Well, I might as well of just waited before putting up my other update... as I have finaly finished writing and editing the scenes. So thank you for all your kind reviews and enjoy!
Merlin's Guide as to why you shouldn't be Voldemort
Chapter 2 – The Crystal Cave
Grumbling, Merlin made his way over to the space in the centre of the cave, where gathering his courage, he looked into the crystals...
Voldemort looked at his good and faithful servant, standing with his head bowed in front of him waiting to deliver his news. Severus was his most successful spy, his right hand man so to speak, as he knew all the comings and goings of Albus Dumbledore himself. Voldemort knew he could trust him with almost anything, which was why he had sent Snape for this particular mission.
"Well?" Voldemort said, the silence finally broken as he finished his musings. "Do you know the information upon which I seek?"
"My lord," Severus looked up as conformation to start speaking. "I have news on whom and what the prophecy speaks about. "I was eavesdropping outside the door where Sybil Trelawney and Dumbledore were meeting. But sadly I only managed to hear some of the prophecy before the barkeep moved me on."
"And?" Voldemort leaned towards the direction of the spy, needing to know more about which powerful wizard will conquer him.
Snape told him, and as he finished speaking, Voldemort leaned back into his high backed chair, mulling over the terms of the prophecy.
A boy who was born towards the end of July 1980... Whose parents had defied Voldemort thrice... and he, Voldemort would mark him as his "equal".
"Severus, there are only two boys who fit this category, am I correct? The Longbottoms and the... Potters?"
Snape looked shocked at the question, but Voldemort dismissed it as unimportant.
"My lord?" Snape carefully questioned him, as he was still afraid of his master. Good, it always bode well if people were scared of you, as fear was a powerful motivator, Voldemort thought.
Voldemort began to speak his thoughts about the current subject out loud, for often Snape came up with good ideas and tactics.
"There are two boys and I must choose between them, for one will be the downfall of me... Both have aurors for parents who are strong enough to have angered me three times and survived, but one is a pureblood and the other a half blood."
Snape stood in silence as Voldemort made the decision over whose lives he would it was more likely the pureblood would be powerful, the half blood made him more cautious. The Potter boy reminded Voldemort about himself, being a half blood juist like him. Yes, if he, Voldemort could achieve such power, then the boy,- Harry was it? - might be able to achieve as well.
"Contact Wormtail and bring him to me. He will know where to find the Potters."
"My lord?" Snape questioned, as he looked up and Voldemort, obviously spurned by something. "Is that wise? Wouldn't it be more likely that the pureblood boy might be your downfall, as after all, we-the purebloods- have the more power and no filthy blood within us?"
"I have decided" Voldemort said firmly, "Do not test me on this Snape. Is there something wrong? I have noticed your reactions to my words."
Snape looked shocked then replied "No, nothing is wrong my lord." Severus wilted as he felt himself under his dark master's gaze and the words;
"Do not lie to me". Snape licked his lips nervously as he obviously tried to sum up his courage. "It's just that, well, I would wish to beg you to leave the witch Lily Evans alone, as I want her for my own."
Voldemort looked surprised, then let out a high, cruel laugh. "Severus Snape, one of my most worthy followers in love? And with a mudblood as well? Such a thing is not worthy of your affections."
Severus nodded slowly, seemingly taking Voldemort's words to heart. Then he whispered softly, "You are right my lord, as you always are. I will go and do your bidding now by summoning Pettigrew." Snape swept out of the chamber and the scene dissolved...
The night was wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe... And Voldemort was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions...Not anger... that was for weaker souls than he... but triumphs, yes... He had waited for this, he had hoped for it...
"Nice costume, mister!"
Voldemort saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...
And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet...
And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it...
They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pyjamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist...
A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face.
Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning...
The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open.
Voldemort was over the threshold as James came sprinting down the hall. It was easy, too easy; he had not even picked up his wand...
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"
Hold him off, without a wand in his hand! Voldemort laughed before casting the curse. . .
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut...
He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear...
He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in. . . . She had no wand upon her either...
How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments...
Voldemort forced the door open cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand... and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead...
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl ...Stand aside, now."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –"
"This is my last warning –"
"Not Harry! Please ...have mercy ...have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"
He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all...
The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband.
The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing –
Voldemort pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger.
The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. Voldemort did not like crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage –
"Avada Kedavra!"
And then Voldemort broke: He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away ...far, far away...
The room disappeared, and instead, a graveyard in its place.
"Someone's coming", Harry said suddenly.
Squinting tensely though the darkness, the two boys watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily towards them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face; but from the way it was walking, and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever they were, they were short and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over their head to obscure their face. And – several paces nearer, the space between them closing all the time- he saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby... or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his wand slightly, and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.
It stopped beside a towering headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Harry and Cedric and the figure simply looked at each other.
And then without warning, Harry's scar erupted with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in his whole life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all, his head was about to split open.
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say "Kill the spare."
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night "Avada Kedavra!"
A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something fall heavily to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes.
Cedric was lying spread eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.
Harry felt himself pulled to his feet. The short man had put down his bundle, lit his wand and was dragging Harry towards the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wand-light before he was forced around and slammed into it.
TOM RIDDLE
The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry tying him from his neck to his ankles. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him – hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. It was Wormtail.
Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the gravestone; he could see only what was right in front of him.
The bundle of robes that Harry had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and his scar seared with pain again... and he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes... he didn't want that bundle opened...
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down, and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water – Harry could hear it slopping around - and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full grown man to sit in.
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. The large snake slithered away into darkness.
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began to not only e, but also to send out fiery sparks, as though it was on fire. Steam was thickening, and the movements of the clock became more agitated. Harry heard the high cold voice again.
"Hurry!"
"It is ready, master."
"Now..." said the cold voice.
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the ad of material blocking his mouth.
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone, and revealed something ugly, slimy and blind – but worse, much worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying has the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face – no child ever alive ever had a face like that – was flat and snake-like, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. Then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and then it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the ground with a soft thud.
Let it drown, Harry thought, his scar burning, please...let it drown.
Wormtail spoke "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!
The surface of the ground beneath Harry's feet cracked and horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command, and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions, and turned a vivid, poisonous looking blue.
Now, Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long thin, shining silver dagger from the inside of his robes. His voice broke into petrified sobs. Flesh- of the servant- w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master".
Wormtail stretched his right hand out in front of him – the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upwards.
Harry realised what Wormtail was about to do, and closed his eyes tightly, but could not block his ears. The screams pierced through the night, and went through Harry like he'd been stabbed by the dagger too. Something fell to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron.
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. But not until Harry felt his breath in his face did he realise that Wormtail was right in front of him.
"B-blood of the enemy... forcibly taken... you will resurrect your foe."
Harry could do nothing to prevent it as he saw the silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's hand. He felt the point penetrating the crook of his right arm, and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail fumbled in his pocket and retrieved a glass phial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.
He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside and immediately, the liquid turned, a blinding white, Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knew beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
Nothing happened...
Then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were distinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly so Harry couldn't see anything.
But, through the mist, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from the inside of the cauldron.
"Robe me" said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground and got to his feet, and reaching up, pulled them one handed over his masters head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry... and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was as flat as a snake's, with slits for nostrils...
Lord Voldemort had risen again...
Merlin looked away with a gasp, as he was finally released from the crystal's clutches, and as he slid down slowly onto the floor exhausted from seeing the past, he finally knew what Voldemort was planning, and what he was going to do about it.
So there ya are! I hope you enjoyed it, but before I go, I just wanted to tell you about the scavenger hunt! Its this awesome competition where YA authors give away their books, and free content, and there are 3 teams, with about 20 different authors in each. That's a lot of books to win guys! It's on now, so off you all go!
And as always read and review!
