The third task, the maze, had finally begun.
Unlike before, Harry was able to face this challenge with the utmost calm and confidence.
The maze would surely be complex.
Countless dangerous traps and creatures would no doubt be unleashed within it.
But to Harry, none of that was new.
In his first year, he had broken through a three-headed dog and the Devil's Snare to protect the Philosopher's Stone.
In his second year, he fought Tom Riddle, and in his third, he was surrounded by Dementors.
Every one of them had been a life-or-death battle.
Compared to that, this maze was not particularly frightening to Harry.
If worst came to worst, he could always call for help from the teachers.
That experience bolstered him, allowing him to advance without hesitation.
The situation also worked in Harry's favor.
This event favored those with higher scores from the previous two tasks, which meant Harry was inevitably the first to start.
The walls of the maze were towering, thick hedges.
Upon entering, the cheers of the crowd vanished completely, and it was as dark as being underwater.
Harry lit the tip of his wand and hurried forward, keeping his hand on the right-hand wall.
This method, known as the "right-hand rule," was the most famous way to solve a maze, something Hermione had taught him. He paid no mind to the branching paths, simply following the wall to his right.
But it was strange.
He had come this far, yet not a single obstacle had appeared.
There wasn't a single trap, and he had yet to see any creature blocking his path.
This, in turn, filled Harry with a sense of unease.
Something's wrong... Something's off...
Was he just lucky? Or was this itself a trap?
As he pondered this, he heard a scream from behind him.
...Cedric!
Cedric Diggory had encountered some kind of obstacle and screamed!
A few seconds later, he saw red sparks fly up from the direction of the voice.
Shooting red sparks into the sky was the signal for withdrawal.
In other words, Cedric had been eliminated for some reason.
"..."
One rival was gone.
That should have been a welcome development.
But he could be next. Something that could take down even Cedric was in this maze.
Continuing on, Harry eventually encountered what could be called an obstacle—a Boggart—but he was otherwise progressing through the maze smoothly.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
It was going smoothly... almost unnaturally so.
Could Cedric have been eliminated from a maze that even he could navigate this easily?
As his mind raced, he heard Fleur Delacour's scream echo through the air, followed by another firework of red sparks.
Not only that, but another burst of sparks shot up immediately after, letting Harry know that three champions had now been eliminated.
(Wait a minute... Am I the only one? Am I the only one left in here!?)
What was this? What was happening?
This was beyond just "going smoothly."
At this rate, his victory was all but guaranteed.
With no rivals left, as long as he wasn't eliminated himself, he would eventually reach the goal.
Even if he chose to withdraw now, considering his score and the fact that he was the last one remaining, he would still undoubtedly win.
...In that case, maybe I should just withdraw?
The thought crossed his mind, but Harry shook his head.
No, wait. Making me think that might be the maze's real trap.
What if no one had actually been eliminated? What if it was all an illusion he was seeing, or perhaps the sparks were fake?
A trap designed to make him lower his guard and foolishly shoot up his own sparks, eliminating himself. Could that be it?
Even if that wasn't the case, Harry's pride wouldn't allow him to throw the match away.
I won't withdraw. I'll keep going.
An image of himself winning flashed through Harry's mind.
Himself, holding the Triwizard Cup high in front of the entire student body... everyone smiling as they welcomed him.
Maybe Hermione would even give him a kiss on the cheek.
The thought made him want the cup with a burning desire.
If he was going to win, he didn't want a victory that felt like it was handed to him; he wanted a victory he could be proud of.
If only Harry had been calmer at that moment... perhaps he could have thought more deeply about what felt so wrong.
The abnormality of his own convenient progress, with almost no real interference while all the other champions were wiped out... perhaps he could have considered it more deeply.
He might have even remembered the warning he was given on the Hogwarts Express at the start of his fourth year.
—Be careful this year. Watch your back.
But Harry had tucked that warning away into a deep corner of his mind.
Of course, he had been cautious at first.
He had been terrified that someone might be targeting him after he was chosen as a champion.
But his confidence from having made it this far, coupled with the glory dangling right before his eyes, had blinded him.
I can win... I'm going to win...!
At fourteen years old, he could beat the other, official champions and win!
That giddy feeling had dulled Harry's senses.
And so, after navigating a maze strangely devoid of obstacles, Harry finally arrived before the Triwizard Cup.
Is this really it?
Is this... is this all there is? To the final task?
Can it really be this easy? Isn't something wrong?!
Anxiety and anticipation. Joy and doubt.
They all swirled together, making his heart pound loudly in his chest.
But the fact remained that he was now standing before the Triwizard Cup, and no one else was there.
He swallowed hard, gulping, and slowly reached out a hand for the cup.
And then—Harry vanished.
***
She Apparated to the villa on Magnolia Crescent.
While the use of magic within a family home was somewhat tolerated by the Ministry, attempting a large-scale ritual at her main estate would surely bring the Aurors running.
Ironically, an Auror should have come the moment Mirabelle had used the Disarming Charm, but Heathcote himself had filed a request for them to ignore it.
As a skilled Auror, he held considerable influence at the Ministry.
It had been a simple matter for him to use that power to get a special exemption for magic used by his child within the estate.
But in the end, that very act had tightened the noose around his own neck, leading to him being disarmed and subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. It was a cruel twist of fate.
"We have been waiting for you, My Lady."
"Mm."
Quirrell greeted Mirabelle as she appeared in the villa with Heathcote in tow, bowing reverently.
Beside him lay Simon Beresford, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror.
He had likely been petrified. Unable to move, his eyes darted frantically, fixed on Mirabelle.
On the opposite side, a maid with flaxen hair tied back stood waiting, her face stiff with tension.
She was the 'virgin' Mirabelle had brought for this day, and her terror came from knowing the fate that awaited her.
"M-Mirabelle... what in the world do you plan to do...?"
"Just watch in silence. You will understand soon enough."
Ignoring Heathcote's question, Mirabelle stepped into the center of the magic circle drawn on the floor.
She drew her wand, crafted from a Vampiric Tree, and thrust it into the ground.
Instantly, the circle erupted in a golden light, casting an eerie glow throughout the room.
"Now, let us begin. Tonight, I will transcend humanity and reach the apex of demonic power. I shall overcome death and become the eternal ruler of the wizarding world."
At the same moment.
In the communal cemetery behind the church in the village of Little Hangleton.
Harry was bound to one of the tombstones.
He didn't quite understand how he had ended up like this.
Just moments ago, he had been competing in the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.
He had overcome a few obstacles and had been the first of the four champions to reach the cup.
But in that instant, he had been transported to this graveyard, where he was suddenly tied up by Wormtail.
"It is ready, My Lord," Wormtail announced in a trembling voice, looking at the giant stone cauldron before him.
In his arms was a grotesque, baby-like object, squirming and wriggling.
But it was certainly no baby. No infant could possibly be that repulsive, Harry thought.
He had never seen anything less baby-like.
Its head was covered in scales, and its face was flat and snakelike.
With an expression that failed to hide his disgust, Wormtail lifted the "baby" and tossed it into the cauldron.
The cauldron was filled with a liquid that bubbled like boiling water, and Harry prayed fiercely in his mind, Drown. Just drown.
But his wish went unanswered.
Wormtail raised his wand, closed his eyes, and chanted into the night's darkness.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You will resurrect your son!"
"O brother, who shares my blood, offer that blood to me. Let your life become my sustenance!"
Mirabelle chanted from atop the magic circle, now bathed in golden light.
In time with her voice, Quirrell produced a knife and, without hesitation, plunged it into Simon's neck.
He didn't even have time to scream.
So easily, so mercilessly, the life of Simon, her own blood brother, was taken.
Simon's corpse fell to the floor with a thud. Blood sprayed from the wound, becoming a red mist that was absorbed into the area around Mirabelle.
"Flesh of the servant... w-willingly given... The servant will... revive... his master."
Contrary to the words of his chant, Wormtail whimpered, not sounding happy at all as he held out his arm.
Letting out a sob frozen with terror, he placed a silver dagger against his arm and swung it down in one motion.
A scream echoed through the air.
His severed right hand fell into the cauldron, dyeing the liquid a deep crimson.
Though it was his own doing, Wormtail shrieked in pain and rolled pathetically on the ground.
"O, innocent maiden. Do you swear eternal fealty to me? Will you offer your untainted flesh and become my eternal servant?"
She posed the question with an obvious answer to her loyal maid.
The flaxen-haired maid, Mary, approached Mirabelle's side and spoke quietly, her expression like that of a martyr who had accepted her fate.
"If that is what you desire."
A satisfactory answer.
Mirabelle smiled a quiet, almost gentle smile and pulled Mary into an embrace.
She licked her neck twice, then a third time, her fingers tracing the skin.
—And in the next moment, she sank her teeth into that pale neck.
"Blood of the enemy... forcibly taken... You will... resurrect your foe."
Panting and groaning in pain, Wormtail's chant did not stop.
He plunged the silver dagger into Harry's right arm, collecting the blood in a phial.
When he poured the blood into the cauldron, the crimson liquid turned a blinding white.
Please, just let it drown... Let it fail... Harry prayed desperately.
But contrary to his wish, white steam rose from the cauldron, and a skeletal, emaciated black shadow slowly began to rise.
A face whiter than a skull, with eerie, crimson eyes. A nose as flat as a snake's, with slits for nostrils.
A hideous, terrifying form, far from human—the cursed appearance of one who had defied the very order of the soul.
This was the Dark Lord.
The avatar of terror who had plunged the entire British wizarding world into fear, whose name was forbidden to be spoken.
A creature who, while still in human form, was so monstrously inhuman.
—Lord Voldemort had been resurrected.
"God, Father of All! I deny you! Today, I shall step beyond the natural order of life that you have laid down!"
A blinding golden light filled the room, so bright it was impossible to keep one's eyes open, as the blood of the sacrifices poured into Mirabelle.
The 'sin' of murdering a blood relative.
The 'karma' of offering an untainted body as a sacrifice.
This magic used those two acts to transform the soul, allowing one to ascend to an inhuman state.
In a way, it was remarkably similar to a Horcrux, which splits the soul by killing others.
Her appearance remained unchanged, but her very cells were being remade into those of a monster.
Her life functions ceased, time stopped for her, and she was reborn from a living being into an undead one.
A cursed existence that loathed the light of the sun and revered the glow of the moon as supreme.
An unlovable light that utterly rejected the laws established by God.
Her golden eyes shone with a malevolent gleam. The commanding presence and charm she was born with grew even stronger. Her nails, now dyed crimson, grew long, and her canines, once like fangs, became true fangs.
This was the form of the evil monarch who ruled the night, who had denied God's love.
The True Ancestor! The Vampire! The Nosferatu! The Dracula!
The king of the undead, appearing in countless texts and known by every name.
That cursed, yet endlessly beautiful monster, slowly emerged from within the light.
"Kh, khuhuhuhuhu..."
Mirabelle laughed.
She looked at her reborn self, her lips twisting in ecstasy.
"Heheheh, hahahahaha..."
Voldemort laughed.
He stroked his own body with his pale fingers, a triumphant smirk twisting his lips.
"FUHAHAHAHAHA...!"
As a test, what would happen if she released her magic?
That alone was enough to stir a golden whirlwind that violently shook the room.
Right now, she felt she could not lose to any opponent.
This Mirabelle had, in this moment, surpassed every living creature by an overwhelming margin!
"HAHAHAH!"
He raised his wand and pointed it at Wormtail.
Unable to even resist, Wormtail was slammed against a tombstone and rolled pathetically on the ground.
This was it, this magical power. Now, he had nothing to fear.
This Voldemort had now completely reclaimed the full might of his former power, surpassing all other beings!
"HAAAHAHAH!! AHAHAHAHA!!"
Mirabelle laughed. Voldemort laughed.
Was this mere coincidence, or a cruel twist of fate?
The newly born golden tyrant and the former Dark Lord who had reclaimed his power.
A new evil and an old evil.
At the very same moment, in lands far apart, both of them let out a roar of triumphant laughter.
***
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