Sense 8
Taking some loosely and I mean loosely formed ideas from how horcruxes are made and interact blah blah and the fact that as much as I love David Tennent I hated him in harry potter as barty crouch jnr.
This takes off nearing the end of the graveyard from Goblet of Fire and I will warn you that I was slightly drunk while typing this and watching order of the phoenix which is my least favourite book and film.
-8-
Harry sighed. It was over. It wasn't dead. It lived. Cedric was dead. He hadn't lived. He was spread-eagled on the ground near the still glimmering cup twenty feet away. The spare.
The spare.
Spare what? Harry's mind came up with fast and fleeting ideas that two wizards who were considered the enemy and taking their blood could have proven to be more powerful than just the one enemy. But those ideas soon fled.
Everything was over
The spare was over.
Harry wondered how long until he was going to be over.
Tom Marvalo Riddle
I am Lord Voldemort
Harry remembered the ghostly form of the 16 year old wizard. But that form wasn't what stood in front of him now. It was something that could have been seen in a muggle horror film. Snake like eyes that shone red. Skin too smooth to even think of having a smattering of hair over it. But neither the new thing nor Harry moved. The grave that was his temporary cell held him tight across his chest and hips, bruising in its intensity.
One thing Wormtail had done to high standards he supposed. Contain the prisoner and kill the spare.
The gigantic snake slithered that little bit closer to Voldemort. Harry squinted, his glasses not helping his vision as he inspected the markings of the snake. He blinked. It couldn't be.
Been to Brazil yet?
The question seemed to come out of Harry's mouth with little thought to it. But it did get a reaction in the snake. She seemed to slow her slithering and turn her head in his direction, her forked tongue peeping out and tasting the air.
Saving Snakelet?
Harry huffed out a breath. But before he could reply to the constrictor, it was all over again.
New chap?,.;:~:;.,
The surface of the cauldron began to bubble and send out sparks. The steam on top the cauldron soon grew and it became a mist that spread over the whole graveyard.
Harry could swear he could feel a faint voice calling for someone, something to hurry. The cauldron quickly changed to less bubbling and more spark giving. Sparks seemed to fly out every other second, some managing to go a fair way before they died out.
The bundle Wormtail had dropped in the cauldron. Harry knew what it could be, knew what it was. Knew who it was.
Kill the spare.
If he wasn't a spare then what was Harry?
A gift?
He just hoped that he didn't bleed to death before he could finalise his fears of what was going to emerge from that cauldron. There was no if about it.
But the cut on his right forearm was deeper than it needed to be surely? From what he could tell from his gravestone prison was that only a few drops of his blood had been added to the cauldron. The spare could have doubled the number of drops forcefully taken.
As the potion turned red.
Then the thing that had ordered the death of the spare heaved in a huge breath.
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
Alive.
-8-
The red eyes latched onto Harry in his gravestone prison before turning downwards and looking at his new, alien body.
Maybe babies were born with no hair. Harry mused. Before faint images of being at the Burrow and the numerous pictures of the Weasleys in embarrassing growing phases came to mind. They all had hair.
So Lord Voldemort wasn't a new born.
He was born but not new.
His hairless body, his slitted eyes were not the only alien thing about him. His ears were pressed back against his skull, his nose missing its septum which caused the nostrils to flatten to the face.
Then he blinked, his eyelids appearing and disappearing horizontally instead of vertically.
It's over. Kill the spare.
Kill me.
Oh please kill me. Harry though over and over as he watched Voldemort gaze at his long pale fingers.
Then those eyes, slitted demon eyes met his.
The spare! Kill the spare!
But the spare was dead. Harry could see Cedric laying where he had died.
The chant of the spare seemed to fade as the red eyes seemed to grow within the slits.
Harry blinked. He felt himself, or some part somewhere within himself recognise something, somewhere within those red eyes.
Cruicio
Trapped within his gravestone prison, Harry wasn't sure whether to be grateful or curse it. As the pain of white hot knives seemed to pierce his skin over and over. He wasn't sure if this was real. Had he died? He struggled to thrash his limbs but then felt blessed that they were tied down and kept at bay. He longed to arch his back, to escape the pain but could move no more than a fly caught within the web of a spider.
Kill the spare.
It stopped.
Harry blinked. He seemed to blink an awful lot all of a sudden or was he just more aware of it than normal?
The spare.
The thought rang through his mind as he looked over to Cedric to check he was still there.
The arms that were trapped tight around his shoulders and his hips disappeared.
Slumping to the ground and pushing himself up so he rested on his knees, Harry once again met those slitted red eyes.
It's over.
Kill the spare.
Kill the spare.
Find the boy.
But which one?
She has been faithful. She must be rewarded.
Kill the spare.
Half-blood. Impossible. No one must ever know.
Avada Kedavra!