A Deal With The Devil CH1 - Chapter One - The Graveyard

Spinning. Disorientated. It was a feeling he'd only ever felt once before, but it was one he remembered swirling colour of scenery as he passed by, the flashing lights as he passed cities and towns. The lights, noise and smells that emanated from them, swarmed his senses and overwhelmed him. Suddenly, pain. He hit the ground with a soft thud and groaned. He knew what had happened. He'd been portkeyed. Maybe the Triwizard cup was taking him to a final challenge? Or perhaps, a winners tent? He sat up. A sharp burst of pain shot down his left side, and he hissed. "What's a Triwizard Tournament without a few busted ribs?" he thought to himself, letting out a chuckle. He reached out and grabbed onto the nearest object he could, to help pull himself to his feet. He winced as another burst of pain shot forth. "Bloody hell." he muttered to himself, taking a few deep breaths. He glanced around his surroundings. One thing he knew for certain, it was no winners tent. It appeared to be a graveyard, though where he was, he could not say. He staggered forward a few steps. Maybe it was a final task. Maybe another dragon? Or Dementors. This place looked to be just creepy enough to be a Dementor task. Either way, he figured, it never hurt to be cautious, and slowly drew his wand. He began wishing that one of the other champions had grabbed the cup, instead of him. Fleur had most likely been rescued by now. Krum too, he imagined. The mediwitches would be with Cedric by now as well. He shook his head to clear his mind. The graveyard was empty, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. This theory was confirmed when a weak blasting hex hit him in the back, sending him flying forward, landing on a grave in front of him. His head connected with the granite tombstone with a loud crack, and he let out a cry of pain. Rolling over, he looked up to see a short, rotund man with thinning hair, and wearing an ill fitting suit. "Pettigrew." he snarled. Pettigrew merely sneered at him, and with a quick flick of his wand, bound him in tight ropes. Satisfied that he was sufficiently bound, Pettigrew turned his back and retreated to where he had come from. A few moments later, he returned with a bundle, wrapped in a white blanket. "Don't tell me someone had a kid with a coward like you, Pettigrew?". Still Pettigrew said nothing. Reaching into his pockets, he fished out a small black cauldron, and threw it to the ground. With another flick of his wand, the cauldron gre to its full size. Pettigrew then dropped the bundle into the cauldron and turned to the grave next to his bound prisoner.

"Bone of the Father" he muttered, pointing the wand at the grave. "Unknowingly given, you shall renew your child." A bone raised from the grave and made its way to the cauldron. Canceling the levitation spell, it fell into the cauldron, rather undramatically. Pettigrew sheathed his wand and withdrew a large knife from his pocket. His hands were shaking as he raised them above the cauldron.

"F-flesh of the servant, w-w-willingly sacrificed, you will revive your m-master." he stammered, and then in one deft sweep, he pulled the blade down, severing his hand. He screamed as the hand fell from his arm into the cauldron. The effect was instantaneous. There was a loud bang, and red smoke rose from the cauldron. Pettigrew turned to him, and advanced on him, growing paler by the second.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you shall resurrect your foe." he all but whispered, as he plunged the knife, through the bindings of the rope, and deep into his prisoners gut. Suddenly, he withdrew the blade, and staggered back to the cauldron. He tapped the knife, causing a few drops of blood to fall into the cauldron. There was a sizzling sound, like oil in a hot pan. Then, the red mist grew thicker, until it completely obscured his vision, and choked him. It hurt to breathe in, between the ropes binding him, the fractured ribs, and now, the burning red smoke. However, just as quickly as it came, it passed, and in place of the cauldron, now stood a figure. A figure, with pale skin, and long black hair. Silently, the held out their hand. Pettigrew knelt and raised the wand he had been using in his one remaining hand. The figure flicked it once, and black robs began to cover their body. Pettigrew raised his stump arm, wincing as he did so.

"Master… Please" he whimpered. They ignored him, and turned to face their prisoner, rested on the grave. They stepped closer, and knelt before him, looking him over. Suddenly, they smiled.

"Hello Harry."

Harry Potter was often very sure of himself. He had been described as headstrong, and self assured by many of his peers. The Quidditch Team, his friends, his teachers. Almost to the point of arrogance, if Snape was to be believed. However currently, he wasn't sure of himself at all. In fact, he wasn't sure of anything. The young woman in front of him, he could only assume had been in the white bundle, and had come from the red smoke, but that didn't clear it up. He wanted answers. "Who are you? What do you want with me?" he asked.

"You know who I am." they replied, smiling. "I'm the reason you're here. The reason Pettigrew's here. The reason you have that scar on your forehead.". Harry almost gasped.

"Voldemort... " he breathed. ""But how?"

"What you just witnessed is a very old, and very powerful form of the darkest magic. A resurrection ritual."

"But… You're..."

"What? Young? Whole?"

"Yeah. How is this possible?" Harry frowned. Pettigrew whimpered.

"Master…. Please… " he croaked. "You promised".

"Could you excuse me? For just one moment?" Voldemort grinned, then turned and skipped over to Pettigrew. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Not only was Voldemort smiling, he had just witnessed her skipping. Then again, it wasn't every day you came back from the dead. A moment later, any notion of laughter was gone, as a green light burst from Voldemort's wand and struck Pettigrew. Voldemort turned back to Harry and flicked her wand. Harry instinctively flinched. A moment later, the ropes binding him were gone. He stretched his arms, and winced as his injured ribs cried out in pain, and the wound in his gut followed suit. "Idiot." Voldemort muttered, approaching Harry. He made to stand up, and went for his wand.

"Hold on-" he began, but was silenced as Voldemort put her hand on his shoulder and forced him back down.

"Shut up, you've been injured." she muttered, placing her wand on his stomach. There was a tingling, warm sensation as he watched the skin grow back over the wound.

"I noticed." snapped Harry. "Your little pet saw to that."

"And I killed him for it." Voldemort replied, as if that settled the matter.

"You killed him, because he hurt me?" Harry asked. Voldemort moved her wand to his ribs, the tingling sensation following.

"Mostly. I asked him to do one simple thing, and he messed it up."

"Oh? And that was?"

"Resurrect me." she said, shrugging.

""Oh? Seems like it was a success to me." Harry smirked. Voldemort finished healing his ribs, then pointed her wand at his forehead, the tip resting on his scar.

"Then why can't I kill you?" she asked.

"Huh?

"Why can't I kill you?" she repeated. "It was easy with Pettigrew. I had so much hate in my heart, I wanted him dead. He. Hurt. You. But, I can't find the hatred to kill you. Why?""

"That's why you're healing me?" Harry chuckled. "Peter fucked up, now we're besties?"

"Besties? I don't understand." she frowned.

"Your pet screwed up your plan for revival. Now you can't kill me? Maybe you inherited his cowardice, you grew from his flesh after all." Harry grinned.

"Yes." Voldemort breathed slowly. "That makes sense."

"It does? I was just trying to goad you." Harry muttered.

"This is dark magic, and magic's all about intent. He didn't want to resurrect me as Voldemort. He just wanted to resurrect me to protect him."

"So, you killed him?"

"He didn't have the conviction to fulfil the ritual. He stuttered, didn't he, when he cut off his hand. When he said he 'willingly' sacrificed his hand, he stuttered, the magic didn't recognise it as a true sacrifice. And then, he used your blood."

"So?" Harry frowned. "Blood's not uncommon in dark magic."

"But I only needed a few drops. I told him to just nick your skin. He stabbed you in the gut." she muttered, more to herself than him. "This body's filled with your blood."

"So what? We're family now?" Harry asked, a sneer on his lips.

"Not exactly, but I feel… different. I feel like me." She smiled. ""The real me. Not Voldemort. I feel like I did before all of this. I feel like Emily Riddle again.". Harry stood up, looking her directly in the eyes.

"So what happens now?" he asked. "Do we duel? Do we go our separate ways until the inevitable war? Do we shake hands and agree to never meet again?"

"I don't know." she muttered. "I don't want to kill you… I don't want to let you go telling everyone about me either.". Emily stood for a moment, deep in thought. Staring at the ground at her feet. Suddenly she turned to Harry, beaming. "I know, I'll make you a deal."