0791 The Ghosts
Harry's entire body was trembling not from the trendous magical pressure required to maintain the ethereal connection between his wand and Voldemort's, but because he had never hoped with such desperation to be correct about a single hypothesis.
The absence of Ron and Hermione's spectral forms from the group of Voldemort's victims could an only one thing.
They were still alive.
But How could such a thing be possible?
Since the Killing Curse had first ca into existence, only one person in the entire docunted history of wizardkind had ever survived being struck by it—it was Harry himself. He bore the title "The Boy Who Lived" precisely because of this unprecedented survival.
But Voldemort himself had already provided the explanation for Harry's unique survival during their confrontation in the graveyard. It had been his mother's fearless, selfless sacrifice that had woven a protective enchantnt so powerful that even the Killing Curse could not penetrate its shield.
Ron and Hermione's parents were nowhere in this graveyard. They had not been present to throw themselves between the Killing Curse and its intended victims. By every rational assessnt, Ron and Hermione should have died the instant Voldemort's curse struck them.
Moreover, if they weren't actually dead, then what explained their current condition? Like Gabrielle, they remained completely still, showing no signs of consciousness or awareness.
Question after question flooded Harry's increasingly frantic thoughts. He desperately tried to convince himself that his miraculous hypothesis was correct. But the doubts that plagued his mind could not be silenced or ignored, no matter how eagerly he wished them away.
Suddenly, Harry's thoughts stopped.
Another head was beginning to erge from the tip of Voldemort's trembling wand. Harry recognized her imdiately. Her appearance was undoubtedly another crucial piece of evidence supporting his theory that Ron and Hermione had sohow survived their encounter with the Killing Curse.
In fact, he should have anticipated this manifestation—if his desperate guess was indeed correct, this particular spirit should logically appear. It was simply that he had been so completely focused with hoping and praying for his friends' safety that he had montarily overlooked this.
The ghost of a long-haired young woman fell to the ground like Bertha had, straightened up, and gazed at him. Harry looked into his mother's face, and his arms began shaking violently.
"Your father is coming too," she said softly. "He wants to see you. It will be all right. Hold on, Harry, You must hold on."
And then, as if summoned by her words, another figure began to erge from the wand.
First ca the head. Then ca the body, tall and lean with the natural athleticism that had made Jas Potter one of Hogwarts' most famous Quidditch players. The man whom Sirius Black had mourned for thirteen years, the friend whose loss had driven Remus Lupin to the very edges of despair, erged.
Jas Potter's spirit rose from the tip of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground like his wife before straightening to his full height. Without hesitation, he walked directly toward Harry. When he reached his son, he looked down at the young man who bore his face and his untaable hair.
When Jas spoke, his voice was distant and low ensuring that his words would reach Harry's ears while remaining inaudible to Voldemort whose face had turned ashen upon witnessing the people he had murdered walking freely around him.
"Don't grieve for us, son," Jas said, his smoky face showing a warm, encouraging smile. "And don't you dare grieve for your friends. They're not dead, their souls are still anchored in their bodies. We can see things from where we are now."
In an instant, tears flooded Harry's eyes. He could only bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, using the sharp pain to force himself not to cry out.
There had never been such a beautiful, perfect mont in Harry's entire life. His heart, which had been crushed beneath the weight of grief and guilt, suddenly soared with intense happiness and hope.
"Listen to very carefully, Harry," Jas continued, his face growing more serious and urgent. "After this connection breaks—and it will break soon, because this magic can't be maintained indefinitely—we can only stay for a little while longer. But we'll use every second we have to buy you ti, to give you the chance you need to escape this place."
Jas's eyes darted briefly toward the tombstone where Winky the house-elf trembled in terror and confusion. "That house-elf—it has the power to take you away from here, to transport you and your friends back to Hogwarts. Do you understand what I'm telling you, son?"
"Yes!" Harry gasped, his voice sounding almost inaudible through the emotions that tightened his throat.
His wand was becoming increasingly slippery in his sweating palm as he gripped it with desperate intensity, knowing that this connection was the only thing allowing him these precious monts with his parents. "Yes, I understand!"
"Then get ready," Jas whispered. "When I give the word, you break away from this connection imdiately. Don't hesitate, don't look back, don't try to maintain the link for even a second longer than necessary. Get ready to run like your life depends on it—because it does.
Break away NOW!"
"NOW!" Harry shouted with every ounce of strength in his lungs. He felt as though he couldn't maintain the magical connection for even one more second. With a violent, desperate motion, he jerked his wand forcefully upward and to the side.
The golden thread connecting him to Voldemort snapped with an audible crack. The net of light that had surrounded them dissolved instantly fading into nothingness. The hauntingly beautiful phoenix song that had sustained Harry throughout the supernatural duel gradually faded away, its final tones lingering in the air like the mory of a half-rembered dream.
But the ghosts did not disappear with the breaking of the connection. Instead, they imdiately moved with purpose and coordination. They surrounded Voldemort in a tight circle, their smoke-constructed forms creating an impenetrable barrier that prevented the Dark Lord from seeing Harry or tracking his movents.
Thud!
Caught completely off guard by the sudden severing of the connection, Harry plumted toward the earth like a stone dropped from a great height.
By all logic and the laws of physics, falling from such a height should have resulted in catastrophic injury—at the very least, he should have shattered multiple bones upon impact with the ground below.
But perhaps it was because the earth beneath this ancient graveyard consisted of soft, soil and decades' worth of decomposed leaves that had created a natural cushion. Or perhaps there were other factors at work—residual magic from the supernatural duel, or simply the inexplicable luck that had carried him through so many impossible situations before.
Whatever the explanation, Harry found that he was mostly unhard despite the terrifying fall. After crashing heavily into the ground and rolling twice across the terrain, he scrambled to his feet.
Without pausing to judge his condition or catch his breath, he launched himself forward like a racehorse bursting from the starting gate, his legs pumped as he sprinted toward the spot where Ron, Hermione, and Gabrielle lay.
"Winky!" Harry scread at the top of his lungs as he covered the distance between himself and his fallen friends.
With a flying leap, Harry threw himself onto the motionless forms of Ron and Hermione, his arms wrapping around their still torsos in a protective embrace while his foot hooked around Gabrielle's neck to ensure she would be included in escape thod they used.
"Winky!"
The house-elf was startled at the sound of its na, its eyes blinking rapidly as it erged from the paralysis of terror that had overwheld it. With the "pop" of house-elf magic, Winky disappeared from its hiding place and reappeared beside the Nagini.
Before the snake could react to this sudden intrusion, Winky extracted the completely swallowed form of Barty Crouch Sr. from Nagini's swollen stomach.
With another sharp "pop" of Disapparition, Winky appeared beside Harry's group. The house-elf's free hand—the one not clutching Barty Crouch Sr.—stretched out toward Harry's arm.
"Stop, Winky!"
The worst thing happened. Barty Crouch Jr. was more alert than any Death Eater. He had already realized what they were planning to do. His pale, mad face with red eyes snarled hoarsely:
"You're not allowed to leave!"
Harry's heart jumped to his throat. He knew that a master's command was absolute for a house-elf. But Winky had already shown Dobby's traits—it had disobeyed the Crouch father and son's orders before. Indeed, a flash of struggle appeared on Winky's face. Its palm hesitated in mid-air for a mont, then continued approaching Harry.
But this damned hesitation gave Barty Crouch Jr. the opportunity he needed. Even as he gave the command, he had already drawn his wand.
Whoosh!
A red light shot through the air, precisely hitting Winky's back. Harry saw the light fade from Winky's tennis ball-sized eyes as they beca clouded and confused!
"Damn it!"
The madness on Harry's face now wasn't much different from Barty Crouch Jr.'s. At this mont, his hatred for Barty Jr. had exceeded his hatred for Voldemort by just a little. Just a little more, and they could have escaped, but this last chance had been destroyed by Barty Crouch Jr.!
"Stun him!"
Voldemort still hadn't freed himself from Harry's parents' ghosts. After the golden thread disappeared, he had hastily landed on the ground and was still entangled with the ghosts surrounding him.
Many Death Eaters were rushing toward Harry. Spell after spell ca like a violent storm. Harry couldn't dodge—he still had to protect Winky and the three people beneath him. He could only use the Shield Charm for protection, but his magical barrier shattered in less than a second under such high-density attacks!
This was now a desperate situation. Harry had given up hope. He knew he couldn't escape. He...
Suddenly, Barty Crouch Jr., who was charging at the front, showed surprise, and the Death Eaters running behind him also showed bewildernt one by one. They looked at Harry and the three people he was pressing down on, their eyes filled with confusion.
Harry quickly realized what was happening. He was glowing!
But the phenonon wasn't limited to Harry alone. Ron, Hermione, and Gabrielle, despite their unconscious state, were also beginning to emit the sa strange glow.
As Harry's mind processed this developnt, he realized that the glow wasn't actually coming from their bodies at all, but from their clothing—specifically, from the sports uniforms they had all worn during the Triwizard Tournant competition.
The sensation that accompanied this glow was obvious to anyone who had ever traveled by Portkey—that distinctive feeling of being about to be torn away by magical forces beyond human control.
"Bloody hell!" Harry almost wanted to laugh out loud despite their desperate circumstances.
'Damn it, the sports uniforms were Portkeys!'
Professor Watson had already anticipated this possibility and taken precautions to protect them. He had sohow transford their sports uniforms into ergency Portkeys.
Understanding this miraculous developnt, Harry's mind imdiately made the connection to another mystery that had been plaguing him. This explained why Hermione and Ron hadn't died despite being struck directly by Killing Curses.
The sports uniforms they were wearing—He recalled that lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts Moody had introduced them to the three Unforgivable Curses. Professor Watson had ntioned a little 'trick' that could deflect the Killing Curse once.
No wonder Professor Watson had repeatedly emphasized that the champions should wear their sports uniforms, not even sparing them, the most important participants in the competition!
His body was disappearing, and so were Ron, Hermione, and Gabrielle. Harry grabbed Winky and, along with Senior Barty's corpse that Winky was still clutching tightly even while unconscious, dragged them all into the twisted radiance. However—
However, their escape was not to be as clean and simple as Harry had hoped.
Barty Crouch Jr. was simply too agile, too quick-thinking, and too fanatically devoted to his master's cause to be thwarted by this unexpected developnt.
Unlike the other Death Eaters, who had instinctively stepped back in confusion and alarm at the sight of the strange magical phenonon, he imdiately rushed straight toward them without any hesitation. He leaped into the air, his pale cheeks filled with reckless madness, determined to keep Potter for his master!
Harry hesitated—he didn't strike down Barty Jr. He knew where they were going back to. Once there, Barty Crouch Jr. would be powerless. He would face trial instead of continuing to live freely under Voldemort's protection.
This gave Barty Crouch Jr. his chance. His fingers were almost touching Harry. Ten inches... five inches... two inches... He would return to Hogwarts with them!
However, letting Barty Crouch Jr. return to Hogwarts, allowing the Ministry of Magic led by Fudge to be unable to deny the fact of Voldemort's return, didn't align with soone's plan.
BUZZ!
At this most critical of monts, when Barty Jr.'s fingers were a re breath away from touching Harry's rapidly fading body, sothing completely unexpected occurred that left Harry utterly shocked.
Gabrielle suddenly sprang up from her position. Under Harry's shocked gaze, those blue eyes that had lost their luster quietly transford into majestic purple ones. The cold purple eyes stared directly at Barty Crouch Jr., who was right in front of them.
Barty Crouch Jr. realized sothing. He was afraid. He wanted to dodge, but he was facing Bryan Watson—Bryan Watson, who had created the most miracles in the shortest ti, whose magical achievents over the past thousand years could be matched by no more than a handful of people!
Against such an opponent, Barty Crouch Jr. never had a chance.
The Death Eater died.
In the golden torrent of flas that suddenly erupted from the very ground beneath their feet—flas that burned with the intensity of a miniature sun and reached up toward the heavens with such force that they shattered the dark, oppressive clouds high above—Barty Crouch Jr. was utterly and completely obliterated.
The magical fire didn't rely kill him; it unmade him, erasing every trace of his existence with the thoroughness of a cosmic delete key.
The golden flas continued their upward journey, piercing through the cloud cover and allowing gentle, natural sunlight to bathe the earth once more.
The oppressive gloom that had dominated this graveyard since their arrival was completely dispelled, replaced by a warm, golden radiance that seed to cleanse the air of the dark magic that had polluted it.
Along with his pitiful and shaful life, Barty Crouch Jr. vanished completely from existence, not even leaving behind a single ember or ash to mark his passing.
"Watson!" Voldemort's voice exploded across the graveyard in a roar of absolute fury. The Dark Lord had finally managed to burst free from the circle of ghostly spirits that had been constraining his movents.
He raised his yew wand with the clear intention of unleashing the full force of his dark magic against this unexpected opponent. But his reaction ca too late—far, far too late to prevent what had already been set in motion.
For just an instant, the red eyes of Lord Voldemort t the purple eyes of Bryan Watson across the distance of the graveyard.
Then, as suddenly as if they had never existed at all, the entire Hogwarts group completely vanished into nothingness.
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