Champions

Anti-Climax

Harry's nerves snapped taught when his hand seized up on the trophy's handle, his other locked around the shaft of his broom. He clearly felt the hook that yanked him away from the center of the maze. Every instinct he had was screaming at him that this was wrong.

I knew it was too easy, he mentally groused.

As the trip continued past the first second or two, he knew they weren't simply being transported to the judges. Wherever they were going, it was likely to be the point of the whole exercise. From the moment his name had been entered, there had been a purpose — and now they were going to learn what it was.

Possibly to their great cost.

All he could do right now, though, was mentally tally the situation. He could feel his wife bumping against him on one side, and could see Viktor and Cedric directly across, also carrying their brooms. This was a small comfort: whatever was happening, it was likely that whoever was on the other end only expected one person, not four.

A few moments later they all hit the ground and went sprawling.

"What the hell?" groused Cedric.

Harry, however, wasn't listening. While he was helping Fleur to her feet, he was otherwise busy taking in their surroundings — and what he saw was far from promising. They were in a graveyard, likely miles and miles away from Hogwarts.

A mouldering old mansion was visible atop a hill in the distance, and an old church off to one side, but other than that, there was nothing but trees and grave markers as far as the eye could see. Well, that and an ominous fog clinging to the ground, like something out of a Muggle Halloween special.

"This is not part of the tournament," noted Viktor.

"Non," agreed Fleur quietly. And then, showing that they were totally on the same page, she added, "Whatever zis is, it must be why 'arry was entered."

"I agree," Harry said. "I don't see anyone else around, though."

"They probably didn't expect us to be this fast," noted Cedric. "Let's get out of sight until we figure out what to do."

There was no need for any further prompting. Cedric quickly took the lead, drawing them over to and then behind a sizable mausoleum. Harry could tell that he had thought of entering the structure but decided against it.

It didn't matter, though; what mattered was what was written on a headstone that Harry spotted in the distance. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. It spelled Trouble, with a capital T.

"'Arry?" prompted Fleur, finally dragging him — almost forcibly — back behind the mausoleum with the rest of them. "What ees eet?" she asked nervously.

"I know where we are," he said faintly.

"Where?" asked Cedric.

Harry turned to look Fleur in the eye, since she was the only one present likely to understand the full implications. "That house on the hill?" he quietly gestured. "It's probably the Riddle estate."

The other two Champions were baffled, but Fleur's eyes widened, and her grip on him tightened. "You are certain?" she asked.

"That's what one of the gravestones said. I doubt it's a coincidence."

Fleur let go and started cursing in French so fluently that Harry fancied he could almost literally see the air turning blue.

"Whoa, slow down," put in Cedric. "Want to share with the class? What is the– the Riddle estate, you said?"

Harry shook himself out of his daze, resigned to explaining things. He had no idea how long they would be alone, however, so he needed to be quick about it. There was no time to be gentle.