The world spun around Harry as the tumultuous and sudden portkey journey and his exhausted state collided, wracking Harry's body with disorientating nausea. Harry barely noticed that he had actually vomited onto the ground, his faltering attention focused slowly on the approaching form of Peter Pettigrew.
The past year had not been kind to the traitor. Pettigrew - Wormtail - had always been a bit chubby, but Harry noticed that there was a distinct unhealthy sheen to him. His eyes were sunken, his skin was sallow, and his hair was grey and patchy. There were heavy bags under his eyes as if he hadn't gotten a good night's rest in weeks. He shambled towards Harry, carrying a bundle in his arms as he did so. He looked terribly out of breath, and wheezed as if he was going to keel over at any second.
Harry wanted revenge on this man more than anything in the world. Harry had spared him the previous year, only because he didn't want his godfather to become a murderer like the people thought he was. Now, he was having second doubts. This was clearly the end-game that he and Dumbledore had been trying to thwart for the last six months, and Harry had stumbled into it like some naive little boy.
Groaning in agony, Harry took a second to look around at his surroundings. Wormtail had only spared a single glance at Harry as he walked by, depositing the bundle of robes onto the ground and immediately attending to the massive cauldron that was set up in the middle of the area.
Harry couldn't recall if he had ever been in a graveyard before, but there was no mistaking this place for anything else. There was a small mausoleum off to the one side, the overgrown tomb nearly blending in with the ground itself. Further away, Harry could make out the outline of a small church, and beyond that, there was a manor house upon a hill, overlooking the whole scene.
The only sound was the dead wind blowing through the worn monoliths that marked the graves of the long dead. Harry, straightening his glasses which had been knocked askew, looked over at the nearest gravestone, hoping to find a hint of where he was. The name was partially obscured by a layer of cobwebs, but Harry was quite familiar with the surname.
Riddle.
This was the gravesite of Voldemort's muggle relations. The thought sent shivers up Harry's spine. Harry knew immediately that nothing good would come for this. He reached for his wand, only to notice that he could not find it. Had Wormtail taken it from him when he landed?
"Where am I?" Harry called out.
Wormtail turned and gave Harry a withering look. "You are here at the behest of my Master. Where 'here' is does not matter. This place is unplottable and untrackable."
"Why am I here then?"
"You will see soon enough," Wormtail replied dismissively. He turned his back towards the cauldron, completely ignoring Harry again. Harry wanted nothing more than to run up and push him in, but he knew in his fatigued state, he had no chance physically against the much bigger wizard.
"Now now, Wormtail, don't be so rude to our guest," a disembodied voice said. Harry looked around, trying to see where the voice was coming from, but Harry had a feeling he would not like the answer. "Are the preparations ready?"
"Nearly, Master," Wormtail replied subserviently.
"Good," the voice replied. "Now, why don't you give our honored guest a front row seat. He is about to witness history after all. This day will mark the beginning of my ascendency."
"As you wish, Master," said Wormtail. He turned back towards Harry quicker than Harry would have thought possible, wand at the ready. Wormtail slashed his wand, and Harry suddenly found himself impacting that body of a large statue. Shortly after, ropes sprang into existence, bounding him entirely to the statue and unable to move.
From this vantage point, Harry had a clear view of what Wormtail was doing. The contents of the cauldron were bubbling as Wormtail began adding various ingredients to it. The disembodied voice, the voice which Harry guessed was Voldemort's, instructed Pettigrew every step of the way, though from the looks of things, he needn't have bothered. This was clearly something they had been preparing for a very long time, and Pettigrew was moving with a practiced ease which unnerved Harry. Wormtail was supposed to be a bumbling unskilled fool.
As Harry watched on in fear, he noticed a large snake approaching the cauldron, stopping a second only to sniff at the discarded Triwizard Cup. Wormtail paid the creature no mind, apparently used to the presence of it. It was Voldemort's pet familiar, Nagini. Harry had dreamt of it before the school year had even begun.
"It is ready, Master," Wormtail said after a few more minutes. The contents of the cauldron began to hiss and spark, sending a plume of oily black smoke into the air. Harry didn't know what was in that cauldron, but he knew it was nothing taught at Hogwarts.
"Begin…" the voice replied.
Wormtrail reached down for the bundle that lay near his feet. Carefully, he pulled the robes back, revealing the contents. Harry truly wished that he hadn't.
The… thing, inside the bundle of robes, if it couldn't even be called a thing, was grotesque. It was small and misshapen, shrivelled and raw looking, an abomination of all that was natural. it looked vaguely child like, ugly and hairless, and it laid there hunched and twisted with feeble arms and legs grasping in the air.
And then there was its face - snakelike and scaly, with two gleaming red eyes peering at Harry. Even as Wormtail lifted the creature up, clutching his neck with one of its misshapen limbs, Harry could feel the raw malevolence rolling off of it in waves.
This is what Voldemort had been reduced to.
Wormtrail placed the homunculus into the cauldron, where it disappeared beneath the crystalline surface of the liquid. There was a hissing sound followed by a small thud as the creature hit the bottom of the cauldron. Harry wanted nothing more than for it to drown.
The traitor began to speak, his voice trembling with the carefully enunciated words of power. He looked frightened, but resolved. He raised his wand into the air as he called out into the night - "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
A flash of magic lit up the graveyard, and a grave near Harry cracked in half. A thin vortex of bone dust drifted up upon Wormtail's command, and with a flick, he deposited the dust into the cauldron. The crystalline surface of the liquid roiled upon contact, hissing and sputtering with the smoke now an unnatural blue.
Again, Harry wished for the creature to drown. In that moment, he wanted nothing more in the entire world than for that to happen, not even the Triwizard Cup, but Harry knew he would not be so fortunate.
Wormtail began to whimper, muttering nonsensically under his breath. He reached into his robes and pulled out a long, black dagger. Its blade looked to have been made out of obsidian, while the hilt was of finely crafted silver. He held out his other hand, and Harry had a sick feeling in the bottom of his gut that he knew something unspeakable was about to happen.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" Wormtail called out, beckoning to the night. At the same moment, he swung down with the blade at his own outstretched hand. With barely a sound other than Wormtail's muffled-but-anguished scream, the hand was lopped cleanly off, falling down into the cauldron, which then began to sputter viciously.
Harry was too shocked to look away. The fact that this man had just lopped off his own hand… Wormtail approached him, clutching the bloody stump to his body, but still focused on the task at hand. He still clutched the obsidian blade in his hand, and Harry began thrashing around in the ropes, trying to break free. If Wormtail had taken his own hand in one swing, there was no knowing what Wormtail would take from him.
Gasping and moaning slightly, Wormtail stopped in front of Harry. Once more, the traitor began to mutter a long incantation. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"
Harry shut his eyes, expecting the worst, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt a slight stinging in his arm as Wormtail dragged the length of the blade down it, causing it to bleed freely. The blade had been so sharp that he had barely noticed. Harry really wished he had carried Sirius's Christmas gift on him. It had been a magical penknife that could undo any knot, and he would surely have been able to free himself with it.
The blood began to drip down his elbow, and Wormtail fumbled for a moment, sheathing the dagger and pulling out a glass vial. Being one handed had not made the task any easier, but regardless, he held the vial underneath the trickling stream of blood, collecting it until the vial was completely filled.
With more pained breaths, Wormtail staggered back to the cauldron and dumped the contents of the vial into it. Instantly, the liquid turned a blinding white, flaring up out of the brim of the cauldron. Wormtail, finished with the ritual, slumped to the ground, cradling the stump of his arm, the ritual dagger tossed casually onto the ground.
The contents of the cauldron continued to sputter and simmer, spewing visceral white smoke and diamond-like liquid in all directions. The vapor hung heavy in the air, even as Harry tried to turn his eyes away from the blinding light. Again, Harry wished for the creature to have drowned in the liquid.
All at once, it stopped. The plume of smoke drifted off into the air, and the substance inside the cauldron boiled and burned up. And, standing within the cauldron was a man, pale and thin, yet menacing.
His face was serpentine, and where a normal nose would have been, there were two slits like a snake's. And the red eyes, they were the eyes of someone who had cheated death, demon-like and terrifying. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that this was Voldemort, but he looked nothing like what he had known him to look like when he was younger.
Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron, stark naked, yet without a care in the world. It was an image that would haunt Harry for the rest of his life. Casually, Voldemort stood, first looking at Harry tied up to the statue, and then back towards Wormtail, who was now grovelling on the ground.
"Robe me," Voldemort commanded. Wormtail whimpered, but complied, picking up the bundle of robes that had originally contained Voldemort. With one hand, he struggled to pull them over Voldemort's body, but the Dark Lord seemed faintly amused by it. Wormtail did manage to do it after a minute of struggle.
Voldemort then began examining his own body, now that he was clothed. His fingers were long and spindly, and he carefully brought his left hand up to his face, where he then used a finger nail to cut into his cheek. The wound bled for all of a second before it closed up.
Satisfied, Voldemort turned towards Nagini, who was coiled up nearby. He bent down, and in an oddly docile motion, he began to gently pet the snake's head. It hissed in pleasure for a few seconds, but Voldemort eventually turned his attention back towards Wormtail.
Standing up once more, Voldemort reached into the pocket of the robes and brought forth his wand, his old wand of yew and phoenix feather. It was the same wand that had never been recovered after he had fallen, and the same wand that shared a core with Harry's. He ran one pale, spindly finger down the length of it, caressing it gently, before looking down where Wormtail lay on the ground.
"My lord," Wormtail said with a painful gasp, "My lord, you said… you promised…"
"Give me your arm," Voldemort commanded.
"You are generous, my lord, so generous," Wormtail said, presenting the Dark Lord with his bleeding stump.
"Your other arm, Wormtail," said Voldemort, his voice cold and unforgiving.
Wormtail whimpered in confusion for a second, but he did as he was told. Voldemort grabbed onto the arm, and with a quick motion, pulled up the sleeve of Wormtail's robe, revealing the Dark Mark that glistened upon his flesh. The tattoo was completely black, with the visage of a skull with a snake coming out of the mouth.
Gingerly, Voldemort pressed a single bony finger down into the Mark, eliciting a gasp of pain from Wormtail. "It won't be long now," Voldemort said softly. "My followers have been called. We will see who comes crawling on their knees, begging for mercy, and we will see who amongst them will run away in fear upon feeling their Mark active for the first time in over a decade."
Wormtail continued to whimper before him, but Voldemort seemed determined to let the rat animagus stew in the pain. Instead, Voldemort turned his attention solely on Harry.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, rolling the name upon his tongue. "You stand upon the remains of my father. He was a muggle, and a fool, much like your own dear mother. But, they had their uses, did they not? Your mother died protecting you. And I killed my father, and now, you have seen with your own eyes, how useful he has proved himself to be in death."
Voldemort began to pace around in a circle, as if he was trying to get a feel for the distinctly human action which had eluded him for the past thirteen years. Nagini paced with him, trailing by at his feet.
"You see that house upon the hillside there?" Voldemort asked, gesturing at the hillside manor. "That's where my father lived. My mother, a witch, fell in love with him, solely because of his good looks. My father abandoned her when she revealed what she was…He left her before I was even born, and she died giving birth to me. I grew up in a muggle orphanage, unaware of my heritage, but I knew I was different. I could speak to snakes… hurt people with a mere thought… Ah, listen to me, talking to you about ancient history. My true family is arriving."
The night was suddenly filled with the sound of several wizard appearing via apparition, their cloaks swishing in the air as they approached their master. One by one, they got on their knees and groveled before the Dark Lord, begging forgiveness. Each one of them wore a white mask, hiding their identity, but the Dark Lord knew who each and every one of them was.
Harry lost count of how many Death Eaters appeared. Twenty or twenty-five in total, Harry wasn't sure. Each one arrived and bowed before retreating, forming a loose circle around Voldemort as they awaited others to arrive. After ten minutes or so, Voldemort determined that no more of them would be coming. During this, Wormtail continued groan in pain near Voldemort's side, but he was still ignored. Instead, Voldemort turned his attention to the circle of Death Eaters.
"You answer my call as if it were yesterday," he said in a soft voice. It was barely above a whisper, but Harry still managed to hear it perfectly. Each Death Eater seemed to shiver upon hearing the voice, and Harry would admit that it was quite unsettling.
"Thirteen years… thirteen long years since we have last met, my Death Eaters. We are still united under the Dark Mark, or are we?"
Voldemort began to pace around the circle, looking at each and every one of the Death Eaters. "I can smell your guilt. Taste it. Each and every one of you here is guilty. Each and every one of you has arrived here healthy and with their powers intact, such prompt responses, I will admit. But, I ask myself, why had none of you thought to search for me? Surely, you did not think, I, who has delved deeper into the arcane magics than any man alive or dead, was defeated at the hands of an infant? You, who have sworn eternal loyalty, thought me gone for good?"
Voldemort paused and turned on the spot. "I shall answer myself. You believed me broken, that I would not rise again. You slipped in back amongst my enemies, pleading innocence or ignorance… you are all equally guilty."
Slowly, Voldemort began to pace in the other direction, "How could you believe that I would not return... You know of some of the steps I have taken to protect myself from death, you have seen the proof of my power time and time again. I am mightier than any wizard living…"
"And I answer myself again. Perhaps you believed an even greater power yet existed, one that would vanquish even the great Lord Voldemort. Perhaps they pay allegiance to the champion of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"
The Death Eaters hissed at the name, while others shifted uncomfortably and shook their heads.
"I am disappointed," Voldemort said simply. One of the Death Eaters suddenly flung himself forward, prostrating himself before the Dark Lord.
"Forgive me!" the man begged. "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
"Crucio!" Voldemort shouted, laughing all the while as the man began to thrash under the curse. He writhed in pain, and the shouts of agony would surely travel across into the nearby neighborhood. It was clear that no one would be coming to rescue Harry if they hadn't already, but perhaps the muggles would call it in… It was a thin hope, but it was as much as he could do at the moment.
Voldemort let off the curse after a moment, releasing the Death Eater from the pain. "Get up, Avery. You have the audacity to ask for forgiveness? I want thirteen years of repayment from you before I would even consider forgiveness. Wormtail here has already begun to pay off his debt, have you not?"
Wormtail continued to sob, but he was now looking up at his master, hope apparent in his eyes.
"You returned to me, but out of fear, not loyalty. You feared that your past would finally catch up to you. You deserve this pain, Wormtail, just as you deserve the scorn of the entire world, do you not?"
"Yes master," Wormtail said, still clutching his arm in pain. It was a surprise that he was still even conscious after the dismemberment.
"Yet, you helped me when everyone else fled. You helped me return to my body." Voldemort seemed like he was almost complementing Wormtail, but then his tone changed. "But, I do not forget what brought you here. You betrayed your friends for a pat on the back. You are truly worthless, yet what does that make the others around me? Traitorous though you are, you helped me, and never let it be said that Lord Voldemort does not reward his followers."
Raising his wand, Voldemort twirled it through the air, conjuring a streaming of silver vapor. It hung in the air, glistening in the moonlight, as Voldemort began to shape its form with a delicate twist of his wrist. Slowly, the vapor began to condense and take form. It wriggled and writhed under Voldemort's control as the metal began to take a solid shape in the form of a hand. Then, with one final motion, Voldemort affixed the hand onto Wormtail's bleeding stump.
Wormtail's stopped writhing in pain almost immediately. With his two beady eyes, he peered at his new hand, staring in disbelief at the silver metal that was now attached seamlessly to his arm. Carefully, he experimented with it, testing his control of the fingers. One by one, his fingers curled up until he was holding a fist, and with a jubilant cry, he smashed the fist down into the nearest headstone, shattering it instantly.
"It is beautiful, my lord," said Wormtail, rushing forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robe. "Thank you, thank you!"
"Let's hope your loyalty never wavers again," Voldemort said coldly, taking a step back away from the grovelling traitor. "I will not conjure a silver head for you, once you've lost this one. No doubt it would be an improvement, however…"
There were a few chuckles of amusement from amongst the Death Eater ranks, and Voldemort zoned in on one immediately. He approached the man, forcing him to bow with his mere presence.
"Lucius, my most devoted follower," Voldemort whispered. "I see that you have not renounced the old ways. The world at large thinks you a respected politician and businessman. You are still willing to take the lead in a round of Muggle-hunting, I trust?"
Lucius nodded his head once but otherwise said nothing.
"That is good, yes," Voldemort continued. "But, you never did try to find me. Your stunt at the Quidditch World Cup was amusing, I will admit. However, perhaps your attention would have been better directed elsewhere, such as finding and aiding your master… your master which you had sworn eternal loyalty to? Instead, you and several others ran at the first sight of my Mark."
"My lord, if there had been any sign, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have immediately -"
"There were more than whispers and more than a few signs," Voldemort snapped, cutting Lucius Malfoy off. "Wormtail here managed to follow them easily enough, so you are trying to tell me that the most connected man in the Ministry, a man who held the Minister's own ear, had never heard any of the rumblings and rumors about a dark presence lurking deeping in the forests of Albania. People went missing, animals feared the place, and yet an intelligent man, who prides himself on the purity of his blood, had not even had a single thought or speculation… You are a disappointment to me. I shall expect better of you in the future, if you wish to count yourself amongst my devoted."
"Of course my lord," Lucius said, bowing even deeper. "You are merciful…"
Voldemort turned his attention away from Lucius, instead focusing on the circular formation that his followers stood in. He slowly paced around, before stopping at a gap in the ranks. "The Lestranges should be standing here," Voldemort whispered. "They are in Azkaban at the moment. They were loyal. They chose imprisonment rather than renouncing me and claiming innocence. I will break open Azkaban, and they will be rewarded beyond anything they could dream. The Dementors will join us, and I'll recall the exiled giants. Before long, all of my devoted servants will be returned to me…"
Voldemort continued walking around the circle. Some Death Eaters he passed without making a comment at all. Others who he deemed worthy of personal attention, he addressed.
"Macnair," he said. "Wormtail tells me that you are executing dangerous beasts for the Ministry. Continue to follow me, and you will have better victims than that…"
"Thank you, my Lord," Macnair replied as he bowed deeply.
The next fifteen minutes continued in the same vain. Voldemort either reprimanded or praised the actions of a Death Eater in his thirteen years of absence. He also commented on a few of the missing members, some of which had been killed, while others were still in Azkaban. A handful of others did not show up at all, much to Voldemort's displeasure. He promised a quick death to all those who had forsaken his Mark.
Voldemort had just finished pacing the circle, stopping right in front of the statue Harry was still tied to. Harry had burned every name that Voldemort said into his memory, but he was beyond terrified. He knew there was a high likelihood that he would not be surviving the night.
"Master," Lucius Malfoy said, once again kneeling before his master. "We all wish to know how this miracle has come to be, how you have managed to return to us."
Voldemort looked at Lucius and a bemused smile appeared on his serpentine face. "Ah, and what a story it is. It, of course, stars myself, and our esteemed guest of the night, Harry Potter!"
Voldemort waved a hand over at Harry, indicating the trussed up wizard to those who might not have noticed him to begin with. There were a few murmurs of surprise, but they immediately quieted so Voldemort could continue.
"Ever since I was a young boy, walking through the hallways of Hogwarts, I had dreams of immortality. I had experimented with various spells, dug through archives that had not been touched in hundreds of years, craving the knowledge I so desperately sought. There were different methods, some of which are known to the world at large - the Philosopher's Stone… vampirism…"
Pausing a second to collect his thoughts, Voldemort continued the story. "I admit, my knowledge of Alchemy is insufficient towards the ultimate goal of the Elixir of Life. That brand of magic is outdated, and the gains too minimal for dedicated study. I always have been a master of the Dark Arts, and that is where I sought my answer. And, that is where I found the first solution, the first of many I had hoped to employ in my efforts to conquer the mortal coil. That information is not so easily earned, but my presence here tonight is proof enough that I have succeeded."
"That leads us back to our guest… Harry Potter… The Boy-Who-Lived. The Potter's had long been nuisances, thorns in the side of our cause, and one night, I sought to wipe them out like we had done to so many other families. I had defeated James Potter in single combat quickly enough, and when I found the mother, the mudblood, she did not even raise her wand against me. She attempted to shield her child with her body, as if that were going to stop me… She begged for me to kill her, in the end, if I would spare her son. It had not been my intention - mudbloods like her are beneath my notice, unimportant, but she begged me none the less. And so, I struck her down like I had James."
"I turned my wand on baby Harry next, wanting to finish the meddlesome Potter line once and for all. The Killing Curse is quick and painless, and I offered the last member of the ancient line a clean death, but I had not foreseen the consequences of his mother's death. She had sacrificed herself, freely giving her life for his without even fighting back, an act that I had not taken into account. Her sacrifice invoked an ancient magic, and it protected Harry from harm. It was a protection I had not considered possible at the time… I could not even touch him."
"But now..." Voldemort said, raising a long pale finger up to Harry's forehead. Harry screamed in sudden agony as Voldemort grasped his head. Laughing softly, Voldemort continued the story. "Now, his protection is gone. I miscalculated, I admit it. The Killing Curse had been deflected, a feat not seen before, and likely will never be seen again. I was hit by my own curse. Pain beyond pain enveloped me, as my mind, my soul was ripped from my body. I was less than a spirit, less than a ghost, but, I was still alive. What I was, even I do not know, I had delved into magic no other wizard had ever recorded… A wraith, a shadow of a wraith, I do not know. I fled, I fled to Albania, where I had spent much time in my travels. I had experimented with several of my spells there, and there, I had found solitude, waiting for the moment when I would return, but always, I was in constant pain, lingering between our world and the spirit world."
"As it turns out, the magics I had evoked to gain my immortality had worked, protecting me from death. One or more of my experiments had been successful. I too, survived the Killing Curse that night. But I was weaker than the weakest creature in this form, unable to work a wand, and any spell that could save me would require one."
"I waited in constant pain, urging myself to not crossover, willing the very existence of my being to remain on this plane. I expected at least one of my loyal Death Eaters to stumble upon me, one of them would easily be able to restore me to a body. I waited…"
Voldemort let the silence hand in the air, letting the disappointment in his voiced melt into every single one of his followers.
"In this form, this wraith, I retained the ability of possession. I dared not go near where any humans would be plentiful, in fear of an Auror coming across me…I possessed animals. Snakes, of course, were the easiest, but their bodies were ill suited towards magic, and their lifespans were considerably shortened in my presence."
"It was four years ago now, when the first servant found me. A young wizard, foolish and pliable, wandered across my home in the forest. It was a stroke of luck, for he was a teacher at Hogwarts. He taught muggle studies, but he felt his real talents were with the Defense Against the Dark Arts. He sought to prove himself, and having heard the rumors about a dark presence deep in the Albanian countryside, he sought to unmake the source of this. Possessing him had been easy. I guided him forth, teaching him what he would need to know in order to hide in plain sight under Dumbledore's all-seeing gaze. The goal had been to steal the only Philosopher's Stone currently known to exist, to use its powers to restore my body, but once again, I was thwarted by Harry Potter."
Voldemort, along with all of the Death Eaters, fixed their gaze at Harry. Harry, for his part, did not flinch back. Rather, he tried to look defiant and stalwart, which couldn't have been farther from the truth.
"The servant died when I left his body. I was once again reduced to a wraith. And once again, I returned to my hiding place. I will admit, I had feared that it would take another ten years before I got another such opportunity. I had feared that I would never regain my powers. If none of my Death Eaters had bothered searching for me in the previous ten years, why would they start now?"
"Doubt filled me constantly, and I admit, this may have been my darkest hour. But a year ago a Marked servant had returned to me. Peter Pettigrew… known as Wormtail. He had faked his own death to escape justice, had been driven out of hiding by those he had once considered his friends, and decided to search for his master. He had heard the rumors, and he sought me out where I had hid myself away… He followed the rats which he has such an affinity with, and they told him of a place deep in the forest where no creature dared to go."
"It was not a smooth journey for him. No, it was quite the opposite. The search for his master had made him hungry, so he had stopped at an inn along the way. As fate would have it, a Ministry worker by the name of Bertha Jorkins was there. Desperately, Wormtail managed to convince her to follow him into the woods, away from prying eyes, and there, he overpowered her and brought her to me."
"Bertha Jorkins proved to be a great gift. With a little persuasion, I had learned that the Triwizard Tournament was at Hogwarts for the next year. She also knew of a Death Eater that would be more than willing to help me, if only I could contact him. He had escaped Azkaban, only to be imprisoned within his own mind for a dozen years by the Imperius Curse. It was he who set up the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, and it was he who had impersonated Alastor Moody for half a year, hiding under Dumbledore's nose in plain sight. It was he who had set the playing field up for tonight. He ultimately was discovered… the plan had been daring, even desperate, and I once more had to rely on Wormtail. The plan was already in motion, however."
"Wormtail's body, obviously, was ill-fit for possession. The world thought him dead, and he would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he possessed the ability, though quite poorly, to use a wand. With my careful tutelage, he managed to follow my instructions to craft me a rudimentary body. It would be enough to use while awaiting the eventual ingredients I would need for my true rebirth... The rudimentary body had required unicorn blood and snake venom from my dear Nagini… perhaps lending itself to my slightly serpentine form you see before you."
"With this rudimentary body, I embraced the feeling of being alive once more. After the torment that had been the last thirteen years, I could suffer the frail form for a while, before once more returning to my immortal form. But in the meantime, I would settle for my old body, and my old power…"
"The magic used tonight to return me to this form is an old piece of Dark Magic. Part potion, part ritual, it required three main ingredients. Flesh of the servant, bone of the father, and blood of the enemy… Wormtail was with me, of course, but the bone of the father meant I had to come here, where he was buried. The blood of the foe, however… Wormtail would have had me use any foe. I, after all, have enemies the world over. There are many that hated what we stood for back then, many of whom still do."
"Perhaps, I could have used any random wizard's blood. But I would not choose a second rate option in something this important. I may have settled for the blood of the great Albus Dumbledore, but accomplishing that feat was beyond Wormtail's capability. Perhaps, it was more fitting to use the blood of the boy who had vanquished me, the blood of the boy who had stripped me of my powers thirteen years ago. I wanted his blood, for his blood still contained the lingering protection his mother's sacrifice had once granted him…and now it resides in my veins too."
"You may be asking yourself - how to get at Harry Potter? He is notoriously well protected, better than even he knows, I think, by enchantments devised by Dumbledore long ago. A brand of magic powerful enough that I could not get near him while he was in his relations' care… And it was rare that he left those protections. And the protections at Hogwarts are just as formidable - arranging the kidnapping of a student without leaving a trace is not something that would be easily accomplished, especially not one prolific as Harry Potter."
"Then, I got the news that Harry Potter would be at the Quidditch World Cup. I had thought to kidnap him there, but my servant advised me of the risks. The bulk of the world's Aurors would be there, hundreds strong. I could have succeeded with it perhaps, but the risk of being outed so soon in this campaign was too great, not within the midst of the Ministry's forces."
"The solution had been hidden within the information that Bertha Jorkins provided. The Triwizard Tournament, of course. Harry had to be put in such a situation that he would be the cause of his own kidnapping. Portkeys and Apparition do not work with Hogwarts - that is a privilege that only the Headmaster is granted. No matter how powerful I could become, I could not get around that restriction, not without tearing down the entire school in the process, and that is not something I desire. The simple solution was to get him when he was outside the castle's bounds, but again, that's not an easily matter."
"Perhaps we could have managed it during the first task, where he was set to face off against a dragon and to steal its golden egg. That would have been too suspicious perhaps, and we were not yet ready. The Second Task would have been all too easy, but there were scrying spells set up all over the lake. More scrying spells than the Champions were aware of, to serve as protection for the Champions, should anything go awry. I could not have have penetrated past them without being detected, not in that weaker form. No, Harry Potter had to be brought before me, brought to this place of power."
"Wormtail's role in this was crucial. He had to ensure that Potter and Potter alone would make it to the center of the maze first. He used an artifact of his own make, a map of the maze that would change as the maze changed, and it tracked all of obstacles, creatures and enchantments alike, as well as the Champions. With this map, along with his animagus form, he managed to control the maze in such a way as to influence who the winner would be. The final part would be the sabotage of the portkey. This could only have been accomplished because the Triwizard Cup had been a portkey to begin with, created by Dumbledore to transport the winner from the center of the maze to the victor's plinth to celebrate their accomplishment. Altering an already made portkey was the key to this, and as you see, here he is."
Voldemort turned his attention back to Harry. "Crucio!" Voldemort yelled, slamming the torture curse into Harry. Pain beyond pain filled him, like a thousand thumbscrews burying themselves into his body, all while having his limbs pulled apart and set on fire. Harry wanted it to end, he wanted to blackout, to feel no more...
As quickly as the spell had consumed him, it was released. "You see, Harry, your mother's sacrifice will no longer protect you. On an equal ground, I do not think you stand a chance against me, even in this new, untested body. Your performance in the tournament has been exemplary, but ultimately pointless. Tonight, we match the might of Lord Voldemort against Harry Potter, Triwizard Champion, the Boy-who-lived!"
Voldemort slashed his wand, cutting through the ropes that had bound Harry to the statue. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, still moaning in pain from the backlash of the Unforgivable Curse. At least now, he could claim that he had experienced all three of them.
Harry was beyond exhausted. It felt like it would take a month's rest just to feel normal again. His body had been battered and bruised from the maze, and having been trussed up in rope for an hour had not helped him in the slightest. Add in the Cruciatus Curse and a heavy thirst, and Harry knew he was in serious trouble.
"I trust you have been taught to duel, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, turning to Wormtail. "Give Potter back his wand. I am going to give him a fair chance. He will be allowed to fight, and in the end, we will see who the better is. I want no doubt left after tonight."
Harry was still prone on the ground, panting for breath. He heard, rather than saw, Wormtail toss his wand in his general direct. It bounced off the ground near by, tumbling about five feet away from him. Harry, reaching out blindly, grabbed for the wand. The Death Eater's collectively laughed at his struggles. He must have been quite the sight.
Wand now in hand, Harry pulled himself up to his feet, wobbling unsteadily as he did so. Glancing around, Harry noticed that the Death Eaters had closed the circle, filling in the gaps that had been left by their absent compatriots.
Harry decided there and then that he would take as many of them out as he could. They were packed tightly enough together that a stray spell could easily hit multiples of them. A fireball could potentially catch a few of them by surprise, and Voldemort would likely order them to not attack back.
"The niceties of protocol must be observed," Voldemort said casually. "First, we bow. Bow before your better."
Not willing to comply, Harry took up a defensive stance, bringing his wand to bear against the Dark Lord.
"I said, BOW!" Voldemort whipped his wand up, and suddenly a huge pressure was crushing down on Harry, causing him to buckle forward. "That's better. Now, we begin!"
Voldemort was quick on his feet, bouncing lightly as he maneuvered around the circle. He wanted to give his new body a workout. Thirteen years was a long time to go without a body, and he wanted to get all the kinks and rust off.
It was clear from the onset that Voldemort was toying with Harry. Without even casting a spell, Voldemort had put Harry on the defensive. Harry, for his part, was running through all the spells he knew in his mind, wondering if any of them would have any effect at all. He was exhausted and fatigued, and he knew he'd only get a few good ones off before he was overcome. He wanted to make them count.
Luckily. Voldemort seemed more than willing to allow Harry the first move. He wanted to give him a "fair" chance, and then rip it out right from under him, to prove once and for all that he was the greater of the two.
Harry went for his big guns right out of the gates. Eschewing accuracy in favor of raw destruction, Harry began pelting the area with bombardment hexes and fireballs. He was intent on destroying as much as possible, and in the havoc, perhaps tag a few Death Eaters.
Voldemort was having none of it. While smiling the entire time, he casually flicked his wand to and fro, minimizing the impact that every spell was having, if not outright cancelling them. With the occasional fireball, he would ensorcell it with a blue bubble, before flinging it up into the air, where it would harmlessly dissipate in a shower of sparks.
During this entire destructive revelry, Voldemort did not cast a single offensive spell. It was not because he had been put on the back foot. Truth be told, he had not even broken a sweat, not even metaphorically, as his new body did not seem to have sweat glands. He was enjoying the thrill of once more feeling the flow of magic around him, and he enjoyed feeling his own power at work, denying his opponent any hope of victory.
The Death Eaters standing around the two duelists were taking the brunt of the damage, but even then, it was minimal. A bombardment hex would be sent straight at them, but the spell would be deflected our countered outright with Voldemort's quick wandwork. It was frustrating to Harry, and no matter how quickly he changed up his playbook, he couldn't get anything through.
Five minutes had passed before Voldemort decided he had had enough amusement for the day. His wand shot up vertically, parrying a dark mote of lightning that Harry had conjured, before sweeping outwards, emitting an arc trail of ghostly spheres that closed in on Harry, seemingly bypassing every defensive attempt.
The spheres collided with Harry's torso, immediately sapping Harry's strength. The will to fight left Harry completely, and he sagged to the ground, all but unconscious. It had been a quick, yet vicious spell, a spell that Voldemort had picked up on his world-tour after graduating Hogwarts. It was not something a mere schoolboy would have learned to counter, and thus, his opponent was incapacitated.
Voldemort strolled forward, very amused by the turn of events. Harry's continual barrage of spells had been impressive, but ultimately futile. He had been left standing completely untouched, and his Death Eaters suffered only minor injuries. Harry was quite powerful for his age, but he lacked finesses and he lacked proper training. If it were not for the humiliating defeat he had suffered thirteen years ago, he might have offered to let the boy join his ranks in time.
"Are you going to kill me now?" Harry asked, clutching at his ribs. The fact that he was even still conscious was quite impressive.
"No, Harry. Killing you would be too easy. I seek repayment for the thirteen years you have stolen from me, and merely killing you would not be enough. I am going to destroy you and everything you hold dear. I am going to destroy the Ministry. I am going to take control of Hogwarts. And the best part is, I am not even going to lift a finger to do it. Mark my words. Thirteen years since I've fallen, and the world still fears my name. I tell you now, the world will tremble at the mere thought of my return. I will only need to watch as it happens."
With that, Voldemort reached down towards Harry and grabbed him by the neck. Then, with a feat of strength that belied his serpentine body, pulled him up off the ground in one motion. Finally, Voldemort performed the coup de grâce, taking hold of the obsidian ritual dagger that had been used in his rebirth, and jamming it straight through Harry's chest.
Almost as an afterthought, Voldemort casually strolled over to where the Triwizard Cup had lain, partially forgotten. "Lucky for you," Voldemort said, carefully choosing his words. "The portkey that will return you to the Champion's dais is still active. Enjoy your victory… it may be the last one you will ever know."
Voldemort tossed Harry's broken, bleeding form onto the Cup, and with a muttered word, he activated the remaining portkey destination. With a flash, Harry's dying form disappeared entirely from the graveyard, only for it to reappear amongst a flurry of activity. The last thing Harry saw before blacking out was the hundred aurors tearing through the Maze, practically having leveled it, and Dumbledore's worried and angry look as he saw Harry's bloody and beaten form appear out of the air.