Harry lowered his head, staring at the crimson rose in his hand. The tip of its stem gleamed sharp as an arrowhead.
…Got it. Leave the rest to me, Cedric!
Harry emptied his mind, tightened his grip on the "Rose Arrow," and felt the thorns bite into his palm.
Cedric flashed a reckless grin. He hefted his greatsword once more and bellowed at the towering stone statue, "Your fight is with me, you mad Queen of Hearts who rules this cursed garden!"
"AHHHHH!!!"
The statue shrieked. One massive arm rose, palm open wide. Crack. Crack. Fragments of shattered stone whirled together in her hand, condensing at last into a scepter crowned with a blood-red heart.
CLANG!
The scepter slammed down like the declaration of a tyrant. The ground buckled and roared.
"Urgh!"
Cedric staggered but held his footing. Then he saw them—black thorns erupting from every fissure in the earth, snaking around his ankles with terrifying speed.
Shhhk—shhhk.
A heartbeat later, something scraped out of the shadows beside the Queen, cold and metallic.
Cedric's breath caught.
Thank Merlin, Ethan was still technically human.
What stepped into the torchlight was not another knight in obsidian armor, but rank upon rank of Heart Playing Card Soldiers—flat, painted, yet lethally solid—marching in perfect lockstep, spears and axes and halberds glinting.
"…Phew." Cedric exhaled. Foot soldiers. He could work with foot soldiers. If a second Black or White Knight had shown up right now, he'd seriously have to question just how deep the Vincent family rabbit hole went—and whether it ended somewhere in the Mariana Trench.
"What do we do?!" Harry's mind reeled as the card army advanced. Getting close to the Queen had just become ten times harder.
"Leave it to me, Harry." Cedric's voice was low, steady. He sucked in a lungful of air, raised the hilt of his greatsword high, and poured every last drop of magic he had left into the blade.
The sword answered with a blinding flare, swelling until it looked more like a pillar of molten light than steel.
"This is everything I've got—!!!"
With a roar that cracked the air itself, Cedric brought the sword down.
BOOM—!
A wall of pure force tore through the center of the card soldiers, scattering them like autumn leaves in a hurricane. A straight, perfect corridor opened all the way to the Queen of Hearts.
"Guh—!" Cedric dropped to his knees, the greatsword dissolving into sparks. His chest heaved. "Go, Harry—NOW!!!"
Harry's eyes blazed.
Even though he could throw off the Imperius Curse these days, something about that shout hijacked his legs entirely. He sprinted.
CLANG!
A card-soldier's axe skimmed his heel. He didn't look back. He stumbled, vaulted onto the Queen's outstretched arm, scrambled upward like a madman, and finally launched himself at her chest.
He landed hard against the sunken stone heart wreathed in black mist.
Right there. The core.
Harry raised the rose high, stem pointed down, ready to drive it home.
One stab and the curse would break. The task would end. They would win—
His arm froze.
Because suddenly a question he had no business asking slammed into him like a Bludger:
Is this breaking the curse… or breaking the person who was cursed?
Thump. Thump.
It was stone. It was a monster Ethan had sculpted from rock and nightmare. And yet Harry swore he could hear a real heartbeat—frantic, alive, terrified.
Two seconds of hesitation.
RUMBLE.
The statue shuddered. A granite hand seized the back of his robes and flung him like a rag doll.
"Ow—!"
He hit the ground hard, rolled, and looked up in horror.
The rose—their only weapon—lay on the dirt directly in front of the Queen.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Card soldiers surged forward in perfect overlapping ranks, blotting out Harry's line of sight entirely.
It's over.
The words tasted like ash.
He glanced at Cedric—pale, kneeling, spent like a warrior's gravestone. He thought of Fred, somewhere out there nursing a halberd-shaped bruise.
Harry punched the ground, teeth bared. "Damn it!"
My friends bled for that one opening, and I threw it away.
He could already imagine the sneers from the stands, the disappointment on every face watching through the water screens.
Is this what Ethan wanted to teach us? That we should kill without hesitation? That mercy is weakness?
Harry hung his head, drowning in self-loathing.
Then… nothing happened.
No spears prodded him. No axes fell.
Confused, he looked up.
The Queen of Hearts—towering, terrible, unstoppable moments ago—had bent down.
With two careful stone fingers, she picked up the fallen rose.
Something flickered in those blank grey eyes. Something almost… human.
"You… chose not to kill me."
The voice that came out was no longer a shriek of stone on stone. It was young. Female. Shaken.
Black tears carved rivers down her petrified cheeks.
She looked down at Harry—really looked at him—and asked softly, "Why? I am the source of the curse. Why spare me?"
Harry swallowed. His heart hammered against his ribs.
He half-expected her to laugh, to smash him flat the moment he answered honestly. Classic Ethan move.
But he stood anyway.
"Because that wouldn't be breaking the curse," he said, voice shaking but growing stronger with every word. "That would just be hurting someone who never asked for any of this."
The Queen stared.
Harry lifted his chin. "I won't hurt innocent people. Not ever."
Silence.
Then her face—stone though it was—softened.
A smile.
"…Ethan," she whispered, almost fondly, "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you this time."
She lifted the rose herself.
And with both hands, drove it deep into her own chest.
"NO!!"
Dumbledore lunged toward the water screen, hand outstretched, too late.
Black mist exploded outward in a screaming torrent, spiraling into the rose like it was drinking poison.
Then—bloom.
The rose burst open in a blaze of scarlet light that lit the entire maze like a sunrise.
A single drop of shimmering elixir fell from its petals.
It touched the Queen's grey stone skin.
Crack.
Crack-crack-crack.
Fissures raced across her body. Then the stone shell shattered, collapsing in an avalanche of rubble and dust.
When the smoke cleared, a girl lay there.
Pale, serene, breathtakingly beautiful. Oval face, long soft hair, delicate features. Still enormous, still clad in the dark crimson gown of a queen, golden scepter resting at her side.
But the aura was gentle now. Almost shy.
"…I'm… still alive?" She stared at her hands in wonder, then down at her chest.
In the cartoonish heart-shaped hollow, a perfect ruby heart pulsed— Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Alive.
Ariana Dumbledore touched it reverently.
"So no matter what… I would have been healed." Her voice cracked. "Even if he had stabbed me… the rose would have saved me anyway." She looked skyward, tears falling—this time clear as crystal. "You saw everything, didn't you, Lord Ethan? You terrifying, brilliant boy…"
The murky pond at her feet began to clear, turning mirror-bright.
The Triwizard Cup rose from its center, glowing, waiting.
Golden letters unfurled in the air like banners:
A true warrior does not wield overwhelming power— but knows when to sheathe the sword.
Congratulations, warrior of justice. Take the Cup. You have conquered all.
Harry read the words and felt his eyes burn.
It was finally over.
He wiped his face roughly, gripped his wand, and laughed—wet, shaky, proud.
He would never forget these tasks. Never forget the madman who designed them.
Outside the maze, Ludo Bagman gaped at the screen.
"…That was… genius."
He turned to share the moment, only to freeze.
Albus Dumbledore—unshakable, eternally calm Dumbledore—had tears on his cheeks.
The old headmaster stared at the face of the sister he had lost decades ago, now alive and smiling on the screen.
"I misjudged you, Mr. Vincent," he whispered hoarsely. "Your heart… reaches farther than mine ever has."
A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips.
"I believe the paperwork for my retirement can begin soon," he murmured. "Perhaps a year as Defense professor first, to ease the transition…"
Then the smile vanished.
His fingers closed around the Elder Wand.
Next, it would be Voldemort's turn.
Inside the maze, Ariana lay gracefully on her side, smiling up at Harry like an older sister proud of her little brother.
"Go on," she said softly, waving a hand. Every remaining card soldier dropped to one knee in perfect unison.
Harry flushed crimson.
He started forward—then stopped.
Turned back.
Cedric was still on the ground, too drained to stand.
Harry's grin turned huge and bright.
He jogged over, hauled Cedric up by the arm, and slung it across his own shoulders.
"Hey. No way I'm doing this without you." He dragged them both toward the pool. "We touch it together, yeah?"
Cedric's eyes shone. "Brother…!"
They limped to the water's edge, exchanged one exhilarated look, and reached out as one.
Their fingers closed around the Cup.
Snap.
In a blink, they were gone.
In the stands, Hermione frowned.
"The Cup… it's a Portkey?"
She caught sight of Professor McGonagall leaping to her feet, face pale with real alarm.
Hermione's stomach dropped like a stone.
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