J. Rowling - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

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 realization 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 defense was possible…

Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone. Harry 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 midair—and suddenly Harry’s wand was vibrating as though an electric charge were surging through it; his hand seized up around it; he couldn’t have released it if he’d wanted to—and a narrow beam of light connected the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold. 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 glided 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 closing in, reforming the circle around Harry and Voldemort, the snake slithering at their heels, some of them drawing their wands—

The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now…

“Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connecting his wand with Harry’s; Harry held onto his wand more tightly, with both hands, and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you!” Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters.

And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air… It was coming from every thread of the light spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound Harry recognized, though he had heard it only once before in his life: phoenix song.

It was the sound of hope to Harry… the most beautiful and welcome thing he had ever heard in his life… He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him… It was the sound he connected with Dumbledore, and it was almost as though a friend were speaking in his ear…

Don’t break the connection.

I know, Harry told the music, I know I mustn’t… but no sooner had he thought it, than the thing became much harder to do. His wand began to vibrate more powerfully than ever… and now the beam between him and Voldemort changed too… it was as though large beads of light were sliding up and down the thread connecting the wands—Harry felt his wand give a shudder under his hand as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily his way… The direction of the beams movement was now toward him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder angrily…

As the closest bead of light moved nearer to Harry’s wand tip, the wood beneath his fingers grew so hot he feared it would burst into flame. The closer that bead moved, the harder Harry’s wand vibrated; he was sure his wand would not survive contact with it; it felt as though it was about to shatter under his fingers—

He concentrated every last particle of his mind upon forcing the bead back toward Voldemort, his ears full of phoenix song, his eyes furious, fixed… and slowly, very slowly, the beads quivered to a halt, and then, just as slowly, they began to move the other way… and it was Voldemort’s wand that was vibrating extra hard now… Voldemort who looked astonished, and almost fearful…

One of the beads of light was quivering, inches from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. Harry didn’t understand why he was doing it, didn’t know what it might achieve… but he now concentrated as he had never done in his life on forcing that bead of light right back into Voldemort’s wand… and slowly… very slowly… it moved along the golden thread… it trembled for a moment… and then it connected…

At once, Voldemort’s wand began to emit echoing screams of pain… then—Voldemort’s red eyes widened with shock—a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished… the ghost of the hand he had made Wormtail… more shouts of pain… and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort’s wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke… It was a head… now a chest and arms… the torso of Cedric Diggory.

If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory (was it a ghost? it looked so solid) emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort’s wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel… and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke.

“Hold on, Harry,” it said.

Its voice was distant and echoing. Harry looked at Voldemort… his wide red eyes were still shocked… he had no more expected this than Harry had… and, very dimly, Harry heard the frightened yells of the Death Eaters, prowling around the edges of the golden dome…

More screams of pain from the wand… and then something else emerged from its tip… the dense shadow of a second head, quickly followed by arms and torso… an old man Harry had seen only in a dream was now pushing himself out of the end of the wand just as Cedric had done… and his ghost, or his shadow, or whatever it was, fell next to Cedric’s, and surveyed Harry and Voldemort, and the golden web, and the connected wands, with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick…