The same but different

Chapter 22 aftermath

Harry's feet hit hard earth, and his knees almost buckled under the force of the landing. He was back in the stadium, the crowd eerily quiet for what it was. His gaze darted around, taking in the scene before him; Moody, dead on the ground beside Professor Sprout. Karkaroff on his knees, rocking and muttering in despair. Dumbledore grim-faced in front of Fudge. Cedric, beautiful Cedric, staring at Harry with hope in his eyes. Hope that quickly turned to triumph when he saw Harry's face.

They'd done it.

He flicked his eyes towards the crowd, relief hitting him like a punch to the chest at the sight of Professor Snape hale and whole. His view was then blocked by Dumbledore striding towards him, and Harry took a steadying breath. It was showtime.

"Professor!" he gasped, turning scared-teenage-boy eyes on the elderly man. "Professor, the cup- it was a portkey- it took me to a graveyard and Pettigrew was there and so was Voldemort, only he didn't really look like Voldemort, he was all shrivelled and small - and there was a cauldron, and he took my blood!" He thrust his arm out to show the weeping wound, and Dumbledore flinched. "He was trying to get his strength back, I think - Pettigrew kept saying about 'reviving the master' and 'renewing the foe'. But something went wrong, it might have been my fault? I just kept staring at the cauldron and begging it not to work, and then the cauldron started to bubble over and it exploded, and Pettigrew was dead. Professor Dumbledore, I think... I think I killed Voldemort. Properly, this time."

He made sure his voice was loud enough for people other than Dumbledore to hear him. The last thing he wanted was the old man twisting this for his own gain. Fudge looked about ready to faint, and McGonagall had a hand to her mouth in horror. Dumbledore's expression grew even more grave.

"Harry, my boy," he started, but Fudge blustered past him.

"Peter Pettigrew is dead!" he exclaimed. Harry glanced down at the corpse at his side.

"Well, yeah, he is now," he agreed, gesturing pointedly to the man's body. "But he definitely wasn't before. I think you owe Sirius Black a proper trial, Minister Fudge."

"Albus!" Sprout called suddenly, pointing at the body of Moody, which was finally shifting back to its true form. The false leg popped off, and the magical eye leapt out of its socket and onto the grass - within moments, the dead man was Barty Crouch Jr, his bared arm showing a jet black Dark Mark just as raw and twisted as Pettigrew's.

Fudge made a noise halfway between a whimper and a yelp. "I'm calling for the aurors," he declared feebly, reaching into his robe. "This must have an investigation!"

"Harry." He jolted at the soft voice, turning to find Cedric at his side, eyeing him with concern. "Are you okay, love?"

"I think I need to lie down," he admitted, knees wobbling as the weight of his actions finally began to sink in. Cedric slung an arm around his waist, easing Pettigrew's wrist from his grasp.

"I've got you," he promised, kissing Harry's sweaty brow. "I've got you. Madam Pomfrey!" He yelled for the mediwitch, who shoved her way through the growing crowd in an instant. "Harry needs the hospital wing."

"Yes, he definitely does," she agreed grimly, scanning him over. "The poor boy is suffering from magical exhaustion." In a moment she had a stretcher conjured, and Harry didn't put up a fight about lying down on it. He'd done his part. He had to stay coherent long enough to make sure it was all followed through properly, but he could do that lying down.

"Wait one moment, Madam!" Fudge called, puffing himself up. "Potter there is at the centre of this mess, and he will be questioned by the aurors!"

"They can question him just as well in a hospital bed," Pomfrey argued heatedly. "He is a student at this school, a fourteen year-old boy, and that makes his welfare my responsibility! I will not stand by and wait for your aurors while he is in need of treatment."