Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain; he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life –
    And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back towards Voldemort.
    ‘A little break,’ said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, ‘a little pause … that hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?’
    Harry didn’t answer. He was going to die like Cedric, those pitiless red eyes were telling him so … he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it … but he wasn’t going to play along. He wasn’t going to obey Voldemort … he wasn’t going to beg …
    ‘I asked you whether you want me to do that again?’ said Voldemort softly. ‘Answer me! Imperio! ’
    And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought … ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he was floating, dreaming … just answer ‘no’ … say ‘no’ … just answer ‘no’ …
    I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won’t answer …
    Just answer ‘no’ …
    I won’t do it, I won’t say it …
    Just answer ‘no’ …
    ‘I WON’T!’
    And these words burst from Harry’s mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him – back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body – back rushed the realisation of where he was, and what he was facing …
    ‘You won’t?’ said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. ‘You won’t say “no”? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die … perhaps another little dose of pain?’
    Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort’s father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him.
    ‘We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry,’ said Voldemort’s soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. ‘You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry … come out and play, then … it will be quick … it might even be painless … I would not know … I have never died …’
    Harry crouched behind the headstone, and knew the end had come. There was no hope … no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason – he was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet … he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defence was possible …
    Before Voldemort could stick his snake-like face around the headstone, Harry had stood up … he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.
    Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted ‘Expelliarmus!’ , Voldemort cried, ‘Avada Kedavra!’
    A jet of green light issued from Voldemort’s wand just as a jet of red light blasted from Harry’s – they met in mid-air – and suddenly, Harry’s wand was vibrating as though an electric charge was surging through it; his hand had seized up around it; he couldn’t have released it if he’d wanted to – and a narrow beam of light was now connecting the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold – and Harry, following the beam with his astonished gaze, saw that Voldemort’s long white fingers, too, were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating.
    And then – nothing could have prepared Harry for this – he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They were gliding away from the tombstone of Voldemort’s father, and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves … The Death Eaters were shouting, they were asking Voldemort for instructions; they were