Chapter Text
Harry felt his stomach lurch as his feet pressed to the ground. His injured leg trembled in a way only known because of the harsh slam of the portkey.
His head raised steadily, marking the area around as something unusual.
"Where are we?" The surrounding grounds looked dead, or ready to make more dead. Harry stood as he let the Triwizard Cup fall from his hands.
It made a light ring as it dented into the muddy ground, yet the both of them didn't bother looking at it.
Cedric didn't have his grateful grin from before, in place was a shadow of silent worry etched into his face.
These weren't the same grounds they had been on before, they both doubted this was even anywhere near Hogwarts.
It demanded a heavy presence, sucking at the lift of the people who still stood in it, living and breathing. It was much different to the carefree, homey air of the castle.
The land was different, dark and full of hungry shadows ready to devour them both whole and with weeds so overgrown he was sure they could span him in height, Harry thought.
They were standing in a graveyard, clearly old enough that the death it stores corrupted it. Graveyards are never nice, never something that will hold comfort, but this is something else entirely.
The falling dawn sky held a wispy lullaby in the view of his eyes. A gradient plagued the darkening atmosphere; stars glistened faintly in the brewing nightfall. The sky darted and it flashed with its amorphous of vast colours, casting a familiar shadow onto the collection graves in lights way.
There was a small church sitting still in the distance, hidden behind the dead trees that had long since lost their leaves.
Cedric tossed a glance at the Triwizard Cup, a silent fit of untrust twirling and weaving through his emotions.
"Did anyone tell you, the Cup was a Portkey?" Cedric asked, a pause on the accusation.
"No." Harry didn't look back at the cup like how Cedric did. His gaze was held high as if lowering it would make him blind to an attack he can't sense.
The surroundings was so silent that the silence was loud, like a ring playing a lullaby in his head. There was no chatter of birds or any wildlife, nor was there the cheer of students he had expected to hear. "Was there something else to the task?"
"Wouldn't know," shot back Cedric. He was weary, holding an expression like if a master of the art of controlling their emotions had suddenly lost it.
"Do you reckon we should have wands out?"
"Yeah." Harry said, though his hands were already clasped around it. They had been ever since they had dropped into this place.
Cedric pulled out his wand. He felt better knowing there was someone else with him. He was always alone in times like this.
Harry kept looking around wearily, the hair at the back of his neck pricking up at the feeling of being watched. He gripped his wand tighter than before.
"Someone is coming," Harry spoke suddenly, he felt like an injured animal, maybe a dog ready to attack at the next sentient thing that came close.
His eyes had not yet adjusted the the darkness, he only knew that there was a figure approaching nearer, not who they were or what their intentions were.
They walked steadily, weaving through the graves steadily. Harry couldn't make out a face, not now at least, only that it was holding something through the way they held their figure.
Whoever it was, they were short, a stub that reached maybe a bit taller than Harry's own height. Harry was never tall, he never got the chance to grow like the others.
They were wearing an obscure hooded cloak to hide their face.
The figure stopped several paces near, holding a gap of three sets of stones. Harry saw that the thing held so importantly in its arms were a fetus, or something akin to a shrewd baby, a mandrake. It's expression looked as if it were going to be gutted, attempting to mutter but failing to vocalize it.
Harry, confused and mind slightly disorientated lowered his wand if but a little. He shot a wonderous glance toward Cedric who looked just confused as he was.
They both looked at each other for a minute before in sync, forcing their eyes back to the disorientating baby.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" Cedric asked, voice rising higher with distrust. They did not reply.
Just before Harry could muster a reply, demanding it from them, his scar exploded with a pain known only to the victims of a crucio. It burnt like a snake which was on fire, bit onto him and slid into the wound.
It was an agony that he couldn't even think to describe, a pain that draws into muteness and forces an eerie silence.
His wand, which dropped from before, slipped from his fingers into the mud when he suffered to bring his hand to his face.
Harry's hand flew so fast that he was sure that if the didn't drop his wand, it would be in his eye. He scratched into his face, the pain else were was little of a relief to the damaging ruins of his scar.
His injured leg was forgotten making it easy to drop back into the mud as his knees buckled into each other. He felt nothing at all, but that nothing was absolutely everything. It was the ringing in the back of his head, it was the pain of loss, and it was the bitter resentment of those around him.
Faintly from above, he could barley think to hear the cold voice mutter, "Kill the spare."
It was the green of his mothers eyes. Perhaps she was looking down on him, or maybe she was bringing him to her. It surely felt like he was dying, a hole in his head. Maybe he was dead already.
The curse flew before he even had to scream the words, "Avada Kedavra!"
The green light that light up the night was quicker than his own spells. The blast of green hummed like a tune through his eyes. It recoiled like how one would after a 3 hour roller coaster.
That was then he heard the thump beside him. The boy was dead before the body hit the floor.
Harry was utterly horrified. He knew what came after that curse, he knew who it impacted as he himself had been one of the most affected victims to it.
It's pain had heightened to such lengths that he retched, peeling the lost parts of heart from his throat.
The pain in his scar had diminished by little after that, making it bearable enough to open his eyes, yet he was horrified. Horrified of what he would see, what he would find.
Hesitantly, he opened his stinging eyes with a head so heavy of thought, it may have weighed him down.
Cedric was laying with a face so blank and horrified that he looked like he was living a nightmare. He was spread in a position so uncomfy that when he didn't react, Harry knew.
Cedric was dead.
Cedric was dead and his last action was reaching out to Harry to check he wasn't going to be left along.
Oh how he could have known that Cedric wasn't going to be left alone, Harry was.
His face was blank in places they shouldn't be. It was a face full of emotion, yet the sparkle in his eyes, blank, the glint of a giddy smile? Blank.
For what felt like an eternity of emotion which had only lasted a few seconds, Harry had gotten used to the face.
Not gotten used to. He would never be used to it, he would never accept it, only the image was imprinted like re-opened scars in his mind.
Before Harry could reach out to anything, Cedric, his own motions or his wand, he was brought to his feet. He was pulled back and dragged towards the marble headstone.
Harry saw the name upon the grave flicker in the light as the figure light up their wand with a lumos.
He saw it for the slight second he was given before he was grabbed and forced to turn around.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked (man, he assumed), had now conjured cords that travelled up his body to tie him down to the stone at his knees, ankles and neck. He struggled with little effort, he knew he wouldn't be able to get it no matter when he faced it.
Harry could hear his own shallow breathing, ragged and hoarse from the screams as his head ached, or Cedrics fall, either one.
He tossed away from the cords in a pathetic attempt of making their job harder. It hit him like walking out into a winter wonderland after being in the hottest desert, in an instant. The man before him, his head cried as he came close, he was missing a pinkie finger on his hand, and he was holding the boy like he was listening to commands. No emotion about it whatsoever.
This was Worm tail. Peter. Peter Pettigrew. Harry barked a yell, a scream almost even though his throat back in protest.
"You!" He rasply gasped.
Though peter did not reply, he was occupied with tying the ropes tight enough that Harry couldn't move an inch. He was busy enough checking the tightness of the cords while juggling the fetus in his arms, he didn't need to reply to the petty remarks of the teen trapped right before him.
Harry was bound tight enough that he couldn't even move an inch, better, kick the cowardly man.
Pettigrew drew a length rotten piece of fabric from his robes, shoving it back into Harry's mouth as a gag. Better keep him silent before they continued. He took a sharp step back before swiftly turning away back to the rest of the grounds.
Harry couldn't speak or move, not even turn his head to see where Worm tail had gone, or where he had hidden behind the headstones, only sit their bound. He could barely see what was in front of him and what he had seen was blurry, Harry couldn't be sure whether he still had his glasses on or if his eyes were leaking.
Cedric was lying a few feet away, eyes dim and unseeing. He would never see again, it seemed.
Beyond him, the light glint of the corners of the Triwizard Cup caught his eyes. His face caught the expression of a scowl, he couldn't bare to think about it.
That was what brought them here and had Cedric not grabbed it, he wouldn't have been in this situation.
Had Harry not told him to, Cedric would have been okay. Cedric would have been just fine.
It was his fault Cedric was dead.
It was his fault that Cedric wouldn't be returning to his family tonight.
Harry's wand lay at the ground in between the area of Cedric's body and the cup.
The bundle of cloth that Worm tail had been carried was discarded at the foot of a grave another few feet away. It made sounds comparable to the ones found in the Forbidden forest, uncanny and eerie.
As it seemed to stir, Harry's scar light up with a pain known only the same as when he'd set aflame to Quirrel's face.
Harry watched it silently, the pain came in clashing waves that knocked him over yet again, he didn't want to know what was there in those robes.
He had no wish to see it at all.
Harry could hear the noises at his feet, those of a snake that was passing through the muddy rounds of grass. It was longer than Harry himself, it made him shiver at the thought of what it was doing there and what it ate. Its scales rubbed against his leg as it passed the stones where he was tied.
Worm tail's fast, crooked breathing drew louder as he came into sight again. It echoed among the grounds as the pulling against the ground was magnified as he dragged something through.
Something big. Harry could see it as it splayed across his limited vision, it was a stone cauldron able to envelope Harry's whole body if he were to climb into it
It was larger than any cauldron he had ever seen, and it carried contents high enough to reach the rim. It sloshed around and some of the liquids slipped out onto the grounds.
The thing inside of the robes turned persistently, grasping and cooing as it struggled to get free. Now, Worm tail was pointing his wand at the bottom of the cauldron to light up crackling flames that burned instantly.
The large snake who had been slithering around at his feet passed by into the darkness where it enveloped it like a family welcoming a child home.
The liquid in the cauldron heated quickly, faster than anything else that he had ever boiled. Either it was a spell or the liquid burned really quickly.
The surface over the top seemed to bubble over the sides, letting the contents spill onto the grasses beside it. The steam it let out thickened, blurring the obscuring figure of Worm tail behind the fire into distortion.
The movements beneath the darkening robes grew agitated, shooting abusing glares to the cauldron and Worm tail. It seemed to ignore Harry's existence entirely.
It spoke in a jagged, rough pitched jumble that demanded attention though it didn't have any power to back that.
"Hurry!" It demanded.
The surface of the water was alight with bright sparks, shimmering with the little light that it could reflect.
"It is ready now, Master." Worm tail assured, making sure that the gasping figure knew it.
"Now!" It demanded for what was supposed to happen soon.
Worm tail moved across the grounds, only stopping to kneel down at the fragile being. He pulled open the robes to toss them onto the ground, revealing what laid still inside them. Harry let out a gasp, though strangled by the rotten gag in his mouth.
The tiny fetus lay swaddled in layers of dark cloth; it's skin thin and deeply wrinkled. The fabric enveloped it almost completely, leaving only its fragile features visible beneath the dark light.
Shadows gathered in the folds of the cloth, contrasting with it's pale, delicate skin. It was a baby, or something like that wrapped in a face of bordering horror and sulking.
It's limbs flailed weakly, barley able to breathe on it's own without it's chest collapsing in.
The most distinct thing about the fetus was it's sharp and piercing red eyes that echoed onto the skin like a light than couldn't be dimmed.
It had slime swelling around the surface of its skin, melding and squelching as Worm tail had picked it up. It was hairless, bordering on snake like with a specific aura that reminded Harry of the snake that slid past his legs.
It had the form of a human child though it looked nothing of the sort, twitching and laying around just to prove the point. Harry had never seen anything that looked less like a child.
It was helpless, it looked like it couldn't think on its own without ceasing, much less actually function as a child. It clung off Worm tail's neck as it was transported away from the graves and back to the cauldron.
Harry could see the bright lights of the cauldron peering onto their skin as Worm tail dropped the creature into it.
For a moment, Harry thought it had simply died. That it had been to weak to actually survive the dip as there was no movement other than the small ripples that passed.
He saw the hisses in disagreement as it vanished below the surface. It hit the bottom of the cauldron with a meek thud.
Harry's only thoughts were to let it drown and with it, let the seering pain in his scar deplete. It had grown unimaginably worse. It hurt bad enough that he could not recognise the pain anymore and drew back, numb.
Worm tail spoke, fright easily heard as the tremble in his voice grew frequent. His eyes slammed shut, head turning up to the empty sky.
He spoke to it as if it were going to talk back to him.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”
The grave stuck below his feet cackled, the trickling dust from beneath it rose up and at Worm tail's command, seeped into the cauldron. The liquids change into a rainbow of colours, sparking and settling onto a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
Worm tail was looking into it, ensuring it was still going okay. He was almost whimpering now, pulling out a long shining, silver dagger that glinted in the light's reflection.
He sobbed, rather loudly scared out of his wits but knew what needed to be done.
“Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master.”
Worm tail stretched out his right hand, the one with the missing finger and gripped, rather tightly, onto the dagger in his left hand.
He swung it upward, Harry knew what he was going to do before the blood started to spurt. His eyes shot closed, though the sounds of the screams echoed in his ears.
It pierced through the silence of the separated graveyard, yowling loud into the night,
He heard something thump to the ground, closer, then he heard Peter's breathy grunt. There was a sickening splash into the potion, Harry didn't want to look, though the pull was to strong.
The potion, now a bright bloody red was staring at him from across the grounds.
Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied so tightly, too much.
He struggled hopelessly at the binds, hands scratching and bruising when he tugged at it hard enough. He didn't notice at all that the figure was in front of him until it was obscuring his vision.
“B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe.”
He could see the dagger shaking violently in Worm tail's remaining hand. The point of it, still as sharp as ever, cut at his sleeve.
The blood of Peter's once their arm dripped down onto his lap, seeping into his clothes. It was disgusting, he fought to not puke as it slipped into his skin.
Worm tail, who was still panting with agony, cut deeply into his skin to collect his blood.
He staggered back, holding Harry's blood so it did not fall off the knife and delivered it over to the cauldron.
He tipped in the few drops, tapping his finger against the knife to get it all off. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Dropping to his knees beside the cauldron, Worm tail then tumbled sideways and lay still on the ground, cradling the bleeding, clotting stump of his arm, sobbing.
He ignored the rest of the summoning, whimpering as he already knew what would happen. The potion simmered over the edges, bubbling and bursting onto the ground where the surrounding grasses died.
It swirled from a frothy white into a darkening black that had the undertones of a velvet. Its sparks ceased the moment the colours died into an eating black that never stopped at just the potion. Darkness creeped around the cemetery, the light immediately gone from the rest of the night.
The first few moments, there was nothing. Let it have drowned, Harry thought, let it have gone wrong. …
To Harry's hopes, a surge of white steam emanated from beneath the top layer of darkness, thickening and obliterating everything in the near distance. So much so to where he couldn't see anything else but the white, no Cedric or Worm tail from this position.
… It’s gone wrong, he thought … it’s drowned … please … please let it be dead…
However, the steam bellowed and quickly highlighted the form rising from the cauldron. Through the mist, he saw with a heart full of cold and a meek form of terror so impactful that it felt physical, the dark outline of a skeletally and serpentine man.
“Robe me,” demanded the cold voice directed at Worm tail. The pathetic excuse for a man gathered up what little confidence he had left to scramble and pick up the black robes from the ground. He ignored the pain shooting fireworks from his hands to get to his feet, reach up, and pull them over his master's head.
The pale man, ghastly almost, stepped out of the cauldron and onto the grounds. There was the lingering broth of death leaking out of the cauldron and following in it's footsteps.
His eyes darted over to Harry staring into his face with an unpleasant smile. The same smile that had been haunting his nightmares for the past three years.
A thin face comparable to a rotting skull, livid crimson eyes that pierced through his skin like a vice and a nose that was as flat as a snake's face. It had long slits for nostrils that breathed slowly, inhumanly so.
Lord Voldemort has risen again.
Voldemort looked away from Harry, gaze settling on his own body which had changed immensely since the last time he had a physical form.
His flesh was skinny, like he had never eaten a day in his life and didn't plan to soon. He caressed his body, spider-like fingers winding up his chest to around his shoulders and up his chin.
The hands moved up and over his head which glided smoothly as he had no hair. His eyes which had been thinking quietly, held the secrets to all of his answers, or the answers to all of his secrets had ushered over himself.
They had a glow which didn't seem to dim at all, even behind the curtain of smoke that he worse like a veil. They even seemed to glow brighter at it.
The being made no attempt to shoot a spare glance at Worm tail who was back onto the ground, cradling at the stump of his arm where a hand had once been.
The great snake which had been circling Harry's grave had not been spared a glance either, his attention was pointed to his pockets where his wand lay by its side.
He caressed it as much as himself when he took it out of the falling cloth, greeting the old friend like a cherished partner.
He raised it gently at Worm tail who was still cowering in his own mind, laying against the headstone which Harry was tied to.
Voldemort turned his velvet eyes away to Harry who had still been struggling, though not putting in nearly as much effort as before.
I am sure to die, Harry thought. He had accepted it long ago that meeting with the true Voldemort would get him killed had he tried yet again.
Worm tail's robes were now glimmering the same colour as his eyes, a deep red.
“My Lord …” he choked, “my Lord … you promised … you did promise …”
“Hold out your arm,” said Voldemort lazily.
“Oh Master … thank you, Master …” He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
“The other arm, Worm tail.”
“Master, please … please …"
Voldemort lent down, pulling out Worm tail's left are to force up the sleeves to a point where his whole forearm was seen. Harry, from where he was tied, could see the faint edges of a tattoo, something vivid red and screaming with the magic of the dark.
A skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, the same image had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup, the Dark Mark.
Voldemort examined it closely, ignoring the excess twitching and whimpering coming from the figure. His eyes were as bright as the tattoo, almost like the colour of blood.
“It is back,” he said softly, “they will all have noticed it … and now, we shall see … now we shall know …”
He pressed his long white finger to the throbbing brand on Worm tail’s arm.
The scar on Harry’s forehead seared with another sudden sharp pain again, and Worm tail let out a fresh howl. Voldemort removed his fingers from Worm tail’s mark, and Harry saw that it had turned s black as a jet, very different from the crimson.
A look of unjustified satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up his posture, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
“How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he coed, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”
After a minute or so of pacing around the gravesite, he looked down at Harry , a twisted smirk moulded onto his serpentine face.
“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” he hissed softly. “A Muggle and a fool … very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child … and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death. …"
Voldemort's head turned back in laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.
“You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. … He didn’t like magic, my father …
“He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage … but I vowed to find him … I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name … Tom Riddle. …”
Still, he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave. “Listen to me, reliving family history …” he murmured mutely, “why, I am growing quite sentimental. … But look, Harry! My true family returns. …”
The breathless surrounding was suddenly full of the bellowing flow of colourless coats. Weaving between graves, behind the dead trees, in every place a shadow was lit, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked in robes that looked like Death's. And one by one they all moved forward … slowly and cautiously like a predator attacking prey from behind. They could hardly believe their eyes, Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them.
Then, one of the Death Eaters from the front of the crowd fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his flowing black robes.
“Master … Master …” he muttered.
The Death Eaters behind him eagerly repeated it, each of them approaching the stand where Voldemort stood on their knees and kissing his robes. After every turn another backed away and stood up to form a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle’s grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the whimpering and sobbing heap that was Worm tail.
Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
“Welcome, Death Eaters,” whispered Voldemort quietly. “Thirteen years … thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. … We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”
He looked back to the surrounding beings who were obstructing it emotions of Harry even further if it were possible. “I smell guilt,” he said. “There is a stench of guilt upon the air.”
A second wave of shivers ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back from him. “I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact — such prompt appearances! — and I ask myself … why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”
No one spoke. No one moved except Worm tail, who was upon the ground, still whining over his bloodied arm. “And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. …
“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? “And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort … perhaps they now pay allegiance to another … perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"
At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred, seething at the thought of such a name. Some muttered disappointment and shook their heads in disagreement. Voldemort didn't bother with it and ignored them. “It is a disappointment to me … I confess myself disappointed. …”
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet.
“Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!” Voldemort began to cackle; Harry couldn't tell whether it was out of amusement or bewilderment. He raised his wand.
“Crucio!”
The Death Eater on the ground shrieked and screamed as he writhed, body lunching as if the mere act of breathing hurt that much. Harry was sure the sound must carry to the houses around. … Let the police come, he thought desperately … anyone … anything … Surely.
Voldemort let his wand fall to his side. The tortured, twitching Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping for air that he now wanted more than anything. “Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years … I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Worm tail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Worm tail?"
He looked down at Worm tail, who continued to sob without another thought for those around him. “You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Worm tail. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” pleaded Worm tail, “please, Master … please …”
“Yet you helped return me to my body,” said Voldemort coolly, watching Worm tail sob on the ground.
“Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me … and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers. …”
Voldemort raised his wand again and it danced into a complex movement through the air. A glinting streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the air flowing beyond where the dance had just stepped from.
Momentarily shapeless, it shivered and writhed like one would after taking a Polyjuice potion before then taking a form of the gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as the potion he had stepped out of just a few minutes before.
It flowed in a river down in the air towards Worm tail before wrapping itself around the stump where his hand had once been before burning to it and attaching itself. Worm tail’s sobbing stopped abruptly, the pain had gone down immediately though there were little blisters and burns from where the steam had just erupted.
His ragged breathing, though heavy and harsh had turned down a notch into something you wouldn't hear unless you wanted to. He raised his head and stared in disbelief at the movable silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove that shone with every light that hit it. He flexed the glinting fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.
“My Lord,” he whispered. “Master … it is beautiful … thank you … thank you. …” He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes.
“May your loyalty never waver again, Worm tail,” said Voldemort.
“No, my Lord … never, my Lord …"
Worm tail stood up high and mighty before taking his place in the gaps of the circle, staring at nowhere but his powerful new hand, his face still shining with new tears that now weren't full of anguish. Voldemort now approached the man on Worm tail’s right.
“Lucius, my slippery friend,” he whispered, halting before him. “I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius. … Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay … but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?”
“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,” came Lucius Malfoy’s sharp voice from beneath the mask. “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me —”
“And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?” said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. “Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. … You have disappointed me. … I expect more faithful service in the future.”
“Of course, my Lord, of course. … You are merciful, thank you. …” Voldemort moved on passing through the small army of people, and abruptly stopped, staring at the empty space. It was large enough for two people and separated Malfoy from the next man.
“The Lestranges should stand here,” muttered Voldemort quietly. “But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. … When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honoured beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us … they are our natural allies … we will recall the banished giants … I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear. …"
He walked on, some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence without a word, but he paused his pacing before some of the others and spoke to them. “Macnair … destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Worm tail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide. …”
“Thank you, Master … thank you,” whispered Macnair who straightened up when Voldemort came near.
“And here” Voldemort moved on to the two of the largest hooded figures “here we have Crabbe … you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?” They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.
“Yes, Master …” “We will, Master. …”
“The same goes for you, Nott,” said Voldemort's voice echoed quietly as he walked past the stooped figure in Mr. Goyle’s large shadow.
“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful —”
“That will do,” said Voldemort. He had reached the largest gap of all, one larger than the two-person spaced gap. He stood surveying it with a blank, vacant expression, as though he could see people standing there. “And here we have six missing Death Eaters … three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return … he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever … he will be killed, of course … and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service.”
The Death Eaters stirred, looking around, and Harry saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks as if knowing who that was but no wish to believe the same. “He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight…"
“Yes,” said Voldemort, a manic grin settling onto his lipless mouth as the gaze of the circle directed in Harry’s area. “Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour.”
There was a loud silence, a pin could drop and though there was nothing going on, it would never be heard as everyone mind was focused to the boy tied to the headstone. Then, the Death Eater to the right of a newly cleansed Worm tail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy’s stern voice spoke from under the mask.
“Master, we crave to know … we beg you to tell us … how you have achieved this … this miracle … how you managed to return to us. …”
“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius,” said Voldemort. “And it begins, and ends with my young friend here.”
He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle. “You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?” Voldemort coed softly, his crimson red eyes drowning upon Harry like blood. His scar began to ache so fiercely that it was like a fire set to burn away at his mind and his memories.
“You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him — and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. … I could not touch the boy.”
Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry’s cheek. “His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. … This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it … but no matter. I can touch him now.”
Harry felt the cold prick of the spider-like finger in closer and eventually touch him, he thought his head would burst with pain. The heat creped up his neck like skin splitting among veins of molten lava. Maybe it actually was.
His screams echoed through out the site like a sole singer humming to a silent audience that refuses to cooperate.
Voldemort cackled softly in his ear at the pain, then took the finger away and continued to address the Death Eaters.
As if he knew at all what this was like Harry thought no, he wouldn't.
“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah … pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost … but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal, to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked … for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself … for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand. …
“I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist. … I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited. … Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me … one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body … but I waited in vain. …”
The shiver circled around once more around the amount of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort stood tall, letting the almost unbearable silence spiral sickenly before continuing his speech.
“Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals — snakes, of course, being my preference — but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic … and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long. …
“Then … four years ago … the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard — young, foolish, and gullible — wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of … for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school … he was easy to bend to my will … he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted … thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter. …”
Harry inwardly grimaced at the speech, sceptical. His glare wasn't replied to as he still, couldn't move a muscle and all of the attention had, yet again, been directed to Voldemort.
Silence peered over the surroundings once again. Nothing was stirring, not even the dying leaves of the tree laying over the graveyard. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glittering eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort, and upon Harry.
“The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been,” Voldemort continued his talking, no focus on any other currently.
“I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers.
"… Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour … I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess … and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me. …"
One or two of the masked wizards in the circle twitched with most discomfort, though it went unregarded.
“And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last … a servant returned to me. Worm tail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to return to his master.
He sought me in the country where it had long been rumoured I was hiding … helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Worm tail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Worm tail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them.
“But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Worm tail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food … and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic.
“Now see the way that fate favours Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Worm tail, and of my last hope for regeneration. But Worm tail — displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him — convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her … he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams … for — with a little persuasion — she became a veritable mine of information.
“She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things … but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her.”
Voldemort smiled his terrible, crooked smile, his crimson eyes as endless as the stars beyond the sky.
“Worm tail’s body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Worm tail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth … a spell or two of my own invention … a little help from my dear Nagini,”
Voldemort’s crimson eyes fell upon the snake that drowned in the attention like a predator stalking its prey. Though somehow, there was no manic intention for the familiar, “a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided … I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.
“There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer’s Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower … I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength.
“I knew that to achieve this, it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight, I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Worm tail? Flesh given by a servant. …
“My father’s bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe … Worm tail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me … as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter’s blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago … for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too. …
“But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy’s future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy’s protection as long as he is in his relations’ care. Not even I can touch him there. … Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup. … I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him?
“Why … by using Bertha Jorkins’s information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament, that he touched the Triwizard Cup first, the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore’s help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is … the boy you all believed had been my downfall. …"
Voldemort stepped slowly toward the headstone to face Harry. He raised his wand with an aim so straight he could almost see the target between Harry's eyes.
“Crucio!”
The red curse tore through the air like a gunshot, not even thinking about it the next second.
The pain, something beyond anything Harry had ever experienced, indescribable. It wasn't physical yet his face flayed open like the skin was shedding and being torn off. His nerves cried, worse that the moans for help that Worm tail had given. His eyes were rolling madly into the back of his head; he wanted it to end. He couldn't wait for it actually… to black out … to die … And then it was gone, though the shadow of its presence took up the largest feelings.
He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, looking up through the dying lights in his green eyes. The night was ringing with the deafening sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.
“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me,” said Voldemort.
“But I want there to be no mistake in anybody’s mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini,” he muttered lightly, and the snake slithered away through the mud to where the Death Eaters stood watching with fear of the magnificent creature.
“Now untie him, Worm tail, and give him back his wand."
Worm tail approached Harry, who struggled to scramble to find his feet, to support his own weight as he lent onto his less injured leg. Worm tail giggled at the new use at raising his new silver hand, pulling out the rotten bud of material gagging Harry, and then, with one quick swipe, cut through the tight bonds tying Harry to the gravestone.
There was the split second, maybe shorter than that, Harry might have considered running for it, but he knew he wouldn't make it far, the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled.
Worm tail paced out of the circle to the spot where Cedric’s body lay motionless and returned with Harry’s wand, which he boosted roughly into Harry’s hand without looking at him. Then Worm tail resumed his place in the circle of stalking Death Eaters.
“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?” urged Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting even through the darkness that seemed to swallow everything in the moment. At these words Harry remembered, as though from a former life, the duelling club at Hogwarts he had attended briefly two years ago. All he had learned there was the Disarming Spell, “Expelliarmus” … and what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one?
He had never learned anything that could possibly fit him for this, though he probably should have been. He knew with definite precision that he was facing the thing against which Moody had always warned … the un blockable Avada Kedavra curse. Voldemort was right, his mother was not here to die for him this time, she had already done that for him once. Why should it have to happen for him again? He had no defences, no attacks, Harry had already resigned to his doom the moment he knew what had risen from that cauldron.
“We bow to each other, Harry,” proposed Voldemort, keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry, he would have jumped back had this duel not been on his mind. “Come, the niceties must be observed. … Dumbledore would like you to show manners. … Bow to death, Harry. …”
The Death Eaters were laughing again as if this wasn't just a kid getting sent to their death. Harry wondered if they had ever thought of their own children in this situation. Definitely not.
Voldemort’s lipless mouth was smirking with glee. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him, he did not deserve an eighth of the respect … he was not going to give him that satisfaction. …
“I said, bow,” Voldemort shot, raising his wand annoyed, and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever. When he tried to fight the movement, it would sent pricks of numbness up his spine as if the actions to fight it were blocked.
“Very good,” acknowledged Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. “And now you face me, like a man … straight-backed and proud, the way your father died. …
“And now, we duel."
Voldemort raised his wand swiftly, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even think to move, he had again been hit by the Cruciatus Curse. The all consuming pain that was devouring through his skin ate like it had never been fed before. It was like being dipped in molten lava and then into the frosting black lake, making the hair on his arms raise. It was like all the hairs on his body has getting set aflame and then the remains getting plucked out one by one or all at once, he could tell. His head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life. And then it stopped.
Harry, after a moment of struggle, rolled over and scrambled to his feet. He was shaking as uncontrollably as Worm tail had done when his hand had been cut off, he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.
“A little break,” said Voldemort as if he were the most generous person in the world. “a little pause … That hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?” Harry didn’t bother with answering. He was going to die like Cedric, .he was going to die tonight and there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn’t going to play along as if he were going to be spared if he did becasue that was a false reality he didn't want to dilude himself into believing. He wasn’t going to obey Voldemort he was definitely not going to beg for it either.
“I asked you whether you want me to do that again,” demanded Voldemort roughly. “Answer me! Imperio!” Harry felt, yet again, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought. it was bliss, ignorance, not to think at all, it was as though he were floating, dreaming through something he'd wake up to peacefully. Just answer no … say no … just answer no. … I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won’t answer. … Just answer no. … I won’t do it, I won’t say it. … Just answer no.
“I WON’T!”
And these words burst from Harry’s mouth before he even thought to control them. they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him. back were the aches and the twitches 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. The soft snarking snorts in the back had died out the moment as well. “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 again, but this time Harry was ready. With the quick reflexes born from the early morning Quidditch training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground, rolling 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 fond, cold voice, drawing nearer into the distance as the Death Eaters pitched back into another catastrophe of laughs.
“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 the usual fear or reason. This wasn't just a usual situation. He was definitely not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek, he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet like mud never to be talked about again. He was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defence was possible.
Before Voldemort could stick his serpentine face around the headstone, Harry stood up and he gripped his wand tighter than he ever had, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.
Voldemort was ready, he always knew what to expect. As Harry shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Voldemort cried,
“Avada Kedavra!"
The jet of green light spouted from Voldemort’s wand just as a weaker force of crimson light blasted from Harry’s, they fused mid-air as they met and the wands, though full of power, could not have any other power over the other. His hand, which had been struggling ever since the curses, seized up around it. He wouldn't be able to release it if he had the chance to.
A sleek beam of light, carved from gold, connected the two twin wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep metallic yellow that shone even brighter than he'd seen from before.
Harry, following the beam with a clear astonished expression, saw that Voldemort’s hands, curled around his own wand, was shaking and vibrating harder than Harry was. There was nothing that could have ever prepared Harry for this, he felt his feet lift steadily from the patch of grasses on the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air with a small pace, their wands still connected by that dancing thread of glittering golden light.
They glided with pace away from the tombstone and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves he was almost sure to trip over if he went to run again. The Death Eaters were shouting; they were demanding Voldemort for instructions. They moved back around the area and were closing in, reforming the circle that had broken when they drifted off. Some of them drew their wands, the golden light which connected the distance between Harry and Voldemort splintered, though the wands remained connected and unable to tear away. A thousand more bleeding beams arced high over the two of them, keeping the duo caged in a webbed dome that was spiritual.
The walls of it, though translucent would be sure to disarm your life based on the appearance. The Death Eaters circled around the area like alarmed prey ready for the inevitable strike.
“Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked, half gasped, to the Death Eaters, Harry could see the red eyes wide with awe at the scene playing right before him, could see him fighting to break the fragile-looking thread of light still connecting their two wands. Harry held onto his wand even tighter with both hands, it it were possible. The determined golden thread remained unbroken.
“Do nothing unless I command you!” Voldemort shouted at the Death Eaters. And then an unreal and alluring song sung contagious in the air. It originated from the every thread of light that developed into the cage, vibrating louder around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound Harry recognized, though he had heard it only once before in his life, the phoenix's song.
It was the sound of hope to Harry. It played into his heart like it was woven through his emotions when he was born, it brought more hope than any other could give. Not even the relief of help even if someone else were to show up. His body was an abyss, damaged and something not even reacting to the mere thought of his actions, but his heart? His heart was in paradise.
The most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his life, it was so welcomed that Harry was sure nothing else would ever compare. He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him, humming through even bone and breath. It was the sound he connected with Dumbledore, and it was almost as though a dear friend were speaking in his ear.
"…Don’t break the connection." It hummed, beckoning him to stay.
I know, Harry thought to the melodic tune as if he could speak through every thought that popped into his mind, 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 with a significant amount of power, fighting of whatever was in front of him. Now the beam between him and Voldemort changed too, it was as if there were large beams of distorted light were sliding up and down the thread connecting the fighting wands. Harry felt his wand give another twitch under his palm as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily towards his way.
The direction of the beam’s movement was now toward him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder with barley concealed rage. As the closest vision of glare moved closer to Harry’s wand tip, the splintered wood beneath his fingers grew so hot he feared his fingers would burn under pressure.
He was sure his wand would not survive contact with it, neither himself from the force. It felt as though it was going to crumble to a beaches sand and flow away in the wind.
He concentrated every last particle of his mind upon forcing the bead back toward Voldemort, his ears rang full of phoenix song, blaring like he wouldn't be able to hear anything else any time soon. Only slowly, very slowly, the flashes quivered to a halt, and then, just as slowly, they began to move the other way, back into the way of Voldemort who looked almost fearful. Now it was Voldemort’s wand that was quivering excessively violent now.
One of the glowing strands of light was inching just a little closer from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. Harry couldn't understand why he was doing it, he didn't think he ever would, but he now concentrated more than he'd ever done in his life on forcing that ring of light right back into Voldemort’s wand. Hesitantly, and very slowly, it started to again move along the golden thread to the end of it.
After an excess moment of struggling, the shivering bead of light met the tip of Voldemort's wand.
"..Don't let it go, keep going,"
At the instant, Voldemort’s wand began to emit echoing screams of pain that spanned the entire distance from the graveyard to the manor on the hill. His pitless eyes widened a fraction as a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished, grasping for what it could before it did.
It was the ghost of the hand he had made Worm tail, lightly glinting in the light of the spell tht continued to fly across the field. There were more shouts of pain, nothing but anguish and pain that sounded like his own when he was under the cruciatus. Then, something much larger began to stretch and mould out from the stem of Voldemort’s wand tip, a great, melodic blue something, that looked as though it were made of the lightest, least visible smoke.
It was a head, almost splitting from where its neck popped out from the wand. Now, a chest and arms …
The torso of Cedric Diggory, a boy he'd never think he would see the light of in his eyes. Harry might have even released his wand from shock, had he been able to fold from the pressure of the spell. That the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thinning misty ghost of Cedric Diggory.
Was it a ghost? It separated from the temple in the end of Voldemort’s wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel that changed and mutilated when he grew closer to the end of it. The shade of Cedric stood up, looking over at the golden bridge that separated the two sides.
“Hold on, Harry,” it hummed.
Its voice was distant, as if it had been speaking from a mile away, shouting over the large range between the two of them. Harry looked up at Voldemort, his wide red eyes were just as confused as Harry's.
Very dimly, Harry heard the frightened yells of the Death Eaters, though the swallowing edges of the dome cage block out the most of it. More screams of mourning from the end of the wand, though Harry couldn't hear it.
The only thing on his mind was the empty light in Cedric's eyes. The ones that wouldn't see anymore, unlike this one.
Cedric was laying over there on the grasses, eyes peering up to the dying sky on an angle that ensured Harry he wasn't breathing, he wasn't going to ever again.
He peered up to the one that was staring down at him, he couldn't do it. Not like others can, get through tragedies of their own makings.
Harry let it happen, when the line, yet again, drifted towards his wand. Yet he let it happen, just like he does with everything else.
He let it happen, just like how he let Cedric die.
Harry fought it with little strength, the string that glinted with unconcealed triumph as it reached the other end. Voldemort looked victorious already.
The next morphed body to come out of the wand, unlike the welcoming face of Cedric, was the murderous face of Tom Riddle.
His face contorted with a sense of longing, not for Voldemort but the life he could of had. How the glance at Harry that said it all, it was his fault, made him let the cold arms of Death breathe down his neck.
Harry's gaze fell to the miserable boy, he didn't look any older than he was in the diaries memory, yet he looked as young as the same age he did when he first came to Hogwarts,
"You ruined it."
Just how many more lives can he ruin?
The wand fell to his side despite the soul of Cedric's protests. The arching of the cage had fallen and the golden curse had returned to it's overpowering green.
It his him just below his eye, the curse.
There was a scream at the back of his head, though he couldn't hear it properly as the ringing in his ears drew louder at the movement of stepping back for balance.
Harry's body curved back in a lonely fall, struggling against the cold fabric of death settled like a veil over his body.
A pure, melodic tune of Death's lullaby suppressed into his senses like a fog lifted area that never seemed to clear. The world was quiet from it's screams, it's yells for relief or the pleading of the souls begging in front of him.
He was held loosely in a cold embrace that would have usually brought the shivers, yet today was different.
His body felt heavy, like there was a pool of water on the top of him keeping his down, though at the same time, it felt as if he were light as a feather ready to floar away in the wind.
The humming continued like a flow in a river, floating through his ears and around his heart.
It didn't seem to stop until Harry's eyes fluttered. That voice…
His eyes strained briefly, struggling under the weight of the light around the two of them.
A trembling voice, almost ready to break down asked him in a tone so controlled Harry was sure they could keep composure in any situation.
"Harry?"
His hands clutched the ground beneath him, weird and translucent as if it were never there yet its presence was important enough to keep him up.
He found himself sitting up, the soft hands prodding around his scalp to tame his wild hair that never seemed to go down.
Sitting above him was the familiar angelic presence of his mother, Lily Potter. Her face was frozen in two separate expressions, one of pure anguish, the other of welcome.
"Mum?" He questioned, voice hoarse as his first attempt to speak after the screams.
For a fleeting moment, she didn't move.
"Oh.. Harry.." Her face crumpled into shedding tears that mourned over her dead son. Her hands staggered forwards, ready to continue the motion before suddenly changing her desires to pull him close.
The tears spilled over his own face, not even bothering to keep them away. "Harry.. Why didn't you listen to him? Why couldn't you…" She asked, voice thick with cracking grief that settled weird in his stomach.
He couldn't answer her. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he just didn't know what to say. Instead, he settled on something different.
"W-where are we?"
Lily’s voice cracked, barely a whisper. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"The place between life and death. We can't say for long, well, I can't.. You have to stay here for longer, without me."
Harry frowned, deeply conflicted.
"Why? I don't understand it," it was taxing, speaking like this.
"You have an audience with Death, they wish to speak to you after me, so it's best not to keep them waiting…"
"But why? I just want to stay here with you?" He paused between the questions, gathering what little control he had to speak without breaking down.
"Because you are special. Your time isn't over yet, Death told me themself." Lily knew this was going to happen, but she was never going to accept it no matter what she did.
"I can't… What do I do?" Harry hesitated to speak, but he knew Lily would answer him no matter what anyone else did wrong.
"You will listen to them and do what you must. If you need help, you will find your father." She smiled down to him, she had always wanted to be the one to help her son, no matter what the problem was.
"Dad? But how? Isn't he here with you, how do I get back to him?"
Lily hesitated for a long while, thinking about what to say.
"Harry, Baby, your biological father."