Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.
“Where are we?” he said.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.
They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously traveled miles - perhaps hundreds of miles - for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.
“Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?” he asked.
“Nope,” said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. “Is this supposed to be part of the task?”
“I dunno,” said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. “Wands out, d'you reckon?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
“Someone's coming,” he said suddenly.
Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And - several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time - Harry saw that the thing in the persons arms looked like a baby…or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second. Harry and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at one another.
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, “Kill the spare.”
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: “Avada Kedavra!”
A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes.
Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.
For a second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before Harry's mind had accepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet.
The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail.
“You!” he gasped.
But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.
Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away. Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground at Cedric's feet. The bundle of robes that Harry had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and his scar seared with pain again…and he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes…he didn't want that bundle opened.…
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water - Harry could hear it slopping around - and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling names beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harry heard the high, cold voice again.
“Hurry!”
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
“It is ready. Master.”
“Now…” said the cold voice.
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind - but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face - no child alive ever had a face like that - flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Harry saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Harry saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Let it drown, Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, please…let it drown.…
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”
The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
“Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master.”
He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened - he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look…but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids.…
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him.
“B-blood of the enemy…forcibly taken…you will…resurrect your foe.”
Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly….Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, rumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened.…
Let it have drowned. Harry thought, let it have gone wrong…
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air.…It's gone wrong, he thought…it's drowned …please…please let it be dead.…
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
“Robe me,” said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry…and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snakes with slits for nostrils…
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
哈利感到他的脚重重地摔在地上，他那受伤的腿扭了一下然后向前摔倒了。他放开三巫师争霸赛奖杯，艰难地抬起头。
“我们在哪儿？”他问道。
塞德里克摇了一下头，他站起来把哈利也扶了起来，然后四处张望。他俩已经完全离开了霍格瓦彻的地域。很明显已经走了几十里——也许几百里——因为甚至那些环绕着那座城堡的群山也看不见了。现在他们正站在一座黑夜中的大墓地之前，一株大紫杉树以及更远处的一座小教堂的轮郭依稀可见。一座小山耸立于他们左边。哈利仅仅能依稀辨认出山边一所漂亮的老房子的大致轮廓。
塞德里克低头看一下三巫师赛奖杯，然后又抬起头来看了一下哈利。“有人告诉过你这奖杯是一个波奇吗？”他问哈利。“没有。”
哈利答道，他一边打量着墓地的周围，它是那么死寂，有一点点阴森。“这是不是这次任务的一部分。”他反问塞德里克。
“我不知道。”塞德里克说着。他的声音听起来有点紧张，“把魔杖拿出来，你认为好不好？”“好！”哈利说道，他很高兴塞德里克提出这个建议，而不是他自己。他们抽出了他们的魔杖，哈利一直都在四处张望。他又一次有了他俩正被别人监视的奇怪感觉了。
“有人过来了。”他突然说道。他俩在黑暗中眯着眼睛紧张地看着，看到一个黑影走近，从那些坟墓中间向他们走过来。哈利看不清那张脸，但是从那黑影走路的姿势以及他那抱紧的手臂，可以判断出那黑影正抱着什么东西。看不清他是谁，非常矮小，而且穿著有兜帽的大斗篷蒙住了头也遮住了脸。那黑影又近了几步——当然他们之间的距离一直在缩短——他看到那人怀里抱的东西看上去像一个婴儿……或者那只不过是一堆衣服？
哈利轻轻地把他的魔杖放低一些，向旁边匆匆瞥了塞德里克一眼。塞德里克也回敬他一个充满疑惑地表情。然后他们都转过身注视那越来越接近的黑影。
那黑影在一个屹立的大理石墓碑旁边停下了。离他们只有六英尺远。哈利、塞德里克和那个矮个黑衣人互相看了一会儿。
然后，哈利的疤痕毫无声息地就痛裂开来。他这辈子从来没有感到如此疼痛过。痛得他不得不用手去捂住，这样也使得他的魔杖掉到了地上。他双腿弯曲，跪到了地上。他什么也看不见，只觉得头痛如裂。
从他头上空，哈利远远地听到一个高而阴冷的声音说到：“杀死那个瘦高个。”一阵沙秒声之后，又一声尖叫划破夜空：“凯得乌尔！”
一束绿光交烁地穿过哈利的眼睑，然后他听到身旁一个重物摔倒到草地上的声音，他那伤痕从未如此痛得让他反胃干呕过，接着那疼痛慢慢减轻了。虽然他害怕将要看到的东西，他还是张开了那双刺痛的眼。
塞德里克四肢张开，倒在他旁边的草地。成一个“大”字，他死了。
眨眼间便是阴阳两界，哈利看着塞德里克的脸，看着他那瞪得大大的灰色的眼睛，空虚得像一幢荒废的老房子窗户似的表情，还有那看上去微微吃惊的半张开的嘴巴。然而，就在他的大脑开始接受所见到的事实之前，就在他刚想摆脱那满脑子的麻木、怀疑与不信之前，他感到自己已经被人拉着站立起来。
那个穿斗篷的小矮人已经放下了他手中的那堆东西，拣起了哈利的魔杖。然后拖着哈利向那大理石墓碑走去。哈利借着魔杖摇曳的微光看清那墓碑上的名字汤姆。理得，然后他就被推转过来，背对着那墓碑。
那穿斗篷的男人施魔法用粗绳捆住哈利，把他绑在那墓碑上。
哈利听到那风帽下轻微但又急促的呼吸声，他奋力挣扎，那男人狠狠地打了他几下——用他那不见了一根手指的手打他。哈利刹那间想起了那风帽下的人是谁——温太尔，“是你！”他气喘喘说道。但是温太尔正忙着给他上绑，他一言不发，忙着检查那绳子绑得紧不紧。他的手指不住地颤抖，触摸着那些绳子上的结。直到温太尔确定哈利已经死死地绑在那墓碑上，一步也不能动，他才从斗篷里拿出一种黑色的东西硬塞到哈利的嘴里。然后，一句话也没说，转身很飞地跑开了。哈利什么都叫不出来，也不能看到温太尔跑往哪里。——他不能转过头去看墓碑后面，他只能看到他正前方的东西。
塞德里克的尸体躺在大约二十英尺远。在他身边，三巫师赛奖杯在星光下闪闪发光。哈利的魔杖就在他脚旁边的草地上。哈利曾以为是婴儿的那堆衣物也在附近，在墓碑脚下。那堆东西好像在烦躁地颤动着。哈利看着它，他的伤口又剧痛起来……他突然意识到他并不想看见那堆衣物中的东西……他不想看到那包东西被打开。
他能听到他脚下的声响。他低头看看。——一条巨蛇正在草间游动。盘绕着哈利绑着的那墓碑游动。温太尔的急促的喘息声又一次响了起来。听起来好像他正推着什么重东西穿过草地。一会儿他就出现在哈利的视野中。现在哈利可以看到原来他正推着一个石头大汽锅向墓碑走过来，那锅里面好像装满了水——哈利从那四处泼溅的声音判断出来的——而且那只汽锅是哈利有生以来见得最大的一只。它大得足可以塞进一个成年男子。
草地上那色衣物里面的东西搅动得更加激烈了，仿佛它正要努力地挣扎出来，现在温太尔自己拿着一根魔杖在大汽锅底正忙着呢。突然，噼啪的火焰就从那锅底冒出了。那条大蛇溜走了，消失在黑暗之中。
那大汽锅里的液体好像很容易加热。液体表面不仅冒出了气泡，而且还进出了火花，好像着火了一样。那斗篷下面的动作变得更加激烈。跟着哈利又听到那又高又冷的嗓音：“快点！”那锅水的整个表面都布满着火花，看上去好似镶上了钻石。“准备好了，主人。”“现在开始……”那冷酷的声音响起。温太尔拉开草地那包衣物，显露出里面的东西。哈利发出了一声叫喊——可惜被他嘴里的那堆东西阻塞住了。
好像温太尔拿出了一颗石头，然后就显露出一个丑陋的、卑劣的、愚昧的但更加糟糕，而且糟糕上一百倍的东西。那东西有着屈着膝的人类孩子的外形。但哈利从没见到过什么东西这么不像孩子的——它没有头发，而且表面有鳞片。它的背是裸露的，黑红色。
它的胳膊和双腿又瘦又脆弱，而且它的脸——决没有孩子有那样的一张脸——扁平的，蛇头一样，而且还有一双闪烁不定的红眼睛。
那小东西看上去是那么的无助，它抬起它那细小的手臂，绕住温太尔的脖子。温太尔抱起了它。就在这时，它的风帽掉到了后面，当他抱着这小东西走到大汽锅边缘的时候，借着火光，哈利看到了温太尔那瘦削苍白的脸上厌恶的表情。过了一会儿，哈利看到小东西那张邪恶扁平的脸在那水面上跳动闪烁的火花中烟烟发光。
然后温太尔就把那小东西放入了锅里。嘶嘶声远远传来，接着那东西就从水面消失了。哈利听到了它那弱小的身体撞到锅底的轻声。
“淹死它吧，”哈利心里期待着，他的伤口火燎燎地痛，他几乎忍受不住了，“拜托……淹死它吧……”
温太尔嘴里念念有词。他的声音颤抖着。他看上去被这超出智慧之外的生物吓坏了。他举起了他的魔杖，闭上双眼，对着夜空喊道：“父亲的铮骨啊，无限的给予，给你的儿子一个重生的机会吧！”
哈利脚下的墓地裂了。惊骇万分的哈利看到一股漂亮的灰尘在温太尔的咒语操纵下升到了空中，又轻轻地掉进了锅里。钻石般的水面裂开了。嘶嘶作响。火星四溅。水面变成了鲜亮、毒药般的深蓝色。
现在温太尔开始低声呜咽了，他从他衣服里面，拔出了一把又长又窄，明亮的银剑。他的声音又变成了僵死的暖泣了。“仆人的肌肉啊，自愿的给予，给你的主人一个重生的机会吧！”
他伸出他的右手——那只少了根指头的手。他左手紧紧握住那把银剑，然后向前挥舞。哈利意识到温太尔将要做的事不到一秒钟便发生了。——他死死地闭上双眼。但是他却不能阻挡住那刺破夜空的惊叫。那叫喊穿过哈利的耳膜，就好似他也被那银剑刺穿。接着他听到什么东西倒在地上。听到温太尔那痛苦的喘息，然后是一声令人作呕的泼溅声。好似什么东西掉进了那锅里。哈利忍不住看过去……但是那锅水已变成了火红色。它那耀眼的光芒穿透了哈利双眼……
温太尔大口地喘气，又痛苦地呻吟。直到哈利感觉到温太尔那痛苦的呼吸吹到他的脸上，他才发现温太尔正站在他的正前方。
“敌人的鲜血啊……通过武力征服而来……你将……让你的对手复活……”
哈利对此无能为力，他被绑得太紧了……他向下瞥了一眼，绝望地在绳子里挣扎，他看见那把明晃晃的短剑在温太尔的手中晃动着。然后他就感觉到那剑尖刺入了他右手手臂弯曲处。鲜血从他破烂的衣服里不断淌出。仍不断痛苦喘息的温太尔从身上口袋里摸出一个小玻璃药瓶，并伸到哈利的伤口处。一大滴鲜血病进了瓶中。
他拿着哈利的鲜血蹒跚地走回大石气锅旁。把血倒进里面。那液体不断地变化，最后变成了空虚的白色。温太尔精疲力尽地跪倒在那汽锅旁，好似他的工作已做完。然后他向一旁倒下去，躺在草地上，不住地喘气和呜咽，紧握住他手臂上流血的地方。
那汽锅慢慢地沸腾，又是火星四射。其它就没什么变化了……
“把它淹死……”哈利心里祈祷着，“让整件事都出错。”
然后，汽锅里的火星突然都熄灭了。取而代之的是巨大的一股白色烟雾。将哈利面前的所有东西都遮盖住了。他看不见温太尔或者塞德里克，他眼中有的只是空气中悬浮的蒸汽……“它出错了，”
他想道，“……那怪物被淹死了……拜托……求求上帝让它死掉吧……”
然后，透过他前面的浓雾，哈利心中惊恐万分，他看到了一个人的黑色轮廓，又高又瘦，慢慢地从汽锅里面向上升起。
“给我穿上衣服！”一个高而冷的声音从雾后面响起。温太尔虽然还在呜咽与呻吟，但还是摇着伤口，爬着拣起了草地上那堆黑色衣服。然后摇摇晃晃站起身来，掂起脚尖，用一只手把衣服套进他主人的头上。
那瘦高个走出了汽锅，紧盯着哈利……哈利也瞪着那张让他被恶梦困扰三年的丑恶的脸——比头盖骨还苍白的脸，大大的黑红色的眼睛，像蛇鼻一样扁平的鼻子，鼻孔还有许多裂口……
福尔得摩特公爵又复活了。
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