*****

The two boys' eyes locked in the stillness that followed their defeat of the giant spider.

"Take it then," said Harry, surprising himself. Suddenly he found that winning didn't mean that much to him after all. Cedric was the more worthy after all, and Hufflepuff house certaintly deserved the glory that would come from clinching the Triwizard Cup.

The indecision was plain in Cedric's eyes. On the one hand, Harry had saved him from Krum and tipped him off about the dragons; on the other, a thousand galleons. Not to mention Hufflepuff and Diggory himself would live in infamy for years to come...

"Only if you don't want it," the older boy replied, clearly wavering. His eyes now betrayed a faint panic as he toppled over the edge of his hesitancy.

Greed and glory won over honour as Harry watched from his position on the ground and tried not to think about his wounded leg.

"I don't. You take it, Cedric. For Hogwarts."

Cedric licked his lips and nodded. He relaxed marginally, the decision made. Turning, he reached for the handle of the Cup.

"No!!"

But it was too late. Cedric's hand grasped the Cup and he and it disappeared in an instant. Startled, Harry rolled over to see who had cried out.

Mad-Eye Moody was there at the exit from the maze, good eye opened wide in disbelief, wand upraised and poised as if to strike. The Professor crumpled to his knees, moaning incoherently.

"Professor? Professor Moody?" Harry tried to stand and found he could hobble. He made the painfully slow journey over to where Moody was, frowning. What was going on?

But his chance to find out was lost as the other teachers who had been supervising the contest converged on the centre of the maze. Dumbledore was first, Apparating next to the empty stand where the Cup had stood. Professors McGonagall and Snape appeared beside him.

Taking in the scene, Dumbledore went straight to Harry, leaving the others to gasp in shock at the missing Cup and the equally absent Cedric.

"Harry? Moody? What's going on?" asked Dumbledore without preamble, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "Are you hurt, Harry? Snape, fetch Madame Pomfrey."

Snape nodded and Disapparated instantly.

Harry opened his mouth to explain but Moody beat him to it.

"Diggory won," he grunted, seemingly under control now. The old man's despair was gone and he stood up off his knees slowly. "He grabbed the Cup and disappeared. Must've been a Portkey."

Professor McGonagall frowned. "Portkey? The Cup? But... how? Albus?"

Dumbledore looked just as confused, but his expression quickly turned grave. "There are Dark forces at work here, I think."

Madame Pomfrey and Snape chose that moment to return, and Harry was not given the chance to say anything. He felt slightly annoyed at this, though could not explain why. Moody had told truthfully what had happened and there was nothing anyone could do to find Cedric without knowing the Portkey's destination. So why did he feel so... full of dread?

He was whisked away amid much confusion; the audience had caught wind of the missing Champion and were muttering worriedly. Harry glimpsed Cedric's parents talking to Professor McGonagall, their faces white with fear and panic.

A sudden intense pain in his forehead made Harry gasp and almost fall, even with the support of Moody, who was helping him to the castle. He clutched his scar uselessly, shutting his eyes tight in a futile effort to stave off the agony.

As he struggled to keep upright, a realisation sent a cold shiver of fear up his spine. Somewhere out there, Voldemort was thinking about him. And not in a nice way either.

*****

Cedric experienced the momentary disorientation of physical displacement before landing with a thud on a small grassy knoll. He looked around, one hand still grasping the Cup and wondering why it had been turned into a Portkey.

His heart beat faster as he realised where he was. It was a graveyard. In the faint moonlight, he could see a single robed figure making it's way towards him through the headstones. It was carrying a small bundle.

Then, on the breeze, he heard a high, cold voice, a whisper that made his blood freeze in horror.

"It is not him. Crouch has failed us. Dispose of it, Wormtail."

~END~