Potter and Black: The Goblet of Fire

Flesh, Blood, and Bone

disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, just Arabella. Hope you like it!

Flesh, Blood, and Bone

Arabella just stood there, trying to lean on her good ankle, and watching the sky. She tried to get out of the ropes, but nothing happened; it was too tight. It seemed like ages before she saw someone. Two people suddenly appeared in front of her, Harry and Cedric, to her surprise. They both slammed to the ground.

'Harry!' gasped Arabella. 'Cedric!'

'Ara!' said Harry, trying to get up, but his leg seemed to be injured. Cedric managed to get up and was trying to untie her from the headstone, but nothing was working. He used his wand, but that didn't help either.

'Listen to me, both of you,' said Arabella, looking at Cedric and Harry. 'You have to get out of here – don't give me that look! – You have to go and get help! The trophy's a Portkey, touch it, go and get help, and whatever you do, don't trust Mad-Eye! Go!'

'What's going on?' said Cedric, slightly panicking.

'There's no time to talk about this now!' said Arabella. 'Trust me, go and get help!'

'Someone's coming,' Harry suddenly said. He and Cedric pulled out their wands and turned towards the figure.

Squinting through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Arabella couldn't make out the face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, it was carrying something. He was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.

And them, something happened to Harry. His wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face. His knees buckled and he was on the ground. His scar was hurting him. Cedric looked at Harry, unable to understand what was happening. He made a move to help Harry, but then –

'Kill the spare!' said a high, cold voice.

'Avada Kedavra!' screeched a second voice.


A blast of green light blazed in front of her, and Cedric was dead. He was lying on the ground beside Harry, who did look at him for a moment. Arabella stared at Cedric's face, with tears silently running down her face. She didn't know him at all, she's never spoken to him, but he didn't deserve this. His eyes were open, blank and expressionless. His mouth was half-open, which looked slightly surprised. Harry was also staring at Cedric's face. It didn't seem like Cedric's death registered through to him. Then he was pulled to his feet, but not by his own will.

The man in the cloak had out down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone.

'Let him go!' yelled Arabella, struggling through the ropes that bound her and trying to ignore the pain in her left arm and her ankle.

The man ignored her and conjured up tight ropes around Harry and the headstone, which was a couple away from Arabella. Harry was struggling against the ropes and the man hit him.

'You!' gasped Harry, staring at the man.

Arabella didn't know who it was, she couldn't see his face. The man was busy checking the tightness of the cords, and once he made sure that Harry was bound tightly to the headstone, he took something from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it in Harry's mouth, making sure the he couldn't make a sound. He then turned away from Harry and hurried away.

Arabella couldn't see where the man had gone, but she could see Cedric's body right in front of her, and some feet away, the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground next to Cedric's feet.

There was some fast wheezy breathing that was growing louder and louder. The man came back within Arabella's vision and she saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of a grave that was close by. It seemed to be full of some sort of liquid.

The grave that the man had put the cauldron near had the bundle he was previously carrying. He was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand, and there were crackling flames beneath it. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began to bubble and sent out fiery sparks, as though it was on fire.

'Hurry!' said the high, cold voice again.

The surface of the water was blazing with sparks now.

'It is ready Master,' said a shaky voice that Arabella recognized. It was Peter Pettigrew. It was almost impossible to forget his quivering, squeaky voice.

'Now…' said the cold voice.

Pettigrew pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Arabella let out a yell in surprise.

The thing that Pettigrew had been carrying had the shape of a crouch human child, but Arabella had never seen a child look like that. It was hairless, scaly-looking with dark, raw, reddish black skin. Its arms and legs were thin and frail, and its face was flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing seemed almost helpless. It raised it thin arms, put them around Pettigrew's neck, and he lifted it. As soon as he did, Arabella saw the look of repulsion on his face as he carried the thing to the rim of the cauldron. And then Pettigrew lowered the creature into the cauldron. There was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface. There was a soft thud and the creature hit the bottom of the cauldron.

'Let it drown,' Arabella whispered softly, praying to anything that could hear here. 'Please… let it drown…'

Pettigrew was speaking. His voice was shaking, scared beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke.

'Bone of the father, unknowingly given you will renew your son!'

The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Terrified, Arabella watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Pettigrew's command and fell into the cauldron. The surface of the water broke and hissed. It sent sparks in all directions and turned a lethal-looking blue.

And now Pettigrew was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into terrified 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. The potions had turned into a fiery red colour.

Arabella watched in horror as Pettigrew's hand fall into the cauldron with a small splash. He let out a scream that made it feel as though it was her that was stabbed with the dagger. He tried to hold himself together, but was failing at it. He was gasping and moaning with agony.

Pettigrew slowly walked towards Harry and said, 'B – blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe.'

Arabella felt useless at this moment. She tried to get free from the ropes, but it was too tight. Harry did the same, but it was no use. Arabella watched as Pettigrew slit a long cut on Harry's right and blood seeping down the sleeves of his torn robes. Pettigrew, still panting in pain, rumbled in his pockets 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 turned instantly into a blinding white. Pettigrew 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 sparks in all directions. Nothing happened…

'Let it drown,' whispered Arabella, small tears flowing down her face. 'Please… let it have gone wrong…'

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A rush of white steam rose thickly from the cauldron instead, blocking everything in front of her, so that she could see Pettigrew or Cedric but the vapor hanging in the air…

'Let it drown,' whispered Arabella. 'Let it be dead… please… it's gone wrong… please….'

Bu then, through the mist in front of her, she saw the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising from inside the cauldron. She felt an icy surge of terror as she looked on.

'Robe me,' said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Pettigrew, sobbing and moaning, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them onehanded over his masters head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, looked at Arabella before staring at Harry, who stared back. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake with slits for nostrils…

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

Thank you for reading!

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