'When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments... but we will give you time... you must get to the portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts... do you understand, Harry?
'yes, 'harry gasped:fighting mow th keep a hold on his wand, which was slipping and sliding bebeath his fingers.
'Harry...' whispered the figure of Cedric, 'take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents...'
'I will,' said Harry, his face screwed up with the effort of holding the wand.
'Do it now.' whispered his father's voice. 'Be ready to run... do it now...'
'NOW!' harry yelled: he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway - he pulled his wand upwards with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke: the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died - but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear - they were closing in upon Voldemort, shieding Harry from his Gaze -

The villagers of Little Hangleton still calles it 'the Riddle House', even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreadingunchecked over its face. once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was damp, derelict and unoccupied

'No good sittin' worryin' abou' it,' he said. 'What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did. Harry.' Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry. 'Yeh, did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that.' - p 623

And now another head was emerging from the tip of the Voldemort's wand ... and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be ... he knew, as though he had expected it form the moment when Cedric had appeared from the wand ... knew, because the man appearing was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight ...The smoky shadow of a tall man with untidy hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at him ... and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his father.
- p 579

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly. There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bgman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frownting slightly. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, open-mouthed.

'I didn`t put my name in.' Harry said blankly. 'You know I didn`t' Both of them stared just as blankly back. At the top table, Professor Dumbleedore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

'Harry Potter!' he called again. 'Harry! Up here, if you please!'

Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on and his bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window. Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He turned on the lamp beside him, scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened his wardrobe, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A skinny boy of fourteen looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging. Harry tried to recall what he had been dreaming about before he had awoken. It had seemed so real.... There had been two people he knew and one he didn't.... He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember.... The dim picture of a darkened room came to him.... There had been a snake on a hearth rug...a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail...and a cold, high voice...the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought.... He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible.... All Harry knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it, he had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken him...or had that been the pain in his scar?

...And now anther head was emerging from the tip of Voldemort's wand ... and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be ... he knew, as though he had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appearing was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight ...

The smoky shadow of a tall man with untidy hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at him ... and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his father.

'Your mother's coming ...' he said quietly. 'She wants to see you ... it will be all right ... hold on ...'

And she came ... first her head, then her body ... a young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like her husband. She walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and she spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear ...

...And now anther head was emerging from the tip of Voldemort's wand ... and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be ... he knew, as though he had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appearing was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight ...

The smoky shadow of a tall man with untidy hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at him ... and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his father.

'Your mother's coming ...' he said quietly. 'She wants to see you ... it will be all right ... hold on ...'

And she came ... first her head, then her body ... a young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like her husband. She walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and she spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear ...