Illusions
A/N: All characters, places, and other background depicted in this story remain the sole property of J.K. Rowling and her estate. The events depicted herein are my own creation, but I claim no ownership any over other part thereof.
The Riddle mansion was dark and silent, exerting its authority imperceptibly but unequivocally over the otherwise unremarkable town of Little Hangleton. It had lain disused for many years, falling slowly into disrepair under the despairing eye of the elderly grounds-keeper Frank Bryce; since his death almost a year ago the gardens had become a jungle of weeds that enveloped the house as if threatening to reach up and tear it down. No one, even the most superstitious residents of Little Hangleton, would have looked at that dank and disused house, would have ever guessed that the Riddle's long lost son had made it his home.
Tom Riddle, the heir to this once-stately manor, was dead. Only a shattered shadow of his mind remained; his frail body long since lost. Standing in his place was Lord Voldemort.
It had been many years since he had last been able to stand on his own two feet, since he had been unjustly torn from power and life. The chair by the fireplace that had been his prison was now, finally, a retreat, not a restraint. But as a result of his past impairment, he now made full use of his newly-restored limbs, pacing back and forth in front of a large bay window on the opposite side of the house to Little Hangleton. It looked out to the dark moors and fields across the graveyard where he had been resurrected, pheonix-like, from the ashes of his former self.
It was an utterly disconsolate landscape; dreary by the overcast light of day, and nigh-on unsullied by the harsh lights of muggle settlement at night. But now something was different; something was out of place. Lord Voldemort paused his contemplative walk, and gazed out at the deepening dusk.
"What is it, my lord?"
The incessantly snivelling voice of his faithfully servile vassal, Wormtail. A vile creature, but an unfortunately common one; loyal not out of intelligence or honour, but fear and thirst for a sip of reflected power. Voldemort ignored him.
He could see now what had caught his eye. A small white shape was soaring towards the Riddle mansion, distinguishable only in the last few rays of feeble sun against the murky black clouds. It was unmistakeably an owl, but there he well knew that there were no other wizarding families in the vicinity. It could not be bound for him; the very few who knew where he resided had other means of contacting him. Without doubt, it was just flying over on its way to an unknown destination, although it was unusual for a post owl to be flying so low.
Voldemort had dismissed the owl, and almost begun pacing again, when the owl made a sharp turn and started to descend. Its destination was undoubtedly the Riddle house, a fact which made Voldemort's bone-white brow furrow in curiousity.
"My lord, who would be sending you an owl? Who else know that you are here?" And they would have to know. One of Voldemort's first spells upon regaining his power had been to place an Untraceable charm on both Wormtail and himself. No owl, or any other magical animal or item, could find him without prior knowledge of his location.
Before he could arrive at a conclusion, the owl was nearly at the window. It was a screech owl, serene and stately, carrying a thick roll of parchment bearing the unmistakeable wax seal of the Ministry of Magic. Wormtail started to blather questions, but Voldemort cut him off.
"Bring me that scroll."
Wormtail hastened to comply.
Far away, hidden deep within the stone walls of Hogwarts, protected from outside harm by more charms and enchantments than almost any other building in the world, Harry Potter was in blinding pain. He pressed both hands to his forehead, as if he was trying to rip his blazing scar out. Wave after wave of searing agony crashed through him for a few infinitely protracted seconds. And through it all, an undercurrent of … joy? After the torment slowly subsided, Harry blinked his eyes blearily, trying to get them to focus again. His glasses were thrust into his hand, and the austere stone of the hospital swam slowly back into coherence. The hospital wing, and the shocked faces of Ron and Hermione. Ron was trying to make sure Harry could see properly again; Hermione just looked terrified.
It had only been a few days since the events of the third task, and Harry facing Voldemort in the accursed graveyard. Harry was still confined to the hospital wing, but at least he had Ron and Hermione to keep him company.
"Your scar again mate?" Ron said glumly.
Harry could only nod; his eyes may be working again, but his mind was still frozen in pain and shock.
"But Harry, I've never seen it that bad! Has it ever been like that before?" Hermione asked, concerned.
Harry took a deep breath, and forced himself to think straight again.
"It was Voldemort." Ron and Hermione exchanged a nervous look. "I've never felt it like that before though. Not that … clear." Harry said slowly, trying to analyse his ordeal.
"That's probably because he's back to full power now," Ron said enthusiastically.
"Or maybe your bond was strengthened because of what happened to your wands," Hermione suggested, frowning reproachfully at Ron.
"Maybe," Harry said slowly, considering. "All I know is that I could almost feel him inside my head. It was like... we were almost the same person for a second." Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. "But here's the strangest part. It didn't feel like he was angry. It felt like he was … happy."
"Happy?!" Ron exclaimed, incredulous.
"No, not happy," Harry corrected himself. "More than happy. Like, ecstatic."
Hermione and Ron looked at Harry sceptically, and Harry suddenly realised what it must sound like to them.
"Now listen..." he began, but Ron interrupted.
"Blimey mate," he said, in an awed voice. "You've gone bonkers."
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, before Harry could reply. She turned to Harry, business-like. "How do you feel?"
Harry shook his head. "Like I've been fed to a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Twice."
"Right then. Lie back Harry. I've been waiting for an excuse to try out this charm for ages." Hermoine bossed, rolling up her sleeves and drawing her wand. Harry eyed her cautiously, but did as he was told.
"Levamentius!" she cried, giving her wand a curious flick. In an instant, Harry felt as if he'd been filled with thousands of lovely warm bubbles, that were trying to lift him to the ceiling. It was a wonderful and oddly familiar floating sensation that immediately wiped all the troubles and concerns from Harry's mind.
Hermione kept her wand pointed at Harry for at least ten seconds, for which the whole time he felt that incredible joyous relaxation. When she finally stopped the spell, Harry sagged back to the bed, a goofy smile on his face.
"How do you feel, Harry?" Hermione asked.
Harry didn't answer, just grinned wider.
"He'll be fine in just a minute," Hermione explained to Ron, who was looking at her as if she'd just finished Stunning Harry. "It's a variation of the Cheering Charm. NEWT level," she said proudly.
"Expelliarmus!"
Hermione's wand flew out of her hand, and across the ward. Hermione and Ron whirled around, to see Harry, face livid, pointing his wand straight at Hermione.
"What did you just try to do to me?!"Harry shouted.
Hermione's mouth just hung open, not making a sound, desperately looking at Ron for help, who was watching Harry with consternation.
"You think I wouldn't recognise an Imperius Curse when I felt it?" Harry asked aggressively. "Who are you really, under that Polyjuice Potion? Barty Crouch? Karkaroff? Another of Voldemort's minions? I ought to Stun you where you sit." Harry said vindictively, never taking his eyes off Hermione.
"And what about you?" he demanded, turning on Ron. "Are you in on this too? Is there anyone I can trust?"
Hermione, of course, recovered first. She raised her hands slowly, maintaining eye contacted with the enraged Harry.
"Harry. It's us. The real us. I didn't use an Imperius Curse, I was using a Cheering Charm to make you feel better. Please, put the wand down, and tell me what happened," Hermione said, slowly and deliberately.
"Oh yeah?" Harry scoffed. "Sure, I'll just put my wand down and let you curse me when my guard is down. If you're really Hermione, tell me something only you and I would know."
Hermione pondered this anxiously for a second.
"In our third year, when we went to rescue Sirius, he was in the thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. And when Lupin transformed into a werewolf, we hid in Hagrid's cabin with Buckbeak." Hermione recited very fast.
Harry's expression didn't change, but he swung his wand from Hermione to Ron, who flinched.
"What about you?"
"Uhh... well … umm ..." Ron stammered, as he searched for a memory. "In our second year, when we went into the Forbidden Forest, we followed the spiders from the Herbology greenhouses. And when we tried to sneak off to Myrtle's bathroom, you made up a brilliant story to McGonagall. Still the best excuse you've ever used." He said, smiling at the memory.
Harry watched them both for a minute, then slowly lowered his wand.
"Fine. I believe you. Why'd you use the Imperius curse on me then Hermione, and what what that you said? Laviamentum?" Harry said, cautiously.
"Levamentius," Hermione said promptly. "But it's not the Imperius Curse. It's just a Cheering Charm; it makes you feel relaxed and happy."
Harry frowned. "Then why does it feel exactly like that kind of blissful reverie you get under the Imperius Curse?"
Hermione and Ron both gave Harry the same puzzled look, then looked at each other for reassurance.
"Um, Harry? You don't get a blissful feeling under the Imperius Curse. You just feel normal. The Imperius Curse works by making you feel like you were going to do whatever it was anyway, not by making you feel good for following instructions." Hermione said, carefully.
Harry looked dumbstruck. "But that's what I felt like every time Moody, I mean Crouch..." He paused, and shuddered at the thought that a Death Eater had had him under the Imperius Curse. "Used it on me," he finished. "So, what, was he tricking me into thinking I was breaking out of the Imperius Curse when I actually couldn't?"
Ron shrugged. "Sounds like it to me," he said. "But I got no idea why he'd want to though. I meant, did him no good in the end, did it?"
Hermione nodded. "I can't think of any other reason that he'd do it. But then again, I can't think of any good motive for him to do it at all. I don't even know how he did it." Hermione appeared vexed that she wasn't able to decipher the answer to their conundrum.
"But it worked when Voldemort used it against me too!" Harry protested. "And it felt just the same then."
"Maybe you feel it differently?" Hermione suggested doubtfully. "Maybe we should ask Dumbledore?"
Harry considered this for a moment, then shrugged it off. "No, he's got plenty to deal with as it is. Besides, it didn't make any difference, and as long as I know about it now, no harm done, right?" he said hopefully.
"I guess..." Hermione said. But anything further that she was going to say was forgottten when Fred and George burst into the ward with a large variety of tricks and toys to try and cheer Harry up; much to Ms Pomfrey's considerable ire.
A high, cold, piercing laugh rang through the dark rooms of the Riddle mansion as Voldemort finished reading the letter. Wormtail had been desperately trying to read the note without Voldemort noticing, but all he could make out was the sender's signature; an elegant looping hand that spelled, or so Wormtail thought, 'The Borruccus', next to the Ministry's seal.
Voldemort slowly re-rolled the parchment, and slid it inside his cloak.
"Excellent," he murmured. "Far beyond even my most hopeful imaginings. When I rise to power, it shall be him and him alone at my right hand."
Wormtail felt a wave of fury wash over him. He had been the one to seek out and find the Dark Lord, he had been singularly responsible for his return to body and power. He had even given his own hand to further his master's aims. No one else, not even the dead Barty Crouch deserved to serve as Voldemort's second-in-command more than Wormtail. And now some mystery wizard had effortlessly stripped that from him. That would not stand.
"Master," simpered Wormtail. "My dear master, what was in that letter that pleased you so?"
Voldemort turned to Wormtail, surveying him with cruel amusement.
"That, my dear Peter, was a letter from the most faithful and brilliant servant that I have ever had, one who I thought was now lost to us," Voldemort said, striding past Wormtail to the chair before the fire. The owl settled high on a rotting bookcase, apparently ordered to stay until it received a reply.
"But who?" Wormtail asked, trying to hide his feverish desperation by running across the room the stoke the fire as Voldemort sat. Nagini, the Dark Lord's giant snake, slithered into the room and curled around the base of Voldemort's chair, basking in the heat from the fire. "And why is it such good news?"
Voldemort sighed, and ran one hand over Nagini's scaled flank.
"I suppose I may as well tell will have to know sooner or later." He took his hand of Nagini, and leant forward, his red slitted eyes puncturing Wormtail.
"You know well the ritual that allowed me to regain this physical form. You, indeed, orhcestrated much of it; more than I ever expected of you. But what I did not tell you, as I did not trust you enough to … No, and I still don't trust you, you snivelling coward," he spat, as Wormtail uttered a muffled exclamation.
"What I did not tell you was that although that potion restored me to my body, it stripped me of my powers." Wormtail gasped, horrified. "As I stepped out of that cauldron, I was barely more than the meanest squib. This was part of what had prevented me from attempting my resurrection sooner. But when Bartimius Crouch rejoined our ranks, I devised a solution. I sent him to Hogwarts in disguise, my devoted servant deep within my enemy's halls. You see..." he paused, and gazed into the fire, smiling cruelly as if re-living a pleasant memory.
"I never meant to kill Harry Potter. Oh, I would have liked to, but I needed him alive after I had my body back. That joining of our wands, that so shocked all you idiot Death Eaters; I was counting on that. In the year that I had to plan, I had very carefully constructed a spell the likes of which had never been seen before, or will be ever again.
"You see, I knew that Potter's wand was special. I had felt it before, three years prior. I recognised it immediately as the brother of my own, tied together with deep magic. That was rare enough, but Harry Potter and I already shared a deep magical bond, unique in all of history. When I was stripped of my powers, they were not lost entirely; Harry Potter was imbued with my magical essence. When our wands joined, I knew exactly what would happen; I had been planning it for months. What you saw Wormtail, in that graveyard below, was a link of pure magic. Magic is not meant to exist in this world in its elemental form; what we use is but constrained, controlled aspects of magic.
"No other wizards, wielding any other wands, could have done it, but together, Harry Potter and I formed a bridge of raw power. Potter, of course, knew none of this, but if that power had gone to him, I have no doubt that he would have become the most powerful wizard in history, far surpassing Dumbledore, surpassing even myself at the height of my power. But I needed the power. I drew it to me, and it filled me, imbued me. I could feel the spark of magic once again running through my veins. Yes, Harry Potter escaped, but thanks to him, his days are numbered. Thanks to Harry Potter, I regained my power."
Wormtail gasped, and gazed up at Voldemort in awe. The Dark Lord looked down at him and smiled, pleased with Wormtail's reverence.
"But, my Lord," Wormtail said. "How could you be sure that Potter would do as you needed? If anything had gone wrong you would have been bereft of power, and Potter is such a wilfully unpredictable boy."
Voldemort paused, and gaed at Wormtail, appearing – momentarily – impressed.
"You are right, Peter. It was crucial that everything go exactly as I had planned, and left to his own free will, Potter would have undoubtedly complicated matters. That is why I did not allow him free will.
"As you know, at the start of the year, I ordered one of my most faithful servants to infiltrate Hogwarts. I shared with him secrets and powers that I have discovered these past fourteen years. Dark magic that has been lost since the dawn of time, spells I would not trust to any other. But Bartimius Crouch Junior, newly returned to me, succeeded easily. And he accomplished more than I could have hoped for when he became Harry Potter's Defense against the Dark Arts teacher."
Voldemort smiled harshly, revelling in the morbid irony.
"In this role, he taught Potter about the Unforgivable Curses. Oh, how he wished he could have just killed Potter then and there, but he knew my need for the boy. He repeatedly put Harry under the Imperius curse, but Potter quickly learnt to break free. Or so he thought. In reality, Crouch was simultaneously casting a silent Cheering Charm on the boy, so he would not realise that he did not have the power to resist the Imperius Curse.
"Therefore, when I cast the Imperius Curse after my resurrection, I put Potter under a Cheering Charm as well. And when I allowed him to break free of the Cheering Charm, he remained under my control. Potter, to this day, believes that he cast Expelliarmus at me, just as he believes that I cast Avada Kedavra. Neither could be farther from the truth."
Voldemort rose impressively, towering over the cowering Wormtail.
"So it was that the bond of pure magic could be formed. And so, thanks to Bartimius Crouch, I regained my unequalled power," Voldemort said, slashing his wand through the air, conjuring a gleaming red serpent of blinding, searing flame. Nagini hissed at it as it flew once around the room, then into the fireplace where it disappeared with a bang, making Wormtail shy away.
"But alas, Bartimius Crouch, the wizard who single-handedly restored me to glory, would never receive my accolades," Voldemort said, receding once more into his chair.
"He was still trapped at Hogwarts, and did not have the chance to escape before Dumbledore, curse him, unmasked my servant, and imprisoned him. Before he had even left the grounds he had been given the Kiss by Fudge's still-loyal dementors. Or so," Voldemort said, pinning Wormtail with his gaze, "I thought."
"As I told you earlier, before I sent Crouch to infiltrate Hogwarts, I revealed to him a number of powerful spells of my own discovery. Among these was corpis furetio; the Furetius curse. It is the expression of the powers that allowed me to posses people when I lacked a true physical form of my own. Performed properly – which is incredibly difficult – it allows the caster to subjugate the mind of another wizard. It allows you to steal their body and dominate their soul. It is far more effective than a mere Polyjuice Potion; it lasts indefinitely and allows access to the memories and skills of the subject. It comes, however, with a caveat.
"Bodies are not meant to exist without a mind, and they cannot survive without one. The instant your mind leaves your body to inhabit another, your body's spirit dies, and can never be regained. That is why this curse has never been used, and why Crouch decided to forego it's use if possible.
"But once he had been captured, he no longer had a choice. At the first opportunity he performed the curse and escaped to another body, leaving the dementors to consume a shell."
Wormtail shifted uneasily. This deep magic was far beyond his ken and made him highly uncomfortable.
"But who could he curse? Surely he couldn't overpower Dumbledore? And wouldn't you have felt if it was Harry Potter?" Voldemort inclined his head, and Wormtail thought hard, trying to impress his master.
"Could it have been another student there? A teacher, maybe?" he asked, hopefully.
"No, Wormtail. Nothing so prosaic. Not that he had much choice. There was only one person present present who's mind he had the chance to steal. Bartimius Crouch, my most inspired, powerful, and faithful servant, is now known to the wizarding world as Cornelius Fudge."
A/N: Thanks for reading my story; not my first fanfic by far, but the first that I have posted online, and my first Harry Potter fanfic.
The first person (if any), to correctly guess the significance of 'The Borruccus' mentioned in the story, wins a prize! (Being a character in my next story, or similar – negotioable.)
I have a sequel/resolution in mind if there is enough interest.