I felt bad for the filler chapter so I decided to update a real one slightly early. Sorry for any OOC 2Ps. I only really know Oliver and Allen so... They may be totally awful. This is just how I feel the 1Ps opposites would react. I took descriptions from Google images. Tell me what you think!

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Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Luciano, who knelt twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Harry again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Luciano, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, breathing heavily. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Luciano's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them. He licked them, his sharp teeth stained scarlet for a moment. "My Lord . . ." he asked, relatively smoothly "My Lord . . . you promised . . . you did promise ..."

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.

"Oh Master . . . thank you, Master ..."

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.

"The other arm, Italy."

"Master, please . . .please ..." The Italian had gritted his teeth and seemed to be struggling to hold his tongue.

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Luciano's left arm; he forced the sleeve of his robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth - the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Luciano's uncontrollable trembling.

"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see ... now we shall know ..."

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Luciano's arm.

The scar on Harry's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Luciano groaned with pain; Voldemort removed his fingers from the mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

He began to pace up and down before Harry and Luciano, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool. . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child . . . and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death. ..."

Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. ... He didn't like magic, my father . . . He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage . . . but I vowed to find him ... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name . . . Tom Riddle. . . ."

Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave.

"Listen to me, reliving family history . . ." he said quietly, "why, I am growing quite sentimental. . . . But look, Harry! My true family returns. . . ."

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were cloaked. And one by one they moved forward . . . slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes.

"Master . . . Master " he murmured, eyes murderous yet strangely wary. He obviously feared Voldemort.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle s grave, Harry, Voldemort, and Luciano. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people.

Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

"Welcome, my Second Players," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years. . . thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.

"I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench or guilt upon the air."

A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare to step back from him.

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! and I ask myself . . . why did this band of countries never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

No one spoke. No one moved except Luciano, who shifted upon his knees, stroking what must have been an agonising wound on his arm.

"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they hid themselves again. . . Hid from the countries. And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard or country living? And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort. . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles alike, ENGLAND?"

At the mention of the country's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

"It is a disappointment to me ... I confess myself disappointed. . . ."

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet. He had white blonde slicked back hair, and a scar across his cheek

"Master!" he croaked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

The man on the ground writhed and choked; Harry was sure the sound must carry to the houses around. . . . Let the police come, he thought desperately . . . anyone . .. anything. . .

Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured man lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Get up, Germany," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years ... I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Italy here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Italy?"

He looked down at Luciano, who gave a curt nod.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Italy. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," Groaned Luciano, "Please. Master"

"Yet you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching Luciano. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me ... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers..."

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Luciano's bleeding wrist.

The Italian's heavy breathing stopped abruptly. He raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Master ... it is beautiful. . . thank you... thank you. ..."

He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Italy," said Voldemort.

"No, my Lord . . . never, my Lord . . ."

Luciano stood up and took his place in the circle, next to 'Germany' and a black haired man in a dark cloak. He was staring at his powerful new hand, his face suddenly impassive and guarded. Voldemort now approached the man on Luciano's right.

"Japan, my sneaky friend," he whispered, halting before him. "Kuro Honda. I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-eating, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Kuro. . . . Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay. . .but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came a Japanese voice swiftly. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -"

"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Second Player sent it into the sky last summer?" said Voldemort lazily, and the man stopped talking abruptly. "Yes, I know all about that, Kuro. . . . You have disappointed me. ... I expect more faithful service in the future."

"Of course, my Lord, of course. . . . You are merciful, thank you. ..."

Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space - large enough for two people -that separated Kuro and the next man.

"Austria and Hungary should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is broken open, Austria-Hungary will be honoured beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us ... they are our natural allies ... we will recall the banished giants ... I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear. ..."

He walked on. Some of the Second Players he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

"America. . . destroying dangerous criminals for the 'greater good' now, Italy tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Allen. Lord Voldemort will provide..."

"Thank you, Master . . . thank you," murmured Allen.

"And here" - Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures - "we have Australia. . . you will do better this time, will you not, Jared? And you, New Zealand?"

They bowed neatly, muttering dully.

"Yes, Master ..."

"We will, Master..."

"The same goes for you, Wy," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a small female figure in Australia's shadow.

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful -"

"That will do," said Voldemort.

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.

"And here we have six missing Second Players . . . three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return ... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever ... he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service."

The Second Players stirred, and Harry saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks.

"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friends arrived here tonight. . . .

"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour. Of course, you also know our dear friend, Mr England." He used a long finger to point at Arthur.

There was a silence. Then the man to the right of Luciano stepped forward, and Kuro Honda's voice spoke from under the mask.

"Master, we crave to know ... we beg you to tell us ... how you have achieved this . . .this miracle . . . how you managed to return to us. .. ."

"Ah, what a story it is, Kuro," said Voldemort. "And it begins - and ends - with my young friends here."

He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry and the body of Arthur Kirkland, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the three of them. The snake continued to circle.

"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him - and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. ... I could not touch the boy." Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek. "His mother left upon him the traces other sacrifice. . . . This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it... but no matter. I can touch him now."

Harry felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch him, and thought his head would burst with the pain. Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away and continued addressing the men who he called Second Players. Harry briefly wondered why he called them by country names before the pain in his head grew to such a climax that he screwed up his eyes. Voldemort kept talking.

"I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman's foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah . . . pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost. . . but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal - to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked ... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself... for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand. . . . I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist. ... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited. . . . Surely, one of my faithful Countries would try and find me . . . one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body. . , but I waited in vain. ..."

The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening people. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing.

"Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals - snakes, of course, being my preference - but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic . . . and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long. . Then . . . four years ago . . . the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard -young, foolish, and gullible - wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of... for he was a teacher at England's school... he was easy to bend to my will... he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Philosopher's Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted . . . thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter. ..."

Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Second Players were quite motionless, their glittering eyes fixed upon Voldemort, and upon the still form of Arthur.

"The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been,"

Voldemort continued. "I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn't then fear that I might never regain my powers. . . . Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour... I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess . . . and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Countries cared what had become of me. ..."

One or two of the people in the circle moved uncomfortably, but Voldemort took no notice.

"And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last... a servant returned to me. Italy here sought me in the country where it had long been rumoured I was hiding . . . He found me."

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

"Italy's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Italy was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth ... a spell or two of my own invention ... a little help from my dear Nagini,"

Voldemort's red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake,

"A potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided ... I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel. There was no hope of stealing the Philosopher's Stone anymore, for I knew that England would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower ... I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength. I knew that to achieve this - it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight - I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Italy? Flesh given by a servant. . . . My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a country... Italy would have had me use any blood, would you not, Luciano? Anyone who had hated me ... as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted England's blood. I wanted the blood of the country I have long longed to take over. I wanted the blood of the British Empire!"

He cackled, then went on.

"But how to get at England? He is guarded around the clock, as all of your first players are. Then I realised. He was going to Hogwarts. I could use my one faithful Second Player, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that his name was entered into the Goblet of Fire along with Harry Potter's. Use my Player to ensure that the two of them won the tournament - that they touched the Triwizard Cup first - the cup which my servant had turned into a Portkey, which would bring them here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here they are ... the boy you all believed had been my downfall and the greatest empire the modern world has known!"

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end ... to black out... to die ...

And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of… of… silence…

"No." He heard the rustle of grass beneath a body. There were some muted gasps from the second players at the voice that Harry had thought he would never hear again. "No. You shall not touch Harry Potter."

Harry opened his eyes. Arthur Kirkland was standing in front of him, shielding him from Voldemort, who wore an expression of utmost shock. Arthur's stance was different though, he was more regal and strong looking. His voice had an edge to it that Harry had never heard in the gentle tones before. He was a fighter. In his green eyes shone the experience of thousands of years' experience and Harry finally understood what Voldemort had been saying. This man, Arthur Kirkland, was England.