Harry Potter:Diamond Heart.

'Point me,' he murmured very quietly so as not to agitate the thing that was still wrestling with the maze wall only a few metres behind him.

His ebony wand swirled to point down the left fork. North would take him close enough to use fiendfyre and get to the cup before anyone else.

He made it fourteen steps before he came across his next obstacle. A boggart. It turned to face him immediately, despite the fact he was both invisible and moving silently.

'Expecto Patronum,' Harry said, focusing on his happiest memory and not even waiting for the creature to change shape. His disillusionment charm and muffling spell both failed as his concentration was diverted.

A half-hearted, sluggish, silver mist poured from his wand tip onto the floor and swirled helplessly around his feet.

That's not meant to happen.

He had been expecting Prongs. His stag patronus would have made short work of the boggart turned Dementor, but his happy memory somehow seemed inadequate now, like he no longer really believed it had felt so good. Something feathered rose out of the mist at his feet, a wing tip, then it burst into nothing and Harry was left standing before the Boggart.

It was not a Dementor.

Harry stared, terrified, but fascinated, at himself. There was no difference between the two of them. Emerald eyes, messy, ebony hair and jagged scar all behind wide-framed glasses. It had captured him perfectly, even the slight emptiness he always feared he saw in his eyes. Harry might as well have been looking into a mirror. Then the other version of himself opened his mouth.

'You're nothing,' it told him calmly, without a hint of emotional inflection, as if it knew this was fact. 'You're too weak to protect the people who make you somebody, they'll die.'

'No they won't,' Harry denied, it was just trying to scare him. The boggart smiled coldly.

'They will,' it stated in such a Hermione -ish, correct manner, that Harry couldn't bring himself to argue again. 'You need to be stronger,' it took a step forwards, 'you need to be more like me.' Its eyes suddenly glowed red, the soft, hypnotic red of glowing coals and the precise hue of Voldemort's eyes.

'No,' Harry hissed in furious parseltongue. His wand came up, hungry, angry flames billowed from its tip, rippling over the boggart and down the path in front of him.

The creature never made a noise, the fiendfyre consumed it immediately. The heat from the flames was such that Harry had to step back and shield his face. The tip of his wand was glowing an eerie crimson.

I'm done with this maze. He was angry now, with the boggart, with himself for listening to it, and with the maze for proving him weaker than he hoped. The ice was spreading across his chest, cracking and creaking in fury.

The flames twisted, writhing and rising in the form of a vast serpent. The tips of the flames were still red, but the core of what Harry somehow knew was a basilisk burnt white hot, too bright to look at directly.

It lunged forwards slithering and searing through the hedges as if they were so much mist. A distant part of Harry's mind remembered that Neville would be very angry with what he was doing to the hedges, but right now he really just wanted the maze to understand that he was strong than it and that he would win.

Harry walked confidently forwards in the wake of his fiendfyre serpent, breathing in the blistering hot air and the ashes with a contented smile upon his face. There was nothing that would stop him from reaching that cup first now.

And somewhere ahead of him a girl screamed.

The serpent twisted aside from its path without instruction, the flames flaring blue as it lunged towards Fleur Delacour.

No.

Harry's wand cut the connection to the fire instantly and the snake collapsed in on itself as he had never managed before. He began to run through the floating ashes of the hedges, the ice melting from his chest in fear of what he might have done.

Fleur was sprawled out across the path, her silver hair draped over her face. Her wand was beside her hand, warm from the strength of the magic she had just been casting. Her chest was still moving slightly as she breathed, but it was lost in the faint trembling Harry knew came from being put under the Cruciatus Curse.

She is still alive.

A sickly yellow curse hissed past his face, carving into the ground him, but he paid the damage no mind. If Krum had done this then no number of dark spells were going to save him from Harry. Fleur should not be hurt, she would not, not while Harry was here.

He swirled, rising to his feet, the bone-splintering curses hissing from his wand as swiftly as he could spit the incantation and flick his wrist. Krum threw himself to one side, rolling across the path and back to his feet.

'Not me,' he yelled, desperately, 'not me.' 'Then who?' Harry demanded coldly.

'Diggory,' he gasped, and Harry's body lit up with pain.

It hurt more than Harry could imagine, more than the fiendfyre when he had lost control for the first time in the chamber, more than the basilisk venom in his second year and more than when Voldemort had touched him with Quirrell's hands.

It hurts more than anything.

Then Harry remembered the feeling of tearing his own soul, and the pain suddenly just seemed less. He could think again.

'Lacero,' he whispered.

The curse sliced a deep, crimson line along Cedric's cheekbone and the Hufflepuff faltered, shaking his head for the briefest of moments. Harry paused, recalling the madness of Barty Crouch Junior, unable to believe it was a coincidence they were acting so similarly.

'Avada Kedavra!' Diggory screamed. Harry flinched aside instinctively from the flash of green light, but, from behind him, came a quiet, yet distinct, thud. He didn't need to look back to know that Krum was dead.

This can't be Cedric.

It simply wasn't possible. Pretty-boy Diggory wasn't capable of any of this. Everyone knew he was the perfect Hufflepuff, incapable of treachery or hurting a fly. He couldn't have cast the Killing Curse if his life depended on it.

Harry came to simple decision.

Throwing himself flat, he let the triplet of stunning spells fly harmlessly overhead.

'Obliviate,' he commanded. Salazar had told him he needed to know exactly what he wanted to remove, but Lockhart, who had been so proud of skill with charm, could not have known every detail of the years he stole from the mind of others. Harry focused on the moment Bagman had first blown the whistle.

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