A/N: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and I am not her.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Dark Lord's resurrection, Harry Potter has a game-changing conversation with Albus Dumbledore. Meanwhile, Lord Voldemort quietly prepares for revolution. Post GoF AU.

This story begins in the middle of the graveyard resurrection scene of GoF, then takes a sudden turn into the realms of AU-ness. It is, essentially, a story that sprang from the concept of Lord Voldemort as a clever and genre-savvy villain who truly enjoys playing the part of the Dark Lord.

Feel free to toss me a review – I like feedback, positive or negative.

A tall pillar of black smoke rose from the cauldron, and Harry could an indistinct shape forming in the middle of it. It was twisted and unidentifiable, writhing and growing behind the screen of smoke. Slowly it began to coalesce into a recognizable form, and the obscuring cloud began to clear. As the shape became more and more human in appearance, the pain in Harry's scar increased.

The smoke was still too thick to see through clearly, and if nothing else, Harry could feel deep within his gut that he did not want to find out what was on the other side of that heavy cloud.

Peter Pettigrew knelt before the cauldron, tears rolling down his face. "My lord," he was saying softly, repeating it over and over. "My lord."

"Wormtail," said a high, cold voice, and Harry forced himself to look upward from Pettigrew's quivering figure, and into the eyes of darkness. "It seems that I have at least one loyal servant remaining."

Lord Voldemort had regained human form.

He stood naked, floating above the cauldron. Even as Harry watched, Voldemort drifted downward, and the very darkness that made the night seemed to flow to him, wrapping him in robes of something deeper than black. His eyes were red with catlike pupils, and they almost seemed to glow faintly, set against pale, translucent skin.

Pettigrew stood slowly, shakily, and offered two wands to the Dark Lord, who took them, one in each hand. Pettigrew then gestured helplessly toward his stump.

"My lord..." he said, "My lord, please..."

"You shall receive your reward, Wormtail," Voldemort said. Harry shuddered involuntarily at the words, a chill racing down his spine at the ominous promise held therein. Pettigrew seemed to have no such concerns, however, and knelt at his lord's feet, sobbing and clutching his hand to his chest and messily expressing his thanks.

"Stand," Voldemort said, sweeping the wand in his right hand grandly – Harry's wand – and Wormtail stood as though lifted by puppet strings. "You have suffered much for Lord Voldemort. Let it not be said that the Dark Lord is not generous; I release you from your suffering – Avada Kedavra!"

For the second time that night, the cemetery lit with an unearthly green flash, and Harry's ears were filled with a rushing sound as the Killing Curse streaked from Voldemort to Pettigrew. The traitor's body fell to the ground as the life was stolen from his body, his face frozen in the shock and horror of his last moment.

"The traitor betrayed," Voldemort mused. "It does have a certain symmetry to it, doesn't it?"

Voldemort turned his attention from his servant to Harry, red eyes meeting green. Harry's scar burned, and he could feel a tremendous weight, almost as though the very presence of the Dark Lord was pressing in upon him, making it difficult to breathe.

"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said, walking forward, seeming to glide over the uneven ground. He had somehow made the wands disappear, perhaps secreting them in his robes. "I thought it more appropriate that we were alone for this. Some talks are not meant for the ears of lesser men, wouldn't you agree? They are better discussed among equals."

"I'm nothing like you," Harry said, but his voice wasn't nearly as confident as he wanted it to be – and how could it, darkness itself was looking into him –

Voldemort cocked his head to the side like a curious child. "No," he said after a moment. "Perhaps not. Equals may have been the wrong term to use – we are not yet equal, you and I. One day we shall be, of course. But... not yet."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said. His eyes were squeezed shut to avoid Voldemort's terrible gaze, but even behind closed lids, twin red orbs bored into him. His scar's burning was increasing in intensity, and tears were running down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop them.

"Oh dear," said the Dark Lord after another pause. "You don't know, do you? How... unexpected." He sounded mildly surprised. "Well, I will not be the one to tell you, Mr. Potter – it would be wholly inappropriate for the villain to outright tell the hero the details of his mysterious destiny, after all – but I would suggest that when you return to Hogwarts, you ask Albus Dumbledore precisely why Lord Voldemort attempted to kill you as an infant."

Harry wondered if he'd heard wrong – had Voldemort just suggested that he would be sending him back to Hogwarts?

Harry heard a low chuckle from Voldemort. "Yes. You will be surviving this encounter," he said. "The time is not right for our conflict, the climax of our story not yet reached. As for Lord Voldemort, well... as far as the rest of the wizarding world will know, he is still dead."

"Dumbledore will believe me," Harry said, forcing his eyes open in defiance. "He'll stop you."

Voldemort smiled, bloodless lips parting to reveal a flash of sharp white teeth. "Perhaps. But the Ministry will not, Mr. Potter. All the Ministry will see is that the portkey took you to a location where Peter Pettigrew was trying to raise the Dark Lord. They will see that he murdered Cedric Diggory, and that you, in your fury, struck him down in return. Your talk of Lord Voldemort they will dismiss as the lies of a teenager faced with the possibility of Azkaban."

Harry couldn't breathe. His scar hurt. His mind spun. He had no retort.

"I must take my leave now, I am afraid," Voldemort said. A wand seemed to simply appear in his hand, and he placed it on the ground, between him and Harry. "Your bonds will disappear shortly. Touching the Cup again will return you to Hogwarts."

As the Dark Lord turned and strode off into the night, his voice echoed back to Harry.

"It is your move, Mr. Potter."

Several seconds later, the bonds holding Harry to the gravestone disappeared, and he fell to the ground, scrabbling for his wand.

"Accio Cup!" he cried as soon as his wand was in his hand, and the Cup flew toward him. Snagging it by a handle, Harry had just enough time to realize that Voldemort might not have, in fact, been telling the truth about where the portkey went – that he might in fact be heading directly for an ambush.

Then he disappeared with a pop.