Stardust

Chapter 19

Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground; his face was pressed into grass; the smell of it filled his nostrils. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Stella's body. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let go of either of them.

He just realized this whole time he didn't even check if Stella was still breathing, he just assumed she was unconscious. He put his hand on her neck and breathed in relief when he felt her weak pulls. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting... waiting for someone to do something... something to happen, and all the while, his scar burned dully on his forehead.

A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.

"Harry! Harry!" He opened his eyes. He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was crouched over him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his head reverberating with their footsteps. He had come back to the edge of the maze. He could see the stands rising above him, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above. Harry let go of the cup, but he clutched Stella to him even more tightly. He raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist, while Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus.

"He's back," Harry whispered. "He's back. Voldemort."

"What's going on? What's happened?" The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Harry; it looked white, appalled. "My God — Jones!" it whispered. "Dumbledore, she's dead!" The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them... and then others shouted it — screeched it — into the night — "She's dead!"

"She isn't!" Harry yelled, "She's alive and I am thanks to her!"

"Harry, let go of her," he heard Dumbldore's voice say, and he felt fingers trying to pry him from Stella's body, but Harry wouldn't let her go. He promised her mother he would take care of her. He needed to take care of her. He saw Fleur in the back, crying and trying to reach Stella but people wouldn't let her. She probably thought Stella was dead. Stupid Fudge! Harry thought.

Stella slowly opened her eyes and coughed, "I just saved your life and you are repaying me by trying to strangle me?" She asked and Harry pulled away, he smiled widely and hugged her. She smiled and hugged him back. Only they knew what had happened.

Then Dumbledore appeared in front of Stella, his face was still blurred and misted to her and she just gave him a thumbs-up. 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.

Fleur finally ran to Stella, relieved she was alive. She dropped to her knees and put Stella's head in her lap.

"Hi," Stella smiled upon smelling the famous mix of vanilla and cinnamon, and opened her eyes.

"You scared me," Fleur whispered while tears were dropping down her face and Stella reached forward to wipe them.

"It's okay, I'm fine," she whispered and closed her eyes again.