He'd made it. Harry could see the Triwizard Cup in front of him, just barely out of reach. "Harry!" He heard Cedric cry and he quickly turned around.

Cedric lay on the dirt, tangling branches ensnaring him and pulling him backward. Harry froze. The Cup was right there, but could he leave Cedric behind? That's when he remembered Draco's words. If it gets to be you and Diggory, in the maze... leave him...you don't need a spare.

Harry swallowed. A beast inside him told him to leave Cedric. The beast that had been taking more and more control over him lately. But in Cedric's eyes, face contorted in pain, Harry saw fear like he'd never seen before. He couldn't just leave him. Harry surged forward, casting a nonverbal at the ensnaring veins and hoisting Cedric up.

"I thought you were going to leave me," Cedric leaned against him, gasping.

"I almost did," they walked toward the center of the maze, the glowing Cup calling to Harry.

"Take it, you won fair and square."

"No. We take it together, okay? On the count of three."

Cedric looked like he wanted to protest but then nodded. "One...two...three."

They each grabbed the Cup and everything disappeared.

Harry groaned, eyes fluttering open. He tried to rub his scar, which burned as if someone pressed a hot wire to his forehead, but his hand wouldn't move. He was trapped. He glanced around, seeing the stone arms of a statchue held him tightly, unmoving and cold. A cauldron boiled in front of him, green bubbles exploding every few seconds. He looked up. Wormtail. "You," he hissed, wanting to release a string of curses at the man but not figuring it would result in much but making Harry thirsty.

Cedric lay a few feet away, sitting up. "Harry, what's going on?"

"Kill the spare," a raspy, high-pitched voice commanded.

Wormtail drew his wand and pointed it at Cedric, "Avada Kedavra!"

"NO!" Harry screamed, tearing his vocal folds with the shout of pure terror, ripping through his voice and his sanity. "CEDRIC!"

You don't need a spare.

Draco had warned him. The bastard had known this was going to happen and didn't tell him. The cloaked lump had to be Voldemort, his scar only hurt when he was near and the voice...he knew the voice. Draco had known Voldemort set a trap for him and said nothing! Harry broke at that thought, letting out another piercing wail that shook the graveyard around him. He wept, soul seeming to split with the weight of what just happened. He caused Cedric's death. Even if he hadn't said the curse himself, Harry knew that his death, his blood, was on his hands.

Wormtail grinned up at him, holding a knife to his hand, and slicing it clean off. "The ritual is almost complete," he said in his annoying voice, his beady eyes making Harry's blood boil.

"I'm going to kill you," he rasped, seeing his wand in his pocket. Not helpful, his hands were stuck above his head. "When I'm out of here I will kill you right where you stand and feed your carcass to Aragog."

He didn't care if his words didn't sound like the ones of a savior. He was done saving. He tried to help Cedric and look where it got him. He could never escape Voldemort, he could never escape the Darkness. It had literally been chasing him his entire life...

That's when it hit him. Harry would have smiled if he hadn't just watched someone die. Wormtail was approaching him, knife ready. He knew he was going for Harry's blood, he'd read about this ritual in his research of dark witchcraft. "Wait," he said, looking not to the filthy excuse of a wizard, but to the lump that was Voldemort. "If I give my blood willingly, it'll restore you more completely, right?"

"And why would you give yourself willingly?" The cold voice seemed amused, probably thinking Harry was stalling.

"I want to join you," Harry lied, "I want to make Dumbledore and the Ministry pay for everything they've done to me." That last part was not a lie. "I'll show you my loyalty by giving my own blood to resurrect you freely, I'll do whatever you say, kneel at your feet and if I'm lying, which I know you think I'm lying, you can always just kill me, right? But if I'm not lying, and I'm not, I can help you rise to power faster. I can get you new followers who wouldn't join before, I can be useful."

And once Voldemort served Harry's purpose, once Voldemort was no longer useful...well, then Harry could get his revenge on not only the sick world that created a monster like the Dark Lord in the first place, but the wizard who killed his parents.

"You can give me your blood, but I have no use for you other than this ritual. Wormtail, free one hand, take his wand first. Give him the knife."

Wormtail did as directed, taking Harry's wand and throwing it to the ground before freeing Harry's left hand with a wave of his wand. The statue's arm slowly moved out of the way and Harry gripped the knife, slashing open his right wrist. Blood poured from the wound and Harry bit his lip to keep from screaming again. His throat scratched raw, voice hoarse, he spoke once more. "I can kill Dumbledore. I can kill the Minister. I can take out anyone in your way, my lord. I can be much more useful than this pathetic hoveling rat," he spat at Pettigrew.

Said "hoveling rat" dipped the bloodied wand into the cauldron, lifting the bundle that was the Dark Lord into the potion. It boiled and roared, and the slimey ball that was Voldemort shot into the air, growing and changing color. Black tufts of hair grew from the previously scabby head, the grey skin becoming smooth and almost white. Slit-pupils shot open, ethereal black robes billowing in the non-existent wind. Harry almost gasped, and he would if he hadn't ruined his voice.

Voldemort ran a hand through his silky hair, grinning. He looked like the piece of his soul stored in his journal, except at least ten years older and with green, snake-like eyes and deathly pale skin. "My wand," he said to Wormtail, who was busy bowing and groveling.

Once he had his wand back, he waved it toward Harry, releasing him from the statue. He fell to the ground, head hung low, scar still on fire. Every part of him hurt, from his feet tired of running, to his stinging hand, to his throbbing head. But he still looked up at Voldemort, swallowing a save of disgust. "What is your will for me, my Lord?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, searching his face. A weight pressed into his brain, a force bearing into his very thoughts. Harry knew Voldemort was trying to find his true motives. Harry quickly focused on his hatred for how the Ministry was run, his bloodlust toward the Dursley's, and his growing hate for Dumbledore. He thought about his new interest in Dark magic and how he'd practiced on woodland creatures in the dead of night. He refused to think of anything more than his boiling anger.

Once satisfied, Voldemort's presence left his mind and he grabbed Harry's bloody wrist. "Anapneo," the Dark Lord said and Harry's wound vanished.

Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to where the cut had been and Harry watched half in awe, half in horror as black ink seemed under his skin from the wand and slowly formed a black skull with a snake slithering out of his mouth. Harry hissed as the burn erupted his arm. He wanted to scratch at the skin but resisted, biting his cheek so hard he could taste blood.

God, he wanted to kill the Dark Lord right there.

"Should you even think a word against me, Potter, I will put your head on a spike and hang it over the gates to Hogwarts."

"I expect nothing less, my Lord. I won't disappoint you. I will make up for the foolish actions of my parents against you."

Harry stood, not before taking his wand off the ground. Voldemort eyed him warily before turning to Pettigrew, "I have no use for you any longer Wormtail," he rasped, "Potter, would you do the honors."

Wormtail looked around, "Wait, no! Master, I nursed you to health! I helped you!"

Harry stepped over and grinned a little too widely, "I've always wanted to use this curse since I heard Moody tell us. This is for Sirius, you coward. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Green light shot forward and Wormtail instantly tumbled over. "He was very annoying," Harry lifted his foot and kicked the limp body.

"He served his purpose," Voldemort said. "Now, Potter. Go back to Hogwarts, take the boy over there," Voldemort waved his hand toward Cedric's body which made Harry want to shoot the killing curse right there but he just bit his cheek and stood his ground. "Tell everyone I've returned. Spread the word. Tell no one you've joined my side. Your Mark will evade the eyes of those who shouldn't see it. You'll know when I'm summoning you next."

"Yes, my Lord."

Harry couldn't wait to kill him.

His tears weren't fake when he screamed over Cedric's body, clinging to his friend. He cried for the loss of his friend, but more for the loss of himself. The moment he gave his blood, the moment he was given the Mark, the moment he killed, Harry knew he had given up everything he was. He wept. Shouting and kicking as wizards pulled him away from the body, his mind tearing itself apart. He wanted to go back, make a completely different choice, never give in to Voldemort even if it meant dying right there. Now it was too late.

His only choice now was to give into the dark and only hope he could destroy Voldemort before Voldemort destroyed him.

Late that night, alone in the infirmary, Harry took out his wand, focusing on the sound of his mother's voice muttering indiscernible words to him as he looked up at her. "Expecto patronum," Harry said into the darkness around him.

Nothing happened.