Dumbledore bent down, and with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin, raised Harry from the ground and set him on his feet. Harry swayed. His head was pounding. His injured leg would no longer support his weight. The crowd around them jostled, fighting to get closer, pressing darkly in on him—“What’s happened?” “What’s wrong with him?” “Diggory’s dead!”

“He’ll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge was saying loudly. “He’s ill, he’s injured—Dumbledore, Diggory’s parents, they’re here, they’re in the stands . . . ”

“I’ll take Harry, Dumbledore, I’ll take him—”

“No, I would prefer—”

“Dumbledore, Amos Diggory’s running . . . he’s coming over . . . Don’t you think you should tell him—before he sees—?”

“Harry, stay here—”

Girls were screaming, sobbing hysterically . . . The scene flickered oddly before Harry’s eyes . . .

“It’s all right, son, I’ve got you . . . come on . . . hospital wing . . . ”

“Dumbledore said stay,” said Harry thickly, the pounding in his scar making him feel as though he was about to throw up; his vision was blurring worse than ever.

“You need to lie down . . . Come on now . . . ”

Someone larger and stronger than he was was half pulling, half carrying him through the frightened crowd. Harry heard people gasping, screaming, and shouting as the man supporting him pushed a path through them, taking him back to the castle. Across the lawn, past the lake and the Durmstrang ship, Harry heard nothing but the heavy breathing of the man helping him walk.

“What happened, Harry?” the man asked at last as he lifted Harry up the stone steps. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. It was Mad-Eye Moody.

“Cup was a Portkey,” said Harry as they crossed the entrance hall. “Took me and Cedric to a graveyard . . . and Voldemort was there . . . Lord Voldemort . . . ”

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Up the marble stairs . . .

“The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?”

“Killed Cedric . . . they killed Cedric . . . ”

“And then?”

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Along the corridor . . .

“Made a potion . . . got his body back . . . ”

“The Dark Lord got his body back? He’s returned?”

“And the Death Eaters came . . . and then we dueled . . . ”

“You dueled with the Dark Lord?”

“Got away . . . my wand . . . did something funny . . . I saw my mum and dad . . . they came out of his wand . . . ”

“In here, Harry . . . in here, and sit down . . . You’ll be all right now . . . drink this . . . ”

Harry heard a key scrape in a lock and felt a cup being pushed into his hands.

“Drink it . . . you’ll feel better . . . come on, now, Harry, I need to know exactly what happened . . . ”

Moody helped tip the stuff down Harry’s throat; he coughed, a peppery taste burning his throat. Moody’s office came into sharper focus, and so did Moody himself . . . He looked as white as Fudge had looked, and both eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon Harry’s face.

“Voldemort’s back, Harry? You’re sure he’s back? How did he do it?”