"Expelliarmus!"
Harry's wand was ripped from his hand right before he could aim it at Wormtail. He whipped around to see Voldemort catch it with his small hand. Harry's blood was boiling and he stormed towards Voldemort.
"Give me back my wand!" Harry snarled.
"Not until you tell me why you're suddenly this upset," Voldemort said with a patient look which only infuriated Harry more.
"You have to ask?" Harry gestured wildly behind himself where Pettigrew was cowering near Barty. "You bring him here on the anniversary of my parents' deaths and you're surprised by my reaction? Really, Tom?"
"Yes, really," Voldemort replied in a deadpan tone while he looked genuinely confused. "Harry, I actually murdered your parents and I don't see you this angry at me being here."
"BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T THEIR FRIEND!" Harry bellowed right into Voldemort's face. "YOU DIDN'T BETRAY THEM!"
"Ah." Voldemort swallowed and gave an understanding nod. "I must confess it hadn't occurred to me that would bother you this much, but on second thought, of course it does." He offered Harry a small, unsure smile. "My apologies, my dear."
Harry's anger subsided enough for him to accept Voldemort's apologies with a soft, "Fine." He inhaled several deep breaths to calm himself down further, minding some of the exercises he'd learned through his PTSD and anxiety self-help books. Breathe in through your nose, hold it for a second and breathe back out through your mouth for as long as you can make it last. Meanwhile, acknowledge the memories that invade your mind. For Harry, these were several jumbled memories of his first life, of him seeing his parents for the first time in the mirror of Erised, of learning the truth about Sirius and Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack, of seeing Pettigrew murdered by his metal hand after he hesitated a little too long on whether to help Harry or not, and of seeing Hermione and Ron and Ginny all condemning him to death.
Harry needed to acknowledge this, rationalize it, to make sure these memories couldn't traumatize him any further. His parents and his godfather had been betrayed by the man standing just a short distance away. Harry himself had been betrayed by people he loved, people he trusted, people who he would have died for. Who he did die for.
And Harry went to school with some of those people every day without breaking down or drowning in his own rage.
Yes, he'd been betrayed, just like his parents and godfather. And he was here to help their murderer regain a full body. If he could forgive Voldemort enough to ally himself with the man, he could tolerate Pettigrew presence at least.
He would never forgive Pettigrew, just like he would never forgive Ron, Hermione or Ginny.
He'd forgiven Voldemort because he'd been utterly without reason, completely insane when he came after the Potters. He was different now.
Pettigrew or Harry's former friends had no such excuses.
Voldemort waited quietly and without comment as Harry collected himself.
"Can you just send him away?" Harry finally managed to ask, figuring the less he saw of Wormtail, the better.
"And have Barty be the one to cut off his own hand?" Voldemort asked, appalled.
When Harry hesitated a second to long, Barty let out an affronted, "Hey!"
"Yeah, okay, I don't want Barty to have to do that," Harry finally conceded. Voldemort handed him his wand back, which Harry tucked away in his arm holster at once to prevent himself from 'accidentally' cursing Pettigrew.
"Very well," Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair with a tired sigh. "Wormtail, stay away from Harry." Pettigrew cowered some more and moved to keep the enormous cauldron between himself and Harry. "Now that we're all here, let's begin. Barty, start the ritual."
"Harry, here," Barty gestured to a spot beside the cauldron, and when Harry stood there he was handed a knife. "I know you already gave our Lord some vials of blood, but fresh blood will work better."
"All right," Harry said agreeably. At least he wasn't expected to cut off a limb so there was that.
"My Lord, are you ready?" Barty asked, and when Voldemort nodded Barty removed his child-sized clothes with a quick spell, levitated him towards the cauldron and dropped him in at once. Harry swallowed. He remembered in his last life he was hoping at this point that the misshapen baby thing would drown, and now he was worried Voldemort might actually drown when he stayed under far longer than anyone could hold their breath. But the ritual had worked before, so Harry told himself it would work again and he kept from rushing toward the cauldron to check if Voldemort was all right.
Barty waved his wand at the grave of Voldemort's father. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given." A femur rose from the earth towards the cauldron where it fell in with a soft splash.
"Flesh from the servant, willingly given," Barty said with a significant look at Pettigrew, who whipped out a big knife and once again sliced off his own hand with a sharp cry. Barty didn't spare him a second glance and turned to Harry.
"Blood of the enemy turned ally, freely sacrificed."
Harry sliced his palm open, ignoring the stinging pain, and held his bleeding hand above the cauldron until Barty told him to step back. The potion inside the cauldron boiled more and more violently until it spilled over the sides and swallowed the cauldron whole.
Biting his lip, Harry watched with bated breath as a humanoid form took shape out of the rolling liquid. It became more solid by the second, bones and muscles and tendons visible until they were all covered by pale skin. Absently, Harry wondered if it hurt to be remade like that. He hoped for Voldemort's sake it didn't. At least it was over soon.
Both Barty and Harry rushed towards the still, naked figure lying face down on the grass. Pettigrew sat against a headstone, whimpering while he cradled his stump, but Harry ignored him. While Harry touched Voldemort's bare shoulder his scar reacted with a slight itch, maybe a tingle. Harry had asked Voldemort weeks ago why his scar never hurt these days while it used to give Harry a migraine from hell at the drop of a hat. Voldemort reasoned it was because he no longer felt murderous towards Harry. While Harry helped Voldemort sit up, Barty summoned a black robe and spelled it onto his naked body.
"Tom?" Harry whispered, looking Voldemort over as well as he could. "You all right?"
"Yes," Voldemort whispered and looked up at a crouching Harry with wide, brown eyes. "A little disoriented, but in one piece at least."
Harry stared at the man before him. At his human face, his sharp nose, his short, black hair, his warm, brown eyes. Voldemort looked like he'd done in his twenties, before the butchering of his soul had taken a toll on his appearance. Harry met Barty's eyes for a moment and smiled at him. Barty seemed utterly relieved everything had gone well and kneeled on Voldemort's other side.
"You look great," Harry said because he didn't know what else to say. "A lot less conspicuous than in our previous life."
"Thank you, my dear. We used a few different ingredients this time," Voldemort said with a soft chuckle as he accepted Harry's hand to help him to his feet. "You did well, Barty."
Barty bowed deeply and then got up to help Harry steady Voldemort on his feet. Harry was only a short child and Voldemort was still very tall even as a regular human.
"Wormtail, come here," Voldemort snapped once Barty handed him his wand. Pettigrew half crawled, half stumbled until he sat in the grass before them. Voldemort conjured a silver hand for him much as he'd done the first time around. And while Pettigrew muttered his thanks, Voldemort aimed his wand at Pettigrew's face. "Obliviate. Wormtail, return to your mission at the ministry."
"Yes, my Lord," Pettigrew said, clearly in a daze, and apparated away.
Harry looked at Voldemort with a single eyebrow raised. Voldemort hadn't obliviated anyone the first time he got his body back.
"I wasn't about to let my spy in the ministry keep his memories of seeing you help resurrect me, Harry," Voldemort explained with a smile. He straightened himself as best he could and looked down at Harry with a haughty but amused expression. "Now let me introduce myself, soulmate. I'm Thomas Cayden Gaunt. My late father unknowingly impregnated my mother, and she kept my existence from him to protect me and keep me from his evil clutches."
"Ha!" Harry said with a huge grin. "You're going to be your own son. I was hoping for that. It gives you the most opportunities."
"Indeed." Voldemort nodded at Barty, who was watching them with a smirk. "Barty and I have thoroughly debated all the options for my new identity and we came to that conclusion as well. This way I can start again with a clean slate while still retaining parts of my own identity. A few select followers will be told the truth, after they swear me an unbreakable vow to never reveal my true identity."
"So what do I call you?" Harry asked, chest warm and cheeks glowing with happiness at seeing his best friend, his soulmate, looking human and healthy and whole.
"I'm going to tell people to call me by my second name, Cayden, but to a select few I'll be Tom or Thomas." Voldemort gave Harry a knowing look. "I knew it was futile to expect you to not call me that, my dear. As for Lord Voldemort... that name as well as that man are now truly dead."
"You're not that person anymore," Harry said, understanding that the man he'd gotten to know these past few months was not the Dark Lord who'd tried to kill him for years and years.
"Exactly, I'm someone else now. Built upon the ruins of Voldemort's failed life, certainly, but ultimately a whole new person." Voldemort briefly looked down and leaned a little heavier on Harry's bony shoulder. "You are doing your life over, and now I get the chance to do the same."
"I'm glad," Harry said, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. Heck, from the tips of his toes, even. Voldemort...no, Tom and he were connected on so many levels and with the man sane once more it was impossible for Harry not to want good things for him. They shared a soul, they were bound by a prophecy at one point, his blood now flowed through Tom's veins.
"I could do with a cup of tea," Tom said, and Barty immediately called Winky to tell her to have tea and a few light foods waiting for them at the house. Harry supported Tom as they walked towards the house while Barty quickly cleaned up the cemetery with a few spells until not a single shred of evidence remained of their activities.
Once inside they sat down around the coffee table in the reception room, significantly less dusty and much nicer looking since the last time Harry had seen it. The red curtains were new, the wooden floors and panelling on the walls had been scrubbed and refinished, and the chandelier gleamed in the flickering light.
"I've decided to fix this place up and call it home, at least for the time being," Tom explained while Barty served them all tea.
"It looks great," Harry said, turning down Barty's offer of some finger sandwiches. He was still full from the Halloween feast.
"It is mine and the house has lots of potential once it's restored." Tom sipped his tea and let out a satisfied sigh. "Nothing tasted right while I occupied that homunculus," he explained when Harry gave him a questioning look. At once Tom ate a little sandwich with smoked salmon whole and closed his eyes in obvious pleasure while he chewed.
Harry stared. He couldn't help it. Seeing Tom so human and alive was breath-taking. And when he realized he was staring Harry suddenly felt self-conscious and looked at Barty instead. "What about you? Have you got a new identity waiting as well?"
"I certainly do. Now that our Lord is restored I'll be visiting a wizard in Lebanon who specializes in permanent human transfiguration. I'm going to become my own second cousin, Bartholomew Crouch. That way I can inherit my family's possessions and gold." Barty's grin was wide. "Everybody thinks I'm dead, so they won't question my new identity too much. That wizard won't have to change too much about my face."
"That's great," Harry said, happy for his friend. "You'll have a second chance as well."
"Yeah, I suppose," Barty said in surprise. "I hadn't even thought of it like that before."
Harry looked back at Tom, who had by then finished a full plate of little sandwiches and was already on his second cup of tea. Harry picked up his own cup and took a fortifying sip. "What about your followers? Which ones will you tell? And can we please leave Bellatrix in Azkaban?"
Tom snorted with laughter. "Bellatrix is an acquired taste, I suppose. Unfortunately Azkaban has made her, and my other followers who still reside there, utterly unhinged. In my previous life that suited me fine, but now that I'm going to use legitimate ways to change our society they will not be of much use." Tom frowned for a moment while he looked down at the cup of tea in his hands. "I do feel a certain amount of guilt for leaving them there."
"You were insane before," Harry said, leaning forward a little to look Tom in the eye. "They did all those things with their sanity intact. No offense to you, Barty, but what happened to Neville's parents was beyond cruel and they deserve to rot in prison for that."
"None taken," Barty said while giving Harry a reassuring smile. "I was there. I know how cruel it really was. I never hurt them since I was only there as the look-out, but I also didn't stop Bellatrix, Rodolphus or Rabastan. I was young, foolish and had a grudge against an abusive father and I didn't care who got hurt as long as I got to lash out at him."
"We all have made mistakes in our pasts," Tom said quietly. "Some of us more than others. Anyway, I plan to approach Lucius Malfoy and Theodorus Nott first, let them in on my identity and my plans, and wrap them up in so many vows they'll barely be able to breathe."
"At this point Lucius Malfoy is still loyal to you," Harry said while he recalled Lucius Malfoy as he'd met him during his second year at Hogwarts in his previous life, not that shell of a man he'd become after a year in Azkaban and while functioning pretty much as Voldemort's whipping boy.
"I do believe that Lucius was only ever really loyal to himself and his immediate family," Tom replied while Barty hummed his agreement. "But Lucius is an ambitious man and he'll be happy enough to play along since my plans will be advantageous for him and his social standing."
"What about money?" Harry asked bluntly. He knew it probably wasn't polite to talk about money like that but he also didn't want Tom to struggle financially. "Do you have enough, Tom? And you, Barty?"
"I'm inheriting my father's vault," Barty quickly assured him. "The Crouches have never been a wealthy family like the Malfoys or the Blacks, but neither were we poor. My father was a frugal man with a good Ministry salary so he only added to the vault over the years."
Tom's smirk was rather self-satisfied. "And I used to tithe my followers. They paid me for the privilege of kneeling and kissing my robes. And the Ministry never found my hiding places, so I have plenty of gold to set me up with some investments or a business of sorts." Shrugging, Tom reached for the second plate of sandwiches. They all remained quiet for a few moments. Harry finished his cup of tea, Tom worked his way through the sandwiches and Barty called Winky to ask for some sweets.
"Don't you have your first Quidditch match soon?" Barty asked while Tom rolled his eyes at the change of subject.
"Yep, this Saturday," Harry said with a snicker at Tom's antics. "The last time I won by catching the Snitch with my mouth. The old man later used that Snitch to hide the resurrection stone in for me. Did you set up the trap for Dumbledore, Tom? In the Gaunt shack?"
"Yes. An exact replica of the ring lies in wait, cursed to hell and back." Tom looked eager to see his trap snap shut. Frankly, Harry was just as eager to see Dumbledore gone.
"I'll still be in Lebanon this Saturday," Barty said, obviously disappointed. "But I'll come see you play for your next match. I'll be able to go out in public then, anyway."
"Sure, that would be great." Harry looked forward to see Barty out and about again. They might even be able to meet up in Hogsmeade once Harry was allowed to go there in his third year.
"We must also discuss your Christmas plans," Tom said out of the blue.
"Huh?" Harry blinked at Tom in bewilderment. He was planning to stay at Hogwarts, mostly because he always stayed at Hogwarts, or at least he had in his previous life. He honestly hadn't even considered that he could leave for the holidays until just now.
"We need to renew your Legilimency shield around that time," Tom said, pouring himself yet another cup of tea. He must have really missed it over the last decade, Harry mused. "And we could use that time to go over some plans for teaching traditions and rituals."
"I can't just stay here, though," Harry was quick to point out. "If I say I'll go home and then never show up at the Dursleys', Mrs Figg will notice and tell Dumbledore."
"So do what you did this summer. Sleep there, spend an hour or two there in the afternoon and the rest of the time you can spend here," Tom said with a careless shrug.
"Yeah, that would work," Harry agreed with a nod. "I'm also planning on hiring a solicitor for Sirius around that time, so I might need some advice for that then."
Barty made a pained face. "Black's not going to be well after spending that long amongst dementors, Harry."
"I know. I've seen it already, remember?" Harry sighed, feeling conflicted like he usually did when he thought of Sirius. "I still want to get him out, though."
"I understand," Barty assured him. "He wasn't a bad sort when I was in Azkaban. We talked almost every day to try to keep our sanity."
"I'm glad he had someone to talk to, at least for a while," Harry whispered, suddenly tired to the bone. "What time is it anyway?"
Barty checked his watch. "Twelve thirty. Bedtime for first-years for certain."
Harry wanted to tell him off but he couldn't because a yawn overtook him.
"Come, I will walk you to the door." Tom got up, slowly and a little stiffly, but with determination shining in his dark eyes. Harry understood that after ten years without a body, Tom would be eager to put this one to good use. Harry followed him after saying a quick goodbye to Barty and once they reached the entrance way Tom opened the front door for him.
"Thank you, my dear," Tom said softly and took Harry's left hand into his own, larger one. He turned it palm up and pulled out his wand with his free hand. Slowly he moved the tip of his yew wand across Harry's palm, healing the cut Harry had inflicted upon himself. After the wound was gone, Tom applied a gentle cleaning charm to spell away any dried blood.
"Thanks," Harry whispered, throat suddenly dry. He gave Tom one last smile, which was returned at once, pulled his hand free and then he walked into the neglected garden and called for Kreacher who popped him right to where he'd picked him up earlier, just outside Honeydukes' cellar in the tunnel that led straight to Hogwarts.
Harry barely registered the long walk back to the castle. For some reason his hand felt like it was warm where Tom had touched it and his scar tingled pleasantly, just a gentle, teasing reminder that his soulmate was out there, whole and complete and handsome and human.
Right before slipping inside the castle, Harry threw on his invisibility cloak, but didn't bother with the map. It was late, most people would be in bed, and Harry trusted his cloak to keep him safe from whatever teacher or prefect he might encounter. He was really looking forwards to a good night's sleep now that the day was over and the ritual had gone off without a hitch. All the tension and stress that had been building up for months leading up to Tom finally getting his body back was now released and Harry was ready to sleep for a whole day or more.
Too bad Snape stopped Harry from finally making it to bed. Harry tucked his invisibility cloak away right before entering the common room, and that was a good thing, too, because in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace sat Snape, casually reading the Daily Prophet someone had probably left lying around.
"Potter," Snape said without looking up from the paper in his hands. "Curfew for first-years is nine 'o clock, as I'm sure you know."
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Harry stood awkwardly between Snape and the door to the dormitories.
"Would you care to explain where you have been?" Snape's eyes were still glued to the paper.
"Honouring my parents, Sir. It's Samhain and the anniversary of their deaths. It seemed appropriate to spend some time in reclusion this evening." Harry kept his voice steady, telling himself Snape had no evidence he'd done something wrong, like say, help resurrect a Dark Lord.
"Indeed?" Snape finally looked up and straight at Harry. "A noble endeavour. However, the feast ended around eight thirty. It is now almost one. That is a lot of time spent in reclusion, isn't it?"
"I spent some time meditating," Harry replied evenly. "I forgot the time, Sir."
Snape got up from the leather chair much like a panther getting up to hunt down some innocent animal. He stalked towards Harry and loomed over him. "The headmaster wanted to know if your scar has bothered you this evening."
"My scar?" Harry looked up at Snape with wide eyes. "It's never bothered me, except that people keep staring at it, Sir."
Glaring at him, Snape crossed his arms. "I do not believe a word you say, Potter. And I will find out the truth. And until I do, I will be keeping a very close eye on you. Detention with me, tomorrow evening at seven, for being out after curfew." And with that Snape turned on his heels and left Harry standing there in the common room.
Fucking hell. The last thing Harry needed was for Snape to actively start keeping Harry under surveillance.