Correct. What is your question, young one?”
He frowned, “Has anyone tampered with the maze for my benefit?”
The sphinx laughed, "You are a perceptive little cub. Yes, someone is clearing your path; they wish you to find the prize first."
Hadrian frowned, "We can't have that, now can we?"
The sphinx smiled as she stepped aside, strolling down a path that hadn’t been there a moment ago, "Fair."
Hadrian watched her leave, the bushes closing over her form, and turned back to his route. He sighed and stepped forward into a large clearing. The Triwizard cup stood gleaming on a pedestal in the middle, glinting at him as if begging to be picked up.
He stared at the cup for a long moment before conjuring a pouf and plopping himself down. Staring up at the snitch above him, he wondered how the audience would be taking his rebellion.
Hadrian sat there for possibly fifteen minutes before he heard the sound of pounding footsteps and then a shout, “What the…!”
Cedric came barreling through the bushes, stumbling backwards and falling to the ground in front of Hadrian, blinking rapidly. "Did that..."
"Hello."
His Hufflepuff friend spun around on his knees, his wand coming up in one fluid motion, "Hadrian!” his wand lowered as he glanced around, “What are you doing?"
Hadrian shrugged, "An outside influence helped me get here, so I didn't feel I deserved the cup."
Cedric shook his head, "Hadrian, a bloody sphinx just took out an acramantula in my path; I didn’t even answer a riddle! I don't think any of us can say we truly made it anywhere unassisted."
“Fair…” Hadrian shrugged listlessly, staring at the golden snitches above their heads. The pair were chasing each other, dodging the reaching vines from below.
Cedric shook his head and crawled to sit next to him, “Look, I know your name coming out of the goblet is the result of outside forces, but if there had been no age line? I would bet our broomsticks that you would've been chosen.” He grinned, “And then, I would be correct and would be the proud owner of a firebolt."
Hadrian laughed, "I wouldn't have entered."
Cedric scoffed, "Baby Black, with those cousins of yours, you would've been hounded to enter, not to mention the rest of the school who look up to you. You are Slytherin but also Gryffindor; you united our houses within your first few years here. You are the best Hogwarts has to offer."
Hadrian grinned, "You just happen to be the best Hogwarts has to offer that is also of age?"
Cedric nodded, then paled, "Oh, please don't tell Cho I said anything resembling that."
Hadrian tapped his chest, "Cedric, she's watching."
His friend groaned, "Well, up you get baby Black. We have a trophy to take."
"We?"
"Yes, we. I'm Hogwarts’ champion, and you are her heir; it makes sense we take it together and split the glory."
Hadrian smirked as he let Cedric help him up. Together, they walked the remaining few feet to the cup, "Helga would be proud of you."
Cedric grumbled, "Yeah, I'm sure I'll hear it all."
Hadrian chuckled, “On three?”
Cedric nodded, “One, two, three!”
The boys darted forward and grabbed a hold of the glowing Triwizard cup. Then, their world twisted away, and they were left gasping for air, sprawled out in the dirt.
Cedric groaned as he rose to his knees, “No one said it was a bloody portkey. We didn’t even have time to brace ourselves.”
Hadrian grimaced as he stood and glared at the now dull-looking cup, “I don’t think it was supposed to be.”
His head jolted upright at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Kill the spare!"
Hadrian saw the jet of green light leave the visitor’s wand in slow motion. His eyes widened, and he threw out a hand, summoning a gravestone into its path. The stone exploded with the impact, extinguishing the light on contact.
Cedric, who was still on his knees, was frozen in fear, most likely not yet processing that he had almost died.
With another flick of his wrist, Hadrian sent the Triwizard Cup shooting toward Cedric. Their eyes locked just as Cedric whirled away.
"Well, fuck.” Hadrian glanced around. He had just stranded himself with the mysterious stranger in a pitch-black graveyard, “I didn't think that one through."
Then, his world went black.
Peter chuckled as he waved his wand toward the limp form in front of him, levitating the boy’s body before the designated stone. He wrapped the heavy iron chains around the gravestone before looping them around the boy as well.
Tapping the lock with his wand, he watched as the runes etched into the metal flashed a vibrant red. Stepping back, Peter observed the scene.
“On second thought…” he gestured toward the stone angel next to the gravestone, “Oppugno.” The stone angel obeyed his command and moved closer, wrapping its scythe around the child's neck and winding the shaft through the rune-carved chains to avoid being manually or magically removed.
Turning at a soft whirring noise, Peter finally saw it. The glint of golden wings. His wand lashed out repeatedly until the small device exploded in a flash of red.
Peter chuckled as he turned back to his prisoner, “No one to save you now.”
Satisfied with the restraints, Peter decided it was time to wake his guest, “Enervate.”
Hadrian Black jolted awake, and his head met stone.
Peter chuckled as he stared into familiar grey eyes, waving the boy’s wands in front of his face; he taunted him, “We aren’t going to make the same mistake twice, are we?”
The boy pulled at his restraints and growled, “I’m going to take you down.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at the child’s naivety, “Oh, yes. Courageous words from the Slytherin boy.”
Peter turned away from the bound child and sauntered across the clearing, tossing the stolen wands far into the distance.
Frank, the muggle caretaker, dragged the large cauldron into the clearing, limping heavily. Once the cauldron was in place, Peter ignited a fire underneath it. The potion was complete; it just needed the final ingredients.
He had to hand it to Barty. The man’s potion prowess had saved Peter in the long run.
Who knew that a potion could vary based on the age or quality of an ingredient? Barty had helped Peter hand-select every single ingredient and instructed him to make the potion three different times. The first with the ingredients Peter had initially acquired, then two additional times with the new ingredients. Both of the later potions were the intended colour that the manuscript noted they should be. His first attempt was three shades too dark, and the consistency seemed off.
To know that his abysmal grade in potions class could have been avoided by using better ingredients was irritating. No wonder the rich, spoiled purebloods were constantly passing.
He could hear the boy struggling behind him, “There are wards here. Even if you do manage to break free, there will be no apparition. Nagini or I will catch you before you get far.”
Turning, he watched the boy’s eyes narrow at the serpent that slithered before him. He could hear the spitting hisses the two shared and chuckled; the Dark lord controlled the snake entirely. His Master had used the death of a trespassing muggle teen to tie the snake to his magic. The child would not be able to sway her to his side.
“This potion is an old bit of black magic.” He grinned as he waved his wand towards the boy’s feet, cracking the ground open and summoning the bones from within. With another flick of his wand, the bones ground together until they were a ball of fine powder hovering in the air.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.” A trail of bone dust sank into the bubbling cauldron; the rest spread at the boy’s feet.
Peter moved over to a large canvas bag stained with blood. Another alteration at the suggestion of Barty. He hefted it to his shoulder and carried it to the cauldron, setting it down next to it.
“Flesh of the servants, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master.” With one fluid motion, the silver knife from his pocket sliced through his wrist, bone and all falling into the cauldron. He gasped at the onset of pain, shooting up his arm before levitating the bag at his feet with his other hand, dumping the willingly provided body parts of other Deatheaters into the cauldron.
Tucking his bleeding arm into his robes, Peter turned toward the squirming child. He prowled forward as he produced another silver dagger from his robe pocket. Peter couldn’t help the sadistic grin that spread over his face as grey eyes found the silver blade.
“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe,” Peter spat as he swiped the forearm of his old friend’s child with the dagger. Without a second glance, Peter crossed the clearing and let the blood sacrifice drip into the potion.
He threw the dagger aside as he watched the blood sink into the brew, changing it from a soft yellow to a moss green. It was ready.
Turning to the bundle of fabric now nestled in Nagini’s coils, Peter gently picked up the creature within. Holding back his disgust, Peter cradled his Master to his chest as he limped over to the potion, quickly realizing his blood loss would hinder him shortly.
He dropped his Master's form into the green liquid and fell to the ground, his vision becoming spotty as he listened to the hissing and bubbling of his Master's rebirth.
Slowly, a form rose from the cauldron, and Peter stared in awe.
Voldemort stepped from the cauldron and inspected his flawless body, “Robe me, Wormtail.”
“Yes, Master.” Peter staggered to his feet, holding on to the cauldron’s edge to stabilize himself before pulling out the robes Winky had been ordered to construct. With difficulty, Peter draped the robes over pale shoulders, Voldemort’s fingers nimbly buttoning it closed.
His Master’s red eyes found him, “You have done well, Wormtail. I am impressed by your abilities. I had not thought it possible, yet here we are.”
Peter held up his Master’s wand and bowed his head, “Thank you, Master.”
Voldemort took the wand and ran his fingers along its surface, “Give me your arm.”
He went to raise his bloody stump of an arm but, on second thought, offered his left arm. His Master would wish to activate his dark mark.
His Master smiled coldly as he pressed his finger into the faded dark mark. Peter’s reddened dark mark slowly turned black, as if Voldemort himself was pushing ink into an old tattoo. Peter whimpered softly; it felt like he was being rebranded.
“Your other arm now.”
Peter offered his bloodied arm to his Master, who inspected it in length. With an intricate swirl of his wand and a bit of hissing, Peter had a new hand. The pain receded, and he was left gaping at the silver hand that had replaced his own. No longer did he have a missing finger; his hand was whole.
“Thank you, Master. It’s beautiful.”
Voldemort nodded as he prowled the clearing, vanishing the cauldron and all remnants of the ritual, “Our friends return to us, Wormtail.”
Peter heard the pops of apparition and the swishing of cloaks around him. He smirked at the fear radiating from his supposed comrades and wondered what bit of flesh they had given up for the ritual. Surely, none had gone as far as he.
The Dark Lord spun in a circle as the masked men bowed, “My followers have returned.”
His Master’s gaze lingered on many gaps around the circle, “It appears we have lost some of our numbers. Not to worry, we shall fill our ranks soon enough.” He swooped down on one of the men, “Tell me, Goyle, where are your friends?”
The cowering man winced away, giving Peter a glimpse at his missing ear, “They have forsaken you, my Lord.”
Voldemort hummed and stood tall, “I see. How many have given up on me?” He began to circle his followers, one by one, “How many of you thought I to be vanquished? Me, who has gone further than any before to reach immortality?”
His followers remained silent, but Peter didn’t miss the devious smirk that graced the face of one Hadrian Black.