Chapter Eleven

"For the last time, Sirius," Harry spoke with clenched fists. "You're not coming."

"You really don't know what you're getting into," Ron agreed, slightly more mild-mannered.

Sirius growled in such a way that for a moment he sounded more like his animal counterpart than human. He stood at his bed in his room, while Harry stood across the room and Ron sat on his bed. While Ron's eyes shifted between Harry and Sirius, the latter two's gazes were locked onto each other.

"I'll admit you're both better than I am," Sirius said slowly. "But you're still not going to be able to take on the Dark Lord."

"I could probably take on the Dark Lord on my own," Harry growled in reply. "Did you think that Voldemort was the last Dark Lord? Voldemort was one of the stronger, I admit, especially after he did all those power-enhancing rituals. But guess what? I've fought worse than him. I fought a necromancer in Mexico with a literal army of undead. I've fought a dark shaman who allowed his body to become a vessel for the Devil. My job is to kill Dark Lords, Sirius. Your job was to catch part-time crooks and you got your arse landed in prison before you even completed training."

Sirius took a step forward. "Don't you dare speak to me that way. How was it my fault that I was dumped in prison?"

"Because you went to chase after Wormtail instead of doing the rational thing and keeping me safe!" Harry shouted.

"I didn't do that!" Sirius roared back. "Your version of Sirius might have, Harry. But I never committed any crime, and you have no right to make me your verbal punching bag because you, for some reason, keep hanging on to the past you claim you want to forget!"

Sirius took a deep breath as Harry shook in silent rage. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so obsessed with Voldemort?" Ron shifted uncomfortably on his bed as Harry only glared. "I spoke to your mother, Harry. She mentioned that you had a very casual attitude to murder and that it frightened her, if only for a moment. You might have made good with Lily, but you've never really abandoned your old ways, have you?"

"Voldemort is a source of plague," Harry hissed. "Why should I not exterminate it?"

"You know, James Junior spoke to me the other day as well," Sirius continued, eyes dark. "Said you were actively encouraging him to use dark magic. The kind of magic that makes you feel dirty."

"Of course he spoke to you," Harry laughed coldly. "What did he say? That I was going to become the next Dark Lord?"

"No," Sirius answered quietly. "He said - and I agree with him - that you're so deeply rooted in vigilantism you don't realize all you are is a casual murderer. That you convince yourself you're not as bad as Voldemort based on the minor distinction between you and Voldemort - the latter had followers."

"I don't believe in magical supremacy," Harry said quietly. The room reeked of ozone. "I don't believe in pureblood dogma. I'm nothing like Voldemort."

"But you share one thing with Voldemort," Sirius said, his voice rising. "You both believe in pain."

Harry snarled but was immediately immobilized by Ron, who was watching bewildered. "You know how you socked Jimmy in the jaw? That was proof enough of my statement," Sirius said darkly. "You believe in pain and fear as a method of population control. And that is exactly what Voldemort did, and that is what everyone suffered from."

"Sirius…" Ron said warningly.

"And the only reason you want to fight Voldemort is to bring him pain," Sirius said, leaning into Harry's face, immobilized in an expression of wrath. "Not because you care about your mother, or your sisters, or for me, even. Jim was right, Harry. You don't care about helping us. All you want is to destroy Voldemort's future and rub it in his face."

It was only after Sirius closed the door quietly behind him, exiting the room, that Ron allowed Harry to move again. Harry stumbled, having been frozen in a position where he was leaning heavily forward - likely in an attempt to attack Sirius as he had with Jim. Harry glared at his best friend, who only shrugged.

"What do you think, then?" Harry asked, after taking several minutes to cool down.

"He's got a point, mate," Ron shrugged casually. He'd seen his friend through his best and worst; this didn't frighten him. "Maybe you should take a step back and look at the big picture."

"What's the big picture?" Harry asked snidely.

Ron didn't react. "How the hell should I know? This is your problem, not mine."

Harry took a deep breath. "Just, just how am I supposed to act towards a man - a thing - that killed my parents and plenty of my friends? How am I supposed to feel towards a man like that?"

"I think that's what they want you to find out," Ron said with a reassuring smile on his face. "You've worked hard so far, Harry. Let me do this for you, and you're going to relax for a bit, yeah?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I'll take out Voldemort at the graveyard," Ron replied, and Harry gawped. "Stop looking at me like that. I've been a UFO for as long as you have. I have almost the same power and skill that you do."

"But-"

"Do you trust me, Harry?" Ron said, smiling at him. "How long have we worked together? How long have I had your back?"

"Of course I trust you, mate," Harry said. "But-"

"Then let me hold your back one more time," Ron said seriously. He grinned. Harry hesitantly grinned back. "Well, in that case, I better go shopping. Can I have some money?"

"Prick," Harry laughed, throwing his vault key harder at him than was really needed.


"Ron?"

Katie found her boyfriend standing before the fire in the Gryffindor common room. She herself had only gotten up because she wasn't able to sleep, wondering if Ron - and also Sirius, Jim and Harry - were going to get hurt at all. It seemed Ron was facing the same problem, because he usually slept like a stone.

"Katie," Ron replied lowly, turned around. In the darkened room, Ron looked like a stranger, his familiar features contorted by the shadows. Only his ice-blue eyes had any splash of color in his face. He looked… otherworldly. Ethereal. As if he landed from a different time and place.

"Nervous?" Katie asked, forcing her tone to be light.

"Very," Ron answered. He looked back into the fire where, Katie noticed, was a gleam of gold. Katie shuffled closer to him in her fluffy pink slippers. It didn't do as much to warm Katie's often noticeably cold feet, but it felt much better to not have to feel the chill of the stone tiles on the stairs and bathroom floors.

"What's - is that a ring?" Katie asked, squinting her eyes and the gold object. In doing so, she bumped Ron accidentally. She turned her head, prepared to apologize, but words were caught in her throat and her eyes widened.

While Ron had always been tall, taller than her, she'd never seen him to be so imposing. But here he was. Plagued by shadow, he was a completely different human being. Katie did not know if this was a trick of her mind, of her drowsy, nightmare-addled mind, or some sort of ominous foreshadowing, the kind that Trelawney was supposed to be able to see.

He smiled, but the shadows made it more of a feral grin. "It is a ring," Ron agreed quietly, and Katie sighed in relief that his voice, at least, was still friendly and normal.

"Sorry for bumping into you, by the way," she touched Ron's arm, and her eyes widened. "Is… is this dragonhide? It's incredibly good quality, too. You're definitely not holding back for the third task of the Showdown, huh?"

"More like the bonus round, actually," Ron smiled painfully. "Hey…"

"Yeah?"

"This is for you," he said, holding out an envelope with her name written in his spiky letters. Katie moved to open it, but his fingers crushed her own in a powerful grip. "Not now. Open it… if something happens to me."

"Don't be like that, Ron," Katie laughed, though the laughter was higher-pitched than usual and contained a healthy dose of alarm. "What could possibly happen to you? Why, is the information in it important? Spy documents?"

"No, nothing of the sort," Ron laughed, though this wasn't forced, and it melted Katie's tension slightly. "If I come out the other side okay, then it's unimportant. You can burn it."

"Right," Katie said, but was startled by Ron summoning the ring into his hand. "Wait, you'll burn yourself…"

Ron fiddled with the golden ring. "It's not hot. See?" And it wasn't. Katie had a feeling she recognized it, and that sense of familiarity only increased as the fire-red lettering both along the inside and outside of the ring flashed briefly. "I thought you might recognize it, considering you're Muggle-born."

"The One Ring?" Katie asked, interested. She plucked the ring from her fingers.

"Indeed," Ron smiled. "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them."

"One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them," Katie finished in a whisper.

"Didn't realize you were a Tolkien nut," Ron chuckled. "But yes. This is the One Ring. Which thankfully sounds much more ominous than One of Two Rings, because that's how many Harry and I planned to make before we realized it was a complete bitch to build."

"What does it do?" Katie asked.

"What do you think it does?" Ron said dryly.

"Make you addicted to its very existence and turn you into a withered husk of a living creature after prolonged use?" Katie guessed back, just as dryly.

Ron smirked evilly. "Among other things."

Katie blinked, unsure of whether he was joking or not. She decided he was, and silence reigned. Dragonhide everything, supposedly a very powerful ring. Katie saw a strange outline and gave it an experimental pat. She gasped when she felt cold steel forged into a peculiar shape.

"Ron, is that a gun?"

"Indeed," Ron grinned twisting it in his hand like some Wild West gunman. "It's not loaded. Not now, anyway. I don't really like using this. I much rather prefer my old 9mm Beretta, but I need something that packs more punch. And how much more punch can you get than from a .44?"

"What do you plan on doing with it?" Katie asked, somewhat nervous.

"Shooting things," Ron said dryly.

"Ron, seriously. You could get in a lot of trouble carrying that in a school," Katie said nervously. "Especially in a magical school where many people are convinced that Muggle weapons are barbaric."

"Nobody will notice once I'm wearing my cloak," Ron shrugged. "Don't worry, Katie. You didn't want me to get hurt? Well, that's my secret weapon."

"Right," Katie said, though she was still unsure.

"You'd best be going back to bed," Ron said softly, giving her a kiss on her cheek. It was warm and tingly where his lips made contact - it was just as special as the first time. "Get some rest. I don't want you missing my big day because you overslept."

Katie felt a smile dominating her face as she whacked Ron's arm. "Same could be said for you, you prat."

"It could, couldn't it?" Ron grinned. "Goodnight, Katie. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight," Katie replied softly. Ron disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. After a minute, she too went to bed.


Jim's heart was pounding in his chest. Hammering, was more like it, as if banging on the bars of its cell, begging to be let out. Jim didn't blame it; the amount of dread he felt pooling in his chest could not be healthy.

"Jimothy, a word?"

Jim turned to the source of the voice with an irritated scowl on his face. That, however, turned into cool indifference when he saw Harry. Harry smiled awkwardly, as if wondering at the same time if a smile was really appropriate for this meeting. The two of them had been mutually avoiding each other for the past month, after all.

"What do you want?"

"There's no easy way to say this," Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. Jim hated that there were so many behavioral similarities between him and this… beast. "You can't win."

"I didn't peg you for the type of gloat," Jim said, confused.

"Well, no. It's not gloating. It's a warning." Harry's face turned dark. "I'm not entirely sure what will happen when you win, but…"

"This is a pathetic attempt at manipulation, Harry," Jim snorted. "Give me a little more credit. I'm not that stupid."

"Well," Harry breathed noisily out of his nose. "Just… don't touch the cup. The trophy, I mean."

Jim didn't really have time to ponder his pseudo-twin's weirder than usual behavior before Bagman stepped forward with a massive grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Welcome, champions, to the final task of the Septawizard Showdown. The last event, as you might already be able to tell, is a maze."

When Jim saw some of the vines making up the hedge twist in a manner that resembled a human beckoning to come to them, his stomach decided to mimic the movement and make him feel very sick. He already didn't like this event.

"The rules will be as follows. You are permitted to do everything in your power - except seriously maim your competitors, of course! - to try and reach the center of the maze, where there will be a trophy-turned-portkey that will safely land you in front of the podium. You will all be released into the maze according to your scores; the highest scoring person starts, the second-highest fifteen seconds after that, and so on."

If Jim recalled correctly, Viktor would be starting first, then himself. Harry, Ron and Sirius had not scored terribly well in either of the previous two events, though part of that could be blamed on Maxime and especially Karkaroff's bias.

Jim clutched his wand tightly, gripping it harder than Ollivander would approve. He stared at the maze, waiting for something to screw up. It would be just like first and second year, wouldn't it? Something would probably jump out of the maze and eat him. Hermione had referred once to something called Murphy's Law. Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong - and if your name is Jim Potter, in the most disastrous way possible.

"And James Potter Junior, our third contestant! Your time begins…"

Jim swallowed.

"Now!"

Jim ran. The first fork he approached, he went to the left without hesitation, although honestly there was really no reason for it. Then he turned right, right again. He had no real plan except to try and get closer to the center, one turn at a time.

"Point me," Jim breathed, and his wand spun in his palm to eventually settle on pointing to his left. He turned left again, and stopped.

Oh, Merlin. The loose black cloak, the black cowl that completely submerged the creature's face in shadow. The high-pitched, ear-piercing scream of hatred, and the sensation of depression violently pushing out any other emotion he might have felt. A dementor. Of course they'd put a dementor in here.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silvery mist burst from his wand and the dementor recoiled slightly, but it didn't seem to be harmed. Jim took a deep breath, composing whatever was left of his mind. "Expecto patronum!" This time, the mist coalesced into a shimmering stag, a massive beast with a vengeance. The stag reared its front legs and charged at the dementor. The dementor gave out what was likely surprise and shock, but nothing along the lines of pain or fear. That means-

"Riddikulus!"

The dementor popped away and retreated to wherever it had been hiding before. Jim charged past, glancing at his Patronus thankfully. The warmth and serenity radiated by the now gentle beast was extremely helpful in his situation.

The rounded several more bends until he encountered some sort of pink mist. He immediately stumbled back, barely avoiding it, landing on his backside. There was no way in hell he would walk through that. It was probably going to cause him a lot of problems. Maybe something like that 'pepper spray' Ron was talking about, which Muggle police used on criminals.

He instead moved onto the next left turn. This time, though, he was greeted with an abominable mixture of a crab and scorpion. Hagrid's damnable blast-ended skrewts. Jim ground his teeth so hard they felt like they would crack, as he raised his wand and sent a banishing charm at the beast. Ron had taught him how to deal with one, in the period when Harry refused to train with Jim. Flip the thing over, and much like an insect, the soft underbelly would be easier to damage.

The skrewt shrieked as Jim sent a bombarda at the beast's belly. He felt mildly sick, but honestly, it wasn't as if he had a choice. If the numerous burns that Hagrid was recently sporting were any indication, the skrewts were ridiculously aggressive and would attack anything that moved. Jim repeated the gruesome process with another one of the skrewt's fellows and pushed through.

"Point me."

The wand was pointing straight ahead, now. How long had he been in this maze? Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. The sky was darkening and Jim didn't like it. He paused, however, when he heard a feminine scream off to his right.

"Take him out, Sirius!" Harry's voice was faint, but Jim could detect the panic.

There were the sounds of explosions and shouting, before it went silent and a salvo of red sparks lit the sky. It was undoubtedly Fleur who had screamed, but Harry had said, 'take him out'. Who was it? Viktor, Ron or Cedric? Not a single one of them seemed like the type to attack their competitors; despite his headmaster, Viktor valued fairness, perhaps as a result of his being a professional sportsman. Cedric was simply too kind to do anything, and Ron would know better than to attack his best friend's girlfriend.

Jim charged on through. He was too far to be of any help to them. He continued towards the center of the maze. It was in sight, now… and he turned a corner, coming face to face with a human-faced lion. The woman's face was admittedly attractive. The dark skin was smooth and looked well-maintained, and the full lips, thin nose, neat eyebrows…

"Greetings, traveler," the sphinx smiled. "If you wish to pass, you must answer my riddle correctly."

"Alright then," Jim blinked. "How many guesses do I get?"

She smiled, but it wasn't as pleasant a smile as one might be expected to believe. "Just one."

"...okay," Jim took a breath. "Ask me."

"First think of the person who lives in disguise,

Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend

The middle of middle and end of the end?

And finally give me the sound often heard,

During the search for a hard-to-find word.

Now string them together and answer me this,

Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"

Jim hummed and clasped his hands behind his back. "Hermione would be loving this," he murmured to himself. "The person who lives in disguise… tells naught but lies…"

What could that possibly be? What kind of people lived in disguise? The kind of people that weren't allowed to be found. Fugitives, like Sirius? He had his dog-disguise and, now, his younger-self disguise. But no, he didn't tell lies… or they need to live in disguise because they're dealing with important secrets?

"A spy," Jim murmured to himself. And the next part was easy enough. Middle of middle and end of end. The letter d. "Spyd," Jim murmured. And what was the last part? A sound… so it wasn't a word. It was the sound one made when they wanted to say something but were drawing a blank. "Um," Jim said, and his eyes widened. "Um! That's it! The answer is spydum! I've never heard of a creature like that, though."

The sphinx covered her face with one massive paw. "That's so pitiful that I'm going to give you another guess."

Jim blushed as he realized. "The answer is spider," he muttered, and the sphinx rolled her eyes before moving to the side. Jim mumbled a thanks before rushing past her, his face burning red, and calibrated his movement using the point me spell once more.

He felt himself getting close. He could see the roof of the pavilion in which the trophy was housed. He charged through and skidded to a halt as he encountered Ginny's worst nightmare - an acromantula. Jim shrieked as the giant spider lunged at him, and sent banishing spells in its direction. The spider was tossed over onto the other side of the hedge, where he heard someone curse loudly. Well, someone else's problem now.

He ran.

He stopped, breathing heavily, as he reached the pavilion. The Triwizard Cup was sitting on a marble dais, leaking light and warmth. Jim was mesmerized, and he dragged his feet to the cup as if in a trance. If he wasn't as exhausted as he was right now, he might have been suspicious of the slight euphoric sensation he could feel like the time he spent under the Imperius curse.

He was snapped out of his trance by an explosion, and the sound of Harry cursing with language that would make Moody blush. "Where the bloody hell is that ginger prick?" Harry was muttering, before he realized that Jim was there. There was an expression of surprise on both faces, and for a moment they just stared at each other.

Jim ran at the cup.

Harry did too, although he seemed to be running more towards Jim himself. Harry was faster, and he tackled Jim away from the cup. Jim snarled. His irritation for Harry mingled with the minor compulsion from the cup and formed a potent cocktail of want. He knew that Harry would beat him in both a magical duel and a physical one. There was no escaping him.

"I'm here!" Ron shouted, and Jim saw him running towards the cup from the opposite direction. He snarled as Ron began to climb up the steps to the trophy. Like hell he'd just let the Starks win!

"Accio cup!"

"No!" Both Ron and Harry shouted, as Jim firmly grasped the handle of the cup, despite Harry's weak effort to swat it away. Then, Jim felt the sensation of his body being squeezed through a tube, and the world went black.


Jim groaned.

This wasn't the podium, he thought to himself. Instead, something along the lines of a graveyard. Suitably spooky, Jim thought sarcastically. Several steps to his right, Harry lay unmoving on the dead grass. The sky was darkening, the last wisps of deep, red light streaming through the clouds.

Jim yelped as vines covered a gravestone began to curl around his body. He reached for his wand, only for the vines to intercept his wrist, curl around it like a corkscrew, pulling his arm back. He was slowly dragged to a large headstone and pinned to it, his arms and legs bound. He grit his teeth and surveyed the scene.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter," a familiar voice said. Jim paused. He wasn't really able to place the owner of the voice, though he knew he'd heard it before. "This is nothing personal. If you were a little luckier, you might be in the spectator's seats instead of Neville Longbottom."

"What - what are you talking about?" Jim growled.

"It doesn't matter. It's not as if you'll leave this place alive to ponder on it," the voice replied, mocking.

"Kill the spare."

The voice was definitely more recognizable. Though it was guttural and pained, Jim could tell exactly who it belonged to. His blood ran cold. The hooded stranger raised their wand and whispered; a bolt of green light sped towards Harry, and struck his side. Harry still did not move.

"Harry!" Jim screamed.

"Harry?" The stranger mused. "You tied with Harry Stark, then? Good riddance to the troublemaker."

"Do it."

"Yes, master," the figure murmured reverently, but only because they were so close to Jim, could Jim make out the faint sarcasm in the voice. They dropped a single old bone into the massive cauldron behind them. "Bones of the father, unwillingly given."

Then, Jim winced as the figure raised a knife and hacked through their own right hand. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given," the figure grunted, definitely struggling with the pain as they sawed through the bone. Then, when that was completed, the hooded figure turned to Jim. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken."

It was only until the figure approached Jim and pricked him with the knife in his arm that Jim realized who it was. When he cried out with pain, he got the faint whiff of incense underlaid with sherry. A smell he hadn't smelled for some time, considering he dropped the class, but a smell that was certainly unique to one person he knew.

"Professor Trelawney?" Jim breathed.

"I've been found out," Trelawney chuckled, in a husky voice that he could not imagine coming from the batty woman. "Doesn't change anything, Jim. You die here tonight."

"No."

Trelawney ducked as a red stunning spell whizzed over her head. The woman snarled and rushed Harry with agility that Jim did not expect, and a killing intent that made his hair stand on end. Harry stood in a dueling stance and shot off spell after spell, all silently and with minimal movement. Jim was impressed by the sheer speed at which Harry sent off spells, but somehow, the woman dodged them all.

"Finish the ritual."

"Yes, master," Trelawney growled, the irritability in her voice no longer hidden. Jim was impressed at the lack of respect in the woman's voice, if nothing else.

Trelawney ducked within Harry's immediate range and Jim was amazed by just how easily Harry gave up his wand. Sure, within a distance where fists could connect to jaws, wands were more of a liability than an advantage, but Jim was not certain he would be able to fight without one. Harry had no such hesitation; he retracted his wand into his wrist-holster and switched to martial arts.

Harry was fast without a wand also; though it might just be because of the rising darkness, their limbs were nothing more than blurs. Jim could also see how Harry attacked Trelawney's right, where her hand was missing. Trelawney, shockingly, was equally as fast - at least, judging by how she managed to block or dodge all of Harry's strikes thus far. A cripple with a knife versus a healthy but unarmed man; it was a fair duel in a very convoluted way.

Trelawney gasped as Harry's fist clipped her stump, and Harry grunted as the knife cut his shoulder. Somehow, though, Trelawney was too fast. She began to predict Harry's movements with ease, dodging the blows before they even came. Harry must have realized it, too, because he became more and more aggressive, likely with the intention of ending the fight as quickly as possible.

Trelawney made a mistake. She misjudged the distance of her lunge and stumbled. Harry's lips twisted into a cruel, satisfied smirk as he grabbed Trelawney's left wrist and jabbed his wand under her jaw. Jim could see a spell glowing with malicious light at the tip of Harry's wand, about to shower them in bits of Trelawney's cranial matter-

Trelawney dodged.

Trelawney kneed a shocked Harry in the gut, and using Harry's momentary surprise and opening in his defenses, stabbed him in the stomach. Harry gasped; Jim watched as his twin slumped to the ground. He didn't groan or moan. He made no noise, in fact, and Jim was worried for him. Trelawney did not stop to look at her handiwork before walking quickly back to collect more of Jim's blood.

Jim could hear her ragged breathing as she wiped the bloodied blade on her sleeve, then collected beads of dark red blood from Jim's arm. Jim glared at her with as much disgust as he could muster, but when Trelawney noticed, she only gave a smug, if tired, smile. She returned to the cauldron whereupon she allowed several drops of Jim's blood to fall.

"The Dark Lord shall rise again," she murmured.

The cauldron howled as tongues of flame rose towards the sky. Jim wanted to shield his eyes from the putrid, smoky flames, but he was bound and had no other option than to clench his eyes shut. When he felt the heat bleed away, he was greeted with the sight of a reptilian creature, tall, pale and patterned with the outlines of scales.

"Robe me."

Trelawney silently draped a robe over Voldemort, which he slipped his arms through. He also accepted the proffered wand. "Your arm, Sybill," Voldemort said softly. Trelawney did not speak as she proffered him her good arm, the one with the Dark Mark on it. Jim could hear a sharp intake of air through her teeth when Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to the tattoo.

A series of cracks crescendoed before silence returned. Voldemort looked appraisingly at the masked, hooded figures standing in a ring around them. Voldemort let the silence stretch, until the silence gave way to tension, to the sensation of building pressure, until it was unbearable - and then, he broke it, with quiet, whispered words.

"Welcome, my… friends," he said. "Thirty years, it's been, yet all of you stand before me as if it were yesterday. I confess myself disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

He slashed with his wand, and Jim watched some of the masks peel off the Inner Circles' faces.

"Not even you, Lucius?"

"My Lord," Lucius murmured, kneeling. "Had I even been given a whisper of your whereabouts…"

"No matter," Voldemort said coldly, and Jim shivered. "Sybill has found me, with her scrying abilities. She may not be able to recall the very prophecy she spoke, but I suppose her abilities can still be useful. And while she has continued to disrespect me… she has proved her loyalty. The only one here to do so. Sybill, your wounded hand."

Trelawney held up her stump and Voldemort raised his hand. Slowly, a thread of quicksilver poured like nectar from the tip of his wand and began to settle onto Trelawney's stump, where it began to form into fingers. Trelawney gazed at her prosthetic hand briefly, before kneeling. "Thank you, master."

Voldemort turned to the unmoving body of Harry Stark, curled up into the fetal position. "Harry Stark," Voldemort mused. "I read about you, yes. A jokester, a liar, yet carrying such a powerful skillset. I can feel the magic coming off you. A transfer student who had no formal education before third year. Who are you, I wonder?"

"Don't touch him," Jim snarled. Voldemort's eyes slowly turned onto him.

"Ah, James. I forgot for a moment that you were even here!" Voldemort smiled mockingly. Jim stumbled as the vines holding him retreated. "The Boy-Who-Lived. Did you enjoy your life, James? Being hailed as a hero, everyone adoring you for something you don't even know you did? I hope you have, because this is the last stop."

Jim tightened the grip on his wand, his knuckles turning white.

"You're a false prophet, James. You never did have power, unless you count very good luck as a power." Voldemort raised his wand. "Perhaps, though, you might become a martyr, tonight. I presume you have been taught to duel, yes? First, we bow. Dumbledore wouldn't want you to display such awful manners! I said, bow."

Jim felt his spine being forcefully bent by the will of Voldemort's magic, and through the rage thundering in his ears, he could also faintly hear the Death Eaters' laughter.

"That's better," Voldemort said in a self-satisfied tone. "And now…"

Jim did not hear the incantation, but he knew instinctively that Voldemort had cast the Cruciatus curse. Jim screamed as every inch of his skin was pierced with razor-sharp needles, his blood turned into potent acid, and the breath in his lungs turned into mustard gas. He had no idea how long he was under the curse when he felt a falling sensation and came to his senses again.

"Good boy, James. Your parents would be proud, lasting under three seconds of the torture curse. After tonight nobody shall question my power. After tonight nobody shall talk of how you triumphed over the Dark Lord. After tonight they will only speak of how you begged for death, and I, being a merciful God, obliged. Get up."

Jim dragged himself onto his feet, and watched as Voldemort raised his wand, once again to cast - no, no, please no-

He was suddenly dropped onto the ground several steps away, by the feet of the ringed Death Eaters. Instead, where he should have been, was Harry, his face hard and his jaws straining. Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow as Harry made not a peep, glaring at Voldemort, for one second, two… six seconds until he finally began to scream.

"I should be annoyed at you for interrupting my fun, but instead I am impressed," Voldemort said conversationally as Harry continued to scream and contort. "To be able to resist so much pain. Only I could have been more resistant to my own power, and I commend you."

Harry collapsed to the ground. Jim winced; Harry's eyes were blank and he drooled slightly. He had probably forgotten about the knife in his gut, too. "I will admit that perhaps, one day, you could become a worthy opponent for me," Voldemort continued, then his pleasant smile turned feral. "For that reason, I cannot permit you to live to become a threat to my reign."

Before Voldemort could cast the killing curse, however, he was interrupted by an explosion from behind him. Several Death Eaters screamed as they were struck unexpectedly as what Jim recognized from his training sessions with Harry as an overpowered bombarda maxima. Limbs and other extremities flew in various directions, and Jim watched in shock as a masked head sailed over them. Voldemort snarled, turning his back to Harry and facing the new threat. Jim realized that this figure, cloaked in black, was Ron Stark.

Harry began crawling towards Jim, as Voldemort began to duel with Ron, who had to keep up with all of the Death Eaters as well. The element of surprise was still there, but it was quickly wearing out. It said something about Ron's skill as a fighter that he was able to avoid Voldemort's incoming spells while taking out several Death Eaters on his way.

"Let me duel him!" Voldemort crowed. "To be able to have such a wonderful duel, mere minutes before my return! I never expected Dumbledore to be hiding such worthy enemies from me!"

At this command, the Death Eaters shuffled out of sight. Ron was good; very, very good. It was the kind of fighting that came from years upon years of experience, not just pure skill. Every single move was made without thinking. Ron was not calculating and planning; his movements were guided by muscle memory, each step a part in a well-practiced dance of death.

Voldemort, of course, was the same.

Voldemort was probably around sixty years old, though about fourteen years had been lost after his strange defeat to baby Jim. Ron was about fifty years old. They had about the same amount of combat experience, no doubt. But while Voldemort had always picked on weaker prey, Ron had plenty of experience dealing with big fish like necromancers. Perhaps Ron had an advantage-

Voldemort laughed as Ron struggled to keep a straight face. "Very good, my friend. I have no idea who you are, but you are good. It will be an honor to kill you!"

Voldemort was simply too powerful.

This was probably a result of Voldemort's natural magical power, as well as rituals he performed and the fact that Ron was trapped in a fifteen year-old's body while Voldemort had a custom body made for him. Voldemort was naturally very powerful, everyone said as much, and he'd further undertaken a series of ritual magic dubious in nature to increase the capacity of his magical core. Jim knew that back when they were Unspeakables, Ron and Harry (as well as all other operatives) were tattooed with a series of runes that made them more resistant to magic; if this were the case, their matchup might have been more favorable.

Ron mumbled something under his breath and disappeared. Jim's eyes widened; the cover was near-perfect, and he could only think of one other artifact that gave more complete invisibility. However, Voldemort laughed. "Snakes can see in the darkness," he hissed. "What makes you think you're hidden from me?" And a bolt of pale blue light splashed against something invisible.

Ron howled in pain and rage, reappearing to the rest of them, as his arm was struck with a blood-freezing curse. Jim's eyes widened when Ron's left arm - thankfully his off-hand - began to wither. Eventually, the blood would flow into his heart and freeze it, or worse, flow to his brain. Which was why Jim was amazed when he voluntarily stepped into the way of Voldemort's high-powered cutting curse and amputated his own left arm before the curse could spread.

Even Voldemort's eyes widened.

"I'm more and more impressed tonight," Voldemort mused as Ron vanished his arm completely and placed his shoulder in stasis as they fought. "You're in the same league as Harry Stark… which must mean, you're Ronald Stark. Isn't that right?"

"Fuck you," Ron hissed.

"Very eloquent," Voldemort said dryly. Ron threw another bombarda, which crashed into the soil in front of Riddle. The explosion curse blew up a sizable amount of dust and dirt into the air, and while Voldemort tried to seek Ron out, Ron sprinted to Harry and Jim. Voldemort's eyes narrowed in anger as he cast several killing curses in their direction. Harry was able to push Jim out of the way of one.

"Accio cup!" Ron shouted.

Voldemort's eyes widened. "No!"

Ron tackled Harry and Jim, wrapping his only arm around them both. When the glass trophy crashed into Ron's head, all three of them were teleported away from the graveyard, from the battlefield.