Disclaimer: I own nothing when it comes to Harry Potter. I do enjoy playing in the sandbox of the HP universe, though.
Summary: AU – Harry Potter became a magical household name after the events of Halloween night, 1981. He arrived at Hogwarts ten years later with little knowledge of the wizarding world, but possessed a fierce intellect and enough magical potential to give even its most powerful practitioners pause.
After three-and-a-half years of incredible feats of magic and wild, life-altering adventures, Harry faced his most daunting event yet – the final task of the Tri-Wizard tournament.
When the dust from the final task finally settled, the wizarding world of Great Britain was turned upside down and nothing was ever the same again. One question dominated the discourse for years to come, asked by everyone and answered by no one:
What happened that night?
Author's Notes: The beginning of this chapter includes some dialogue from "Goblet of Fire".
Also thank you to my wife (extreme Borat voice) for her wonderful support and review of this work. She's the best thing that ever happened to me, and not just because she's better at grammar and punctuation than I could ever hope to be.
The Death and Life of Harry Potter
Harry crashed to the ground alongside Cedric, the Tri-Wizard cup bouncing away from their grip. His head spun as he laid on grass and dirt while gulping in the moist air, trying to combat the crush on his lungs from the sudden Portkey travel.
"Wasn't expecting that," Cedric muttered, rising to his feet. The good-looking Hufflepuff glanced around their landing area with a frown. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?"
"No," Harry said cautiously, finally regaining his breath.
Over the last few months, Harry, Ron, and Hermione prepared for the final task by studying the last ten Tri-Wizard tournaments with the intent of finding patterns to exploit. For those ten tournaments, the last task was almost always a maze designed to test a general wizarding education. However, not one of the times a maze was featured in the previous tournaments was Portkey travel used.
The first fingers of worry curled around his stomach.
Taking in the landscape, Harry could immediately tell that they were nowhere near Hogwarts. None of the usual landmarks were visible, such as the mountains surrounding the castle. Instead, they were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church visible beyond an old yew tree.
"Wands out, you reckon?"
"I think we should leave," Harry quickly replied.
The crack of a branch suddenly drew their attention deeper into the graveyard where a short-stooped, pudgy man appeared from behind a mausoleum. His face obscured by the shadows, he ambled toward them, delicately carrying some sort of fabric in his arms.
"Hey there, is this part of the final task?" Cedric yelled toward the man.
He uttered no words as he moved closer. Harry and Cedric quickly glanced at each other before raising their wands. Before Harry could say they should disapparate immediately, a familiar high-pitched voice echoed through the air, piercing his scar and almost buckling his knees.
"Kill the spare."
Harry furiously engaged occlumency to try and lessen the all-encompassing agony and force himself into motion. Eyes watering, he fell back on his training by instantly comparing the benefits of transfiguring the rocks in front of him into a shield, or taking the time to conjure a superior marble wall. Either action would have been second nature under normal circumstances.
"Avada Kedavra!" the short-stooped man screeched.
Harry instinctually waved his wand through gritted teeth and pain and the rocks slowly formed into a wall in front of them. He wasn't fast enough. Green light slammed into Cedric, blasting him onto his back. He laid there spread-eagled and motionless in the grass, with his eternal blank stare turned to the night sky.
Harry froze as his assaulted mind rejected the unfathomable scene before him. The pain in his scar tore through his occlumency like it was tissue paper, finally driving him to his knees. Ropes sprung around his chest a heartbeat later, leaving him tied up next to the body of his fallen friend.
As he stepped into the moonlight and stared down at the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory, nervousness danced across the now recognizable face of Peter Pettigrew.
"Quickly, Quickly! Move him!"
Pettigrew used his wand to lift Harry from the ground toward one of the headstones. Harry wanted to fight; he wanted to spit in the face of the man who betrayed his parents and rip apart whatever monstrosity hid in the fabric he carried. The pain made that impossible.
He began to dip in and out of consciousness as he floated behind Wormtail. Before he was roughly tied to a weatherworn gravestone, Harry glimpsed the name "Tom Riddle" engraved above his head.
The next few moments passed in a haze as the unrelenting phantom spike continued penetrating his scar. He thought he saw a large snake slithering in the grass. Visions of an enormous boiling cauldron and a sacrificed arm left him wondering what was fantasy and reality. When he felt the sting of a blade stealing blood from his forearm, he knew everything was all too real.
As soon as the sobbing Wormtail dropped the bundle of fabric into the cauldron, the fog of agony in Harry's head began to clear. A disturbing thought of what exactly had been dropped into the water caused the hair on his neck to rise. Let it have drowned, Harry prayed.
Instead, white sparks and steam billowed from the cauldron, blocking Harry's sight of everything around him. But as the mist eventually parted, the outline of a tall, skeletal man rising out of the cauldron consumed his entire focus.
"Robe me," commanded the high, cruel voice through the steam. The one-armed sobbing Wormtail struggled to pick up a set of black robes; he straightened back up and used his remaining hand to pull them over the being's head.
The skeletal figure stepped out of the cauldron, their gaze never leaving Harry's. Harry stared back into the bone-white face, with vicious red eyes and a nose as flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils.
Lord Voldemort had returned.
Harry watched as Voldemort took time to luxuriate in his new body; flexing his abnormally long and bleached-white fingers in the air, all while gazing at his body with a rictus smile.
After pulling a long pale wand from his pocket and gently rolling it between his fingers with a lover's embrace, he gathered the sobbing mess of Wormtail to his knees. While Wormtail blathered about promises made, Voldemort touched his finger to the tattoo on the traitor's left forearm, sending a quick jolt once again through Harry's scar. As Voldemort waited for whatever action he set in motion to take place, the same giant black snake he glimpsed earlier slithered around Harry's ankles, hissing at him with utter malevolence.
With the pain in his scar fully receded, Harry once again tried to slip into his occlumency. The idea of controlling his thoughts and emotions was the only thing keeping him from spiraling into abject terror.
He visualized his mind arts training with Dumbledore; picturing the confines of the headmaster's office, Fawkes comforting presence offering warmth and contentment. He thought on Dumbledore's soft voice, guiding Harry though his exercises, anchoring him while he explored the facets of his inner mind. Mostly he dwelled on the overwhelming safety he felt in those meetings, one of the only times he could truthfully remember achieving that state in his all too short childhood.
Eyes closed, he took a deep breath in and out, in and out, using all his training to help him grasp at his fraying nerves to bring them into some kind of control.
"Look at me, Harry."
When he finally felt he had at least a tenuous grasp on his emotions, he opened his eyes to Voldemort pacing in front of him. A cruel smirk adorned his face as he linked his hands behind his back.
"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool…very much like your dear mother," he hissed. He opened his mouth to continue his taunts when pops suddenly filled the air.
The swishing of black cloaks littered the grave yard, one after the other apparating into the shadowy spaces between the yew tree and each grave. Every single one of the fifteen or so men and women were masked and hooded. "Ah, excellent," Voldemort said, "my true family returns faster than expected."
Cautiously they all began to move forward toward Voldemort, as if they could not fathom the sight in front of them.
Harry was both horrified and disgusted by the actions he saw over the next few minutes. Men and women prostrating themselves in front of this "being", desperate to prove their worthiness with meaningless words betrayed by their own inaction over the last thirteen years. Men and women crying out how they never lost faith, begging forgiveness even as their master tortured one of their members with cruelty and a laugh. These supposed titans of the magical world: Malfoy, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott – all whimpering like frightened children. Even as a boy of only fourteen, Harry realized how pathetic the scene in front of him truly was.
Voldemort eventually came to a gap in his followers. "And here we have six missing Death Eaters…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 reentered my service."
Harry noticed the Death Eaters in attendance glance at each other. "He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight…" At the looks of his followers, Voldemort said with a horrible grin, "Yes, Harry Potter has joined us for my rebirthing party. In fact, one would not be incorrect in saying he's the guest of honor."
That silenced the Death Eaters. After a few moments, the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, with Lucius Malfoy's voice speaking from behind the mask with barely a tremor. "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, Lucius," said Voldemort. "And it begins – and ends – with my young friend here."
Voldemort proceeded to explain his existence over the last thirteen years: how Lily Potter's sacrifice enacted old magic he was not prepared for, turning him into a wraith barely tethered to life. Then he talked about finding Quirrel and the Philosopher's Stone, followed by Wormtail's return. While discussing the traitor, Voldemort provided Wormtail with a metal arm to replace the one he'd cut off.
Finally he described the machinations of the Tri-Wizard tournament that brought them all to this point, where a fully reborn Lord Voldemort returned triumphant with the blood of his greatest enemy flowing through his veins.
"So you see my friends, my plan, my great work over the last few years, has finally come to fruition. Now," he said, turning back toward Harry, examining him as if he was some mildly intriguing lifeform, "you understand the truth of things, you understand that this child in front of me is not the cause of my demise. His reputation as the boy who lived," he spat, "is but a false title, bestowed upon him by a desperate Ministry in an attempt to claim victory over something they had no part in." The Death Eaters cackled gleefully.
"His only real accomplishment as the boy who lived, is his ability to stand on top of the mound of corpses who have died in his stead."
Before the rage could explode through his occlumency, Voldemort lifted his wand contemptuously. "Crucio," was said, and Harry's world ended. Pain unlike any he'd felt lanced throughout his body, making his earlier scar episode feel miniscule. Conscious thought was impossible.
He tried to not scream, some subconscious part of his mind refusing to give Voldemort the satisfaction. His jaw clenched so tightly he felt his teeth starting to crack and loosen, and his body strained so hard against the bindings he could hear the rope creak.
Voldemort blissfully released the spell, allowing Harry to sag against the gravestone. "Impressive Harry Potter." The mild surprise in his voice caught all off guard. "And to think that a child can bear my anger so much better than most of my Death Eaters."
Voldemort began to pace in front of him. "Now Harry, I have heard stories. No, nothing around the pathetic moniker the boy who lived that the mudbloods and halfbloods cheer over. Rather, I've heard stories of your abilities that have even impressed Lord Voldemort. No, no, my friends," Voldemort placated over the grumbling of the Death Eaters, "a wizard of talent must be acknowledged."
"For those amongst us who have not heard of Mr. Potter's exploits, allow me to mention a few of his more remarkable accomplishments: conjuring a corporeal Patronus at eleven? Impressive. Successful biological automaton transfiguration? Truly astounding. But my personal favorite is your alleged mastery of fiendfyre." He stopped pacing and favored Harry with a smirk. "I must say Harry, what darkness must lie in you to have command of that spell."
Harry grimaced as Voldemort continued pacing. "I've even heard whispers from members of your adoring public that you are the second coming of Albus Dumbledore himself. How...disappointing. But what do you expect from the sheep of the wizarding world?"
The Death Eaters exploded in laughter as if their lives depended on it.
"Dumbledore is a great wizard," Harry said through his panting, "certainly a better wizard than you."
All at once the Death Eater's laughter stopped, replaced with crazed jeering and threats. The only one not livid was Voldemort.
"You truly believe that, do you Harry? You honestly believe that he is greater than I, Lord Voldemort? The one wizard who has gone farther than any others, accomplished feats of incredible magic not even dreamed of? No Harry, there are none in the past, present, or future, who can claim even an ounce of the mastery over magic as I have."
Voldemort suddenly raised his arms and Harry, to his shame, flinched in anticipation of more pain. But no spell came forth. Voldemort smirked, and further raised his arms with magnanimous intent, "But never let it be said that I'm not also a merciful lord as well as the most powerful one. You, Harry Potter, are a talented wizard, the kind that comes along once every few decades. Not as powerful as myself, obviously, but you clearly stand above the rabble of the wizarding world."
He began to stalk Harry, slowly circling around him. "Thus, we will have a contest to see just how talented you are. I will give you the opportunity to leave this place and return back to Hogwarts, while you provide entertainment to me and my Death Eaters. A satisfactory result for all parties, if you will."
"Now what is the contest, you may ask?" Voldemort said, as he made his way back in front of Harry. "The Tri-Wizard cup," he pointed to the trophy several yards away, "will portkey you back to the site of the Third Task. All you need to do is get to it."
Harry's mind was spinning, but he wasn't so foolish as to believe that the "opportunity to leave" would be anything he'd want to participate in.
"What's the catch?"
Voldemort's smile grew inhuman, demonic. Harry couldn't be sure whether it was his crucio-addled brain or a trick of the light, but his mouth seemingly opened wider than his face. Voldemort was a shark standing in front of Harry, ready to devour his prey.
"Nothing so difficult for a wizard of ability such as yourself. You simply need to, as they say, fight your way out."
"Fight you?" Harry asked incredulously.
Voldemort threw his head back in laughter. "Of course not, Harry. That wouldn't be very sporting of me, would it? No, you will fight every one of my Death Eaters in several glorious duels for the ages. If you're able to survive them all, then the cup is yours. I must say that these ladies and gentlemen are quite accomplished at magic as well, but against someone of your magical prowess they should be mere child's play."
"Unless," Voldemort began as if puzzling out a particular difficult problem, "the talk of your exploits has been overblown? More propaganda to make the masses feel safer that the all-powerful boy who lived was watching over them, perhaps?"
Harry didn't acknowledge Voldemort's attempt to goad a response, his mind already going over the task in front of him. He knew that he was beyond powerful for his age, and that his knowledge and understanding of magic likely outstripped any student currently at Hogwarts.
But defeating all fifteen Death Eaters present was an impossible task, and Voldemort knew it. Even factoring in his training with Alastor Moody for the last four years, Harry was still just a student lacking any meaningful real-world experience. He may have had countless successful practice duels with Sirius, Remus, and a handful with Aurors Nicodemus Tonks and Bartleby Redford, but he could easily acknowledge that those fights were nothing compared to what he was about to experience.
The truth clarified for him. He now knew, knew it deep in his soul, that there was no chance of leaving this cemetery alive. If he somehow managed to even defeat multiple Death Eaters, which in itself was an absurd task for a 4th year, Voldemort would certainly exact his revenge, and this time there would be no parent willing to sacrifice their life for his.
His chest rattled as he took in a shaky breath. He didn't want to die. His life had just started to be his own. He desperately wanted to be with his friends, lounging by the Black Lake talking about Quidditch with Ron just to see how irritated they could make Hermione before she finally erupted on the pointlessness of the sport. It was such a stupid game they all pretended to play seriously, and right now a moment like that was what he desired most in the world.
But even with the terror of the situation almost freezing the blood in his veins, he refused to go meekly. His parents had given up everything to keep him alive; his poor parents who were only a few years older than he was now and who had decades of wonderful moments ahead of them. While he may ultimately fail at honoring their last wish for his survival, he would die fighting to the last possible moment.
"Fine. Let's do this."
"Excellent, excellent! Goyle, give him his wand," Voldemort beamed, and with a negligent wave the ropes bounding Harry to the statue gave way. Harry rubbed the muscles on his shaky legs, trying to get some feeling back into them.
A large man with shoulders hunched like a gorilla reached down to grab the wand. Most likely he was the father of the Slytherin Goyle in his class. Harry idly wondered if he also communicated in grunts like his son.
Goyle lumbered over and jabbed wand into his ribs. Harry hissed as he ripped it out of the older man's grip, feeling the normal warmth from his holly wand flow up his arm.
"Now, I think it only fitting that the first Death Eater of mine you face is…Wormtail. After all, he's the real reason your parents are dead, isn't he, Harry?"
Pettigrew's head snapped up; his face frozen in horror. Voldemort seemed to relish that fear with perverse glee. "Wormtail, come here and let us see how you use that magnificent arm Lord Voldemort gifted you."
Wormtail made no immediate move, as if he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't get out of. Harry would have sympathized if it was literally almost anyone else. Eventually Pettigrew must have noticed the undercurrent of discontent from the crowd, because he quickly shuffled next to the Dark Lord.
"Now Harry, I take it you know the rules of dueling?"
Harry slowly made his way toward the designated spot, his eyes never leaving Wormtail. He thought that if he had to die, at least taking the betrayer of his parents with him would be something. If only he could somehow let Sirius and Remus know that the traitor would soon be taken care of.
"Now," Voldemort began once Harry and Pettigrew were in place, "we shall begin. And Wormtail, I don't need to tell you how displeased I would be at your failure." Wormtail's whole body shuddered, then he quickly mumbled, "Yes, my lord."
Voldemort waved his wand in a complex pattern and then took a step back. A dueling shield of blue and white arose around Harry and Wormtail, turning invisible just as suddenly.
The Death Eaters crowded around, getting more and more agitated, as if they smelled chum in the water. "You're going to die, mudblood," hissed a large woman to the right of Harry, her beefy fingers choking the stubby wand in her hand.
Harry took several deep breaths, failing at trying to calm his beating heart. With detached amusement he noticed that his hands were still shaking from the cruciatus. He didn't think it would impact his casting, especially against Wormtail, who stood as tall as he could across the field, looking as if he was chomping at the bit to begin.
But Harry could see the truth: the fingers on his left hand were twitching in nervous energy, and sweat had broken out across his brow. Wormtail wanted no part of Harry, and Harry vowed to make that statement come true.
Voldemort held up his wand. "Very well. BEG-"
With rage bubbling under the surface of his occlumency, Harry yelled out, "DIFFINDO."
Wormtail's eyes grew huge at the white light streaking toward him, barely getting his shield in place to absorb the charm. Harry was already loose and casting again, channeling everything Moody had drilled into him about fighting: Keep moving, be unrelenting, keep your opponent on their back foot.
His wand snapped through the movements, a blasting curse flowing into a piercing hex and so on. Even just a few seconds into the match Wormtail's shields were weakening.
Harry knew he needed to end this quickly and save his strength. "Bombarda," he thought, firing the blasting hex silently. His aim was true, impacting the ground several feet in front of Peter. Earth shot up like a geyser, causing Wormtail to take a step back and lose focus.
Harry intended to use those precious few moments to rush in and overwhelm Wormtail. But when he got within a few steps and saw the rat's sniveling face, with that stupid confused and lost look that had no business being on the face of the the vile murderer of his parents, Harry lost it.
He had just enough frame of mind to use his off hand to rear back and deck Wormtail across his wobbly chin. Wormtail's head snapped to the side, and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
The pain of the multiple broken bones in Harry's hand was as excruciating as Bartleby had once told him it would be, but it didn't stop him for a second from jumping on top of Wormtail's body and just letting loose.
His left arm was a piston, smashing into the flabby face of his parent's betrayer. Wormtail feebly tried to grab his arms at first, but Harry was beyond stopping, beyond thought; he was a vessel for retribution, for the life stolen from him, for the eleven years of neglect and abuse.
His arm kept swinging as blood continued erupting from Pettigrew's face.
He was blasted from Wormtail, landing and rolling several yards away through grass and muck. Harry finally began to come back to himself and winced at the pain caused by his tumble.
Voldemort slowly lowered his wand, his head tilted to the side. His Death Eaters were now dead silent and glancing at each other.
Harry's left hand was barely recognizable; his bloody fingers going in directions that didn't make sense, already puffing into twice the normal size. He even saw what he thought were a few small rocks stuck in his skin, until he realized they were actually Wormtail's teeth.
He looked back toward Pettigrew and gasped. His body was twitching on the ground like a live wire. The man's face was bathed in blood and misshapen like worked-upon clay, and his eyes were already swollen shut and insect like. The only reason Harry knew he was still alive was the clicking of his few remaining teeth as they tapped each other with each rattling breath.
Voldemort eventually spoke. "We are not savage mudbloods using our fists to solve disputes. Because of your…display…you forfeit the right to end Wormtail. But rest assured, he will still enjoy my…tender mercies."
Harry had no response. Everything was happening so fast. He couldn't take his eyes off his throbbing, deformed left hand, the blood and viscera standing out stark against his pale skin. The whole situation was beyond comprehension. It was certainly not how he expected the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament to go.
And Wormtail – that was Wormtail's blood on his hand. Did he feel guilty about that? Should he feel guilty about not feeling more guilty? He had planned to kill him, sure, but planning and doing are two different things. Should he feel elated to finally hurt the man who had so hurt him? He didn't know, couldn't stop pinging thought to thought.
He rose to his feet on autopilot and cast a numbing charm on his left hand. He hissed in agony as the pins and needles in his mangled hand reached intolerable levels. But the feeling quickly went away, and his hand no longer bothered him. Of course he would pay later for the extra damage he was sure to incur now that he couldn't feel anything, but then again, he would most likely be dead, so problem solved.
Two Death Eaters unceremoniously dragged the semi-conscious Wormtail from the area. He was barely outside the circle of Death Eaters before Voldemort yelled out, "Graves!"
This "Graves" made their way through the crowd, taking his position across from Harry and bouncing from foot to foot. He was a lanky fellow, with extremely curly brown hair spilling from underneath his hood. Based on his energy levels and apparent fitness, Harry was already anticipating a much tougher experience than Wormtail.
"Begin!"
Graves wasted no time, firing a bone breaker hex at Harry's chest. He was able to shield and return fire with his own bone breaker, forcing Graves to move out of the way and launch a bludgeoner at Harry, which he again deflected. While Graves certainly had more power than Pettigrew, he still wasn't close to any of Harry's sparring partners.
Graves continued to fire a variation of cutters, bludgeoners, and piercing hexes, all of which Harry shielded or batted away with relative ease. What Graves lacked in power he made up for with an incredible ability to avoid Harry's return fire. He jumped, slid, shifted, and bent with as little movement as possible to evade all spell fire. Harry thought it was beyond obnoxious.
After yet another piercing hex fired from his holly wand missed by inches, Harry decided to go passive and re-evaluate.
The strategy of going passive was a controversial one, as it meant observing his opponent while relying on muscle memory and his overwhelming power advantage to shield any return fire. It could be an incredibly dangerous strategy unless you were confident in your abilities.
Moody would have had his arse if he knew he was doing it, but he wasn't the one looking at fighting a bunch of Death Eaters after this bout.
It took but a moment of study to actually find a weakness. For all of Graves remarkable ability to avoid spells, he lacked any sort of spatial awareness. The man paid no attention to where he was moving or the terrain around him, which only worked because they were dueling in a flat and open area.
Harry could certainly exploit that mistake.
He had to a wait a few spells for the one he needed, but as soon as Graves fired another piercing hex Harry deflected it into the ground on the left side of the Death Eater. To most it looked like a missed attempt to bat the spell back at his opponent. But the spell landed exactly where Harry was aiming, gouging out a two-meter-long groove in the earth.
Harry fired a spell to the right of Graves, forcing him to shuffle left. Before Graves could return fire, his foot caught in the groove, his ankle twisting and sending him to the ground.
In the split second he fell Harry silently cast "Reducto" at Graves chest, the bones cracking apart to the shrieks of the mortally wounded Death Eater.
Voldemort sneered at the screaming man as he writhed on the ground. "Pathetic," he hissed. His wand flashed up faster than Harry could process, firing a red light at blazing speed toward Graves. The spell hit Graves in the face, his screams replaced by gasping and choking.
Graves hands shot up to his neck, tugging on the skin as his face turned a deep purple color and his throat made horrifying choking sounds. Blood and flesh collected under his fingernails as he tried to rip a whole in his throat in a futile attempt to get air. It took a few more moments for Graves to finally pass on with his own hands still around his throat, and the terror of never getting that last breath forever locked on his face.
Harry rested his hands on his knees as he tried to slow down his own breathing once again. He watched two more Death Eaters grab his second 'victim'. When Graves' corpse was lifted, blood poured out of his open chest, painting the grass a vibrant red.
Even as Voldemort began to rage at the remaining Death Eaters about their inability to beat a school boy, Harry's mind felt as if it was flying high above all this. His occlumency was still going strong, which was helping him "do his best Mr. Spock imitation" as Tonks would say, but it wasn't the only cause of his detachment.
Beating Pettigrew nearly to death and causing the death of another, even if he didn't strike the final blow, had driven his mind into a shell, too many emotions and feelings overloading his system. At this point even the sight of an enraged Voldemort generated only a sort of detached horror.
Eventually Voldemort calmed down and turned back toward him. "I must say you don't disappoint, Harry Potter," he said.
He eyed the men and women around him with mild contempt, his wand again twirling gently through his fingers. He appeared as if he was waiting for one to protest his statement and earn his wraith. He continued when no one dared utter a word.
"You've grown lazy in peacetime my friends, and let your once considerable skills atrophy. You have forgotten what is necessary to bend the will of the people to my cause. You now believe that whispering in the ear of fat and useless politicians is the only means to stop the mudblood menace and preserve our way of life. What you've forgotten is how worthless government is when compared to real action."
He continued, "Domination is what moves the wheel! Making your enemies fear for their lives even in the safety of their home, fear the very thought of saying one word against my cause, even fear daring to look their betters in the eye! That's true domination, the kind that has your enemy so beaten that even the hint of a threat has them jumping to attention like the dogs they are, ready to make their masters happy! It's the only kind of domination that will save our society."
"BUT IT REQUIRES ACTION! THE ENEMY MUST FIRST SEE THERE IS NO HOPE!" Voldemort lunged toward his Death Eaters, who collectively took several steps back. "You grew fat and arrogant thinking your money and blood would be enough to make change. But you have forgotten, forgotten what it will take to eradicate the mudblood menace, and what will happen to Pureblood culture if you don't!"
He continued more softly, "But Lord Voldemort doesn't forget. Tonight, we begin our campaign to once again purge the mudbloods from our lands. Tonight we remind the world why Purebloods are superior!"
"And it will not be through bills in the Wizengamot or angry editorials in the newspaper. We will start by attacking mudbloods and blood traitors in their very homes! We will show them that there's nowhere to hide, nowhere we can't find them. We will turn their sanctuaries into their coffins! And when the light begins to leave their eyes after the inexorable pain we cause them, the last sight they see will be my mark floating above the wreckage of their lives."
Harry looked on horrified as Voldemort played the crowd like a master; horrified but impressed by the command and control he had over his audience. You could almost smell the coppery tang of the future promise of blood in the air.
"Now I ask you, who is ready to answer the call? Who is ready to begin the slaughter of the mudbloods and blood traitors infesting our great land? Who is ready to start the domination of our enemies by destroying their beacon of hope, their hero, the boy who lived!"
The trees around them shook with the fervor of the Death Eater cheers. Harry began to shake uncontrollably.
"Malfoy, Avery," Voldemort yelled. The two men slid forward; Malfoy of course recognizable through his long blond hair, and Avery remarkable in his unremarkable averageness.
Harry gathered himself in an attempt to stop his shaking. Both of his opponents stood across from him in unbothered poses, making their thoughts plain on Harry's chances.
Their dismissal should have bothered him. Normally he was full of bravado; probably too much if truth be told. It was not arrogant to acknowledge that his abilities and power at just fourteen were already more impressive than most wizards and witches. It was the truth.
But these were two Death Eater elites he was facing, and right now he was exhausted, his body throbbed from the cruciatus, his hand was in ruins, and he was emotionally fried.
Every fiber of his being told him that this was the crescendo of the evening.
That thought allowed his body and spirit to achieve the kind of peace that only came about when one knew that they were set on the only course available to them.
"Two on one? Not very sporting, Tom," he said, his voice somehow steady as he mocked Voldemort's earlier statement.
Voldemort's previous veneer of civility finally evaporated. "Your screams will fill the night, Harry Potter," he sneered. "You will beg Lord Voldemort for your death, for a release from the pain and torment you will soon experience, and I will laugh over your broken body until I finally grant your wish."
Malfoy spoke in turn. "I did promise you would meet the same sticky end as your parents, Potter," he gloated.
The two Death Eaters then let loose a barrage of spells. Harry's wand immediately shot up. "Protego Maxima," he incanted silently, forming the white wall in front of him just before the spells impacted. They hit upon his shield like a giant's fist, forcing him to brace his footing and grip his wand with both hands. Harry's jaw tensed so much trying to hold back the tide one of his loose front teeth popped out, and he had to quickly spit on to the ground.
The next thirty seconds felt like thirty years, his shield flaring as bright as the sun with no break to the relentless attack.
"Shields don't last forever, Potter!" Avery yelled. He reared back and fired a particularly thick muddy brown spell that impacted with a loud gong. Harry's legs almost completely buckled at the power of it, and he looked on in horror as his shield began to crack.
"It's all going to be over soon!" sounded a random voice over the cacophony of rapturous joy coming from the Death Eaters.
Spells kept impacting and the cracks grew larger. He needed to do something very quickly to get out of this spot, even with the high risk of getting hit by breaking cover.
A wild plan came to him. It required successfully using a technique he had only performed a few times in his training. But if not now, when? Plus if he failed it wasn't like Sirius would be here to take the piss, like he normally did when Harry screwed up a spell.
With a silent plea for luck he dropped his shield and rolled to the left, barely avoiding two sizzling spells. Before Malfoy and Avery could return fire, Harry rose with both arms extended and quickly fired a bombarda spell at the Death Eater on the right, Malfoy, which he blocked. But Harry was counting on that – he wanted Malfoy and Avery's focus away from his off hand.
As the spell was firing out of his wand, he took a deep breath and focused. Focused with an intensity that could only be had when you were fighting for your life. He found the tingling sensation throughout his body he associated with his magic, grasped it, and channeled it up his left arm and through his mangled left hand. He almost cried out when he felt the magic explode from his bloody appendage.
It was a minor banishing charm, nowhere near as powerful as his normal version. But it was wandlessly done at the same time he fired a spell from his wand. Only a handful of witches or wizards could ever dream of doing that, which was why Avery was completely unprepared for it.
Avery tried to dodge, but he was too late. The spell pushed him to his left, directly into Malfoy who had just finished blocking the bombarda. Malfoy grunted at the impact and jumped back, his mask falling off in the action. This left Avery exposed.
Harry shot the most powerful bone breaker he could muster and struck Avery in the chest. The man screamed as he was launched onto his back and out of the fight. Harry quickly pivoted and fired the same spell at Malfoy.
Unfortunately Malfoy had recovered enough to bat the spell away. They both paused and observed the other. Malfoy's stance was much more defined now, and he no longer gave off the air of nonchalance.
Harry re-oriented his stance as well and remained alert. Taking on Lucius Malfoy one-on-one was still a dangerous proposition.
They both launched bone breakers that smashed into each other, causing a minor explosion of light and sound. They continued to trade fire as they moved in a parallel circle to each other, where most spells missed and struck the dueling shield, lighting the area up in fluorescent blues and whites.
Harry aimed a bombarda in front of Malfoy as he did for Wormtail, but the man quickly banished the debris back toward Harry, who had to dive to avoid the rocks. He even tried to upset the terrain around Malfoy like he did with Graves, but Malfoy had a much stronger command of his area and avoided the pitfalls.
"Tut tut, Potter," Malfoy smirked, "it would seem that you are as predictable and dim as my son says."
In his frustration Harry let a cutting curse through and graze his side. "Your sons a twat," he grimaced in pain. However he was already transfiguring the tombstone behind Malfoy into a wolverine.
Malfoy spun around at the sound of the growl, but before he could act the wolverine jumped and latched onto his arm. Malfoy shrieked in pain, but had enough frame of mind to swing his arm around and use the animal to block the blood removal curse sent by Harry.
Malfoy threw the shriveling wolverine onto the ground where it reverted back into the tombstone. He sneered at Harry as blood dripped down his arm. "Enough," he said, "this ends now, boy."
Malfoy's wand weaved in constant movement, spell after spell launched with ill intent. Harry deflected or avoided as best he could, but his body was flagging. He was a little slow to deflect a banisher, and a portion of it struck his chest. It felt like a mule kick, and he only just moved out of the way from a sickly yellow follow-up spell.
He tried to catch his breath as he shuffled away from Malfoy's onslaught. A cutting curse struck his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.
In desperation he again used his wandless and wanded ability simultaneously. While he silently fired a "Confringo" with his wand, he wandlessly sent the first spell that came to mind, which was a simple jinx.
Malfoy shielded himself from the blasting curse and shifted his weight to fire back. However his left leg stuck in place, making Malfoy to look down and frown in confusion. He had missed his leg being impacted by a wandless sticky limb jinx. Malfoy stared at his leg for just another moment, which is what Harry had been hoping for.
"Bombarda!" he shouted silently, the curse erupting out of his wand. Malfoy's quickly raised shield absorbed the curse, but the force of it drove the Death Eater to his knee. Malfoy fired off a wild spell that impacted just to the right of Harry, and then hid behind a stronger aegis shield to try and weather the power of Harry's magic.
Harry fired spell after spell at the shield, with only the intent of seeing it shatter and the man inside finally receive what he deserved. Rage and frustration tore down his occlumency and plowed through his earlier shock. He was driven beyond his exhaustion into this frenzy he found himself in.
His wand flowed in elegance, chaining one spell into the next once again. A blasting curse, into a fireball, into cutting curse, into a sound piercer, and so on, and so on.
His unbridled emotions powered his magic so strongly that he was somehow cracking Lucius' aegis shield, which should have taken at least three grown adults to do.
The Death Eaters were forced to watch two of their elite lose to a boy still in school.
He was only fourteen, and he was showing them all why he was so celebrated.
He was a prodigy.
Lucius somehow shot another spell toward Harry, forcing him to step to the right.
Into the hole in the ground from the spell Lucius fired right before going behind his shield.
Harry stumbled.
He was only fourteen, and he lacked real world experience.
A purple spell from Malfoy impacted his chest, knocking him onto his back. He raised his wand to try and fire back at Malfoy when a black spell appeared from his right side and struck his hand like a viper. His wand exploded, shards of holly digging into his now mutilated right hand. He screamed and clutched his arm to his chest only to see Avery was the one who fired, somehow alive and standing even with his chest ruinous and bloody.
Malfoy walked closer and fired a bone breaker which impacted his right arm. Before that pain could register Avery hit his left arm and both legs with the same spell.
Through his unceasing agony Harry could hear the Death Eaters cheering in fury.
"Enough," Voldemort said softly, all sound around him immediately stopping. The dueling shield disappeared and Voldemort slowly walked toward Harry.
"Do you understand now, Harry Potter?" he said, "Understand the futility in opposing Lord Voldemort?"
Harry didn't answer; couldn't answer. He was already in excruciating pain, and the dread of what still may come had dried up his tongue.
Voldemort looked right into his eyes and peered into his soul. The smile that arose on his snake like face was the most horrific sight of the night for Harry.
"Yeeeeess. I think you have learned that you were never a match for Lord Voldemort, boy who lived. As I said, you were lucky to even reach this point with the amount of people that have died around you. Though you did make a valiant attempt, it was of course not enough. And now, now I will have my fun."
"Crucio!" Voldemort laughed as the unforgiveable slammed into Harry. This time he made no attempts to be brave; he screamed and thrashed and cried, further breaking his ruined body.
Voldemort's laughter rang out even over Harry's cries as he kept the spell on him, seconds turning into minutes.
"Beg me, Potter!" he shouted with wild abandon as he continued. "Beg me to end your miserable life!"
Harry was past bravery and courage; those were concepts easily held when one was not being tortured beyond belief. He kept screaming, the crucio feeling like knives pushing into his skin and electrifying his pain receptors.
As it continued on without mercy, everything that made him Harry was slipping away, gone to the relentless hunger of the spell.
He could feel his thoughts floating away into nothingness.
He was becoming nothing.
At that moment he would have said anything to make the torment stop if he could only get the words out.
Voldemort finally released the spell minutes later. He was breathing heavily as one does when caught up in an activity they love. "I said beg me Potter. I want to hear the words. I want you to ask your Lord for his mercy. Beg me! BEG!"
Harry said nothing because he couldn't say anything. The whispers grew around Voldemort and Harry, the audience to his torture now curious by his denial.
Voldemort's fury grew every second Harry's silence lasted. Didn't he know that whatever was left of Harry's mind was trapped in an unresponsive body?
He tried to plead to Voldemort with his eyes, to let him know he had won, that all he wanted was for this to end. He would beg until his voice gave out if only he could.
Voldemort looked down at him, and mistook his pleading for defiance. "YOU WILL BEG!" he screamed. "IMPERIO!"
A warmness wrapped around Harry's mind, providing the first bit of relief in what felt like hours. He reached out to wrap himself in this comfort, but the feeling was like trying to grasp water.
"All you have to do is ask for death," the feeling told him.
"Yes! Yes! I can do that," Harry thought.
Harry felt his mouth begin to move, and the comforting feeling grew in happiness. "No more, please no more!" he was going to say. That should be enough.
"No…," he rasped, the rest of the words failing to come out of his mouth. The comfort quickly disappeared. He desperately tried again. "No…"
"You deny me?" Voldemort whispered. There was a strange hesitancy to his countenance now, as if he was suddenly on his back foot. He looked around at his Death Eaters, and for the first time seemed unsure of himself.
His followers were silent, but there was a strange malaise in the air. Voldemort closed his eyes and evened his breathing. After a time, whatever moment of weakness he had experienced quickly changed into barely controlled rage.
"I had planned on tormenting your beloved headmaster and godfather with the knowledge of your capture and continuous torture. But I think I have a more fitting end for you, Harry Potter."
Harry tried to recoil as Voldemort slowly bent forward and gently removed his glasses. "We of course cannot let the wizarding population know I have yet returned, so sending your broken body to the Ministry of Magic, while something I would find deeply amusing, would be antithetical to my plans."
"But your body can still be of use. You see, as time marches on and your disappearance lingers, the people will wonder what happened to their hero," he spat, "with each guess as inane the next. Then the panic will truly set in when I finally make my return known. Then they will be truly desperate for any news about their beloved boy who lived. Because in their mind only you can save them once again."
Voldemort leaned down next to Harry's ear, pretending to whisper while being loud enough for all to hear. "What then do you think it will do to their spirit when they see their hero finally appear after months away, triumphantly returning to Hogsmeade during a student weekend? You of course won't be returning as the hero; no, no, no. You, dear Harry, will appear as a shambling wreck, a mindless inferius there to take their children."
Tears began to fall from Harry's eyes as Voldemort stood and addressed the group. "We are about to break the psyche of our enemies before they even realize they are at war! Behold my beloved Death Eaters, the death of the boy who lived!"
Raucous cheers broke like exquisite ecstasy. Whatever piece of Harry was left trembled at the unrestrained madness he was witnessing.
Voldemort had to shout over the crowd. "Killing young Harry and turning his bloated corpse into an inferius may change his appearance enough to make him unrecognizable to even his friends and family. What better way to make sure the world knows it's Harry Potter's rotting body then emphasizing the famous mark your Lord gave him all those years ago!"
Voldemort's removal of his glasses finally made sense as he pointed his wand at Harry's face and fired a cutting curse. It started at his right temple and went across his forehead, and then diagonal over his left eye and across his nose to his right cheek, and then back across his face under his lips. A new horrific giant lightning bolt to mark him.
Harry hadn't felt a thing.
"Perfect," Voldemort said. He raised his hand for silence, which he received. He looked down at Harry, an unfathomable darkness to his gaze.
"Good-bye, Harry Potter. Die knowing you never had a chance, as you are an insect when compared to Lord Voldemort." Then he smiled that horrible, malignant grin one last time. "I look forward to personally explaining your final, pathetic moments in detail to Black and the blood traitor Weasleys!"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Harry's last flickering thought as the green light struck him was of a man with his face and a woman with flaming red hair. He died in anticipation.
Time passed.
The redhead woman smiled at him in adoration. The man with his face ruffled his hair. The grass under his feet felt like cotton, and then he flew so high he swore he could touch the sun.
He was content, and he was home. It was perfect.
Except for the beeping. The beeping never stopped. Its anger grew and grew, until he couldn't avoid it anymore.
The redhead woman had tears and happiness in her eyes. The man with his face held him in his arms. They both whispered, "You are so loved." There was hope and there was longing.
Harry Potter opened his eyes.
He was laying on his back, which for some reason struck him as odd. Should he be laying in a bed, seeing as he didn't remember going to sleep? Did he go wandering and pass out in some odd place? He wouldn't put it past Sirius to have placed a sleepwalking jinx on him for the 'fun kind of blackmail material', as he would say.
Being that he was on his back, the first thing that jumped out to him was the white and textured ceiling. That was at least one clue to his location; it meant he wasn't in the Hogwarts infirmary, the place he usually woke up when he did so without memory.
'BEEP'
Harry turned his head to the left with great difficulty. There was an old rickety end table near his shoulders covered with newspapers, Drooble's wrappers, and what looked like an old vase on top. The vase-like item suddenly pulsed from blue to gold, letting out that godawful beep.
"Just the worst," Harry murmured. He took a further look around the room; four off-white walls, one wooden door to his front, another slightly smaller door to the left, and a window showing a generic rainy cityscape to his right. There was also a ratty chair and ottoman pulled up next to his bed that still had the imprint of its last occupant.
With no other indications of his location, he decided to try and get up and explore. The first twitch of an attempt and he immediately regretted the decision. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't hurt or ache, and he wouldn't have been surprised if his skin was just one giant bruise.
He had a split second to wonder why he was in so much pain when the truth finally slammed back into his memory and stole his breath: he had died, badly, after being…injured by the most powerful dark lord in the last few centuries.
Was he actually still dead? He quickly dismissed that notion based on the pain he felt and the terribly itchy sheets he was under. Then that begged the question; how was he breathing? How was he here, wherever here was?
His hands shot in front of his face, looking completely normal. How could that be? They had just been mutilated beyond recognition. He couldn't even feel a twinge of pain when he flexed his fingers. Then he placed those normal hands on his face and traced the thick, ropy skin of his new scar.
He couldn't catch his breath. He tried to suck in as much oxygen as he could but nothing was reaching his lungs; meanwhile his chest felt like he had a hippogriff resting on it.
Just as he was convinced that he was going to die for a second time, the door to his left opened, accompanied with a flushing sound. In the midst of Harry's breakdown stood the venerable Albus Dumbledore in the doorway to the loo, holding a newspaper while his attention was fixed on straightening his baby blue robes.
Somehow the sight of the esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry finishing his 'important meeting', as Ron always jokingly called it, helped a little to ease his breathing issues.
Dumbledore eventually finished fussing with his robes and took one step into the room before stopping abruptly. "Harry?" he whispered, his mouth dipping down and his eyes wide in shock.
Harry tried to answer but couldn't stop gasping for breath. Dumbledore snapped out of his surprise, dropping his newspaper as he rushed to his side.
"Slowly Harry, slowly," he said gently. When there was no improvement, he grasped Harry's shoulder and brought up his wand. The terror generated by a wand pointed at his face pushed Harry's bruised and battered body into instant movement. He scooted away like a frightened animal, his back slamming flush against the headboard.
For a moment Dumbledore's face collapsed into such despair that Harry almost apologized for his kneejerk reaction.
"I'm sorry, Harry. That was foolish of me. What I should have first mentioned was that I know of a spell to ease your panic attack, and then I should have next received your permission to use it. I do so now."
After a few seconds Harry jerked his head in the affirmative. Dumbledore's wand moved in a circular motion while the man murmured under his breath. Harry felt the tension rapidly begin to ooze out of his body, allowing him to finally catch his breath and start to calm down.
It took a few minutes for Harry to feel well enough to speak. "Thank you, sir," he said.
Dumbledore waved him off. "You don't need to thank me. I had the means to assist, and barring my clumsy manner in offering said assistance, I'm simply happy that I was able to ease your suffering."
Harry flinched at the inadvertent reminder of his recent torment. Dumbledore must have only then realized his words as his face once again crumbled into devastation. Harry caught a glimpse of his bright blue eyes filling with tears before he looked away.
Harry was at a loss on what to say or do next. He was still coming to grips with the fact that he had survived the graveyard, survived untold tor – No, not yet his mind whispered as it shut the thought down.
In the end Harry decided his best course was to ignore the elephant in the room. "Where are we, Professor?"
Dumbledore didn't immediately respond. He peered at Harry, as if looking for hidden meaning in the question, before gathering himself and quickly wiping his eyes.
"We are at St. Mungo's, my dear boy." He again spoke with the unperturbable strength Harry had come to associate with the headmaster, his momentary breakdown already gone. "Unfortunately, your injuries were too severe for Madam Pomfrey to treat, so you were rushed here by portkey immediately upon your return."
"How did I get back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
"The surface level of that question is easily answered: portkey. However, the much deeper portion, young Harry, is what the muggles call the 64,000 question."
Before Harry could even begin to tackle that statement, his fractured memory and thought process reminded him of the one other detail he should have already been screaming from the rooftops.
He lunged forward and grabbed the old man's arm. "Oh my god, Professor, he's back!"
"Harry, you need to calm down," Dumbledore said soothingly, but Harry was wild eyed and manic, and calm was the last thing he felt. He needed Dumbledore to understand him.
"You don't – Professor, it's Voldemort, he's – "
"I know."
Harry reared back as if he had been struck. "You know what?"
Dumbledore took his time before responding. "The wizarding world was made aware of Lord Voldemort's unlikely resurrection three weeks ago, following the conclusion of the Tri-Wizard tournament."
"How did – how could – wait, three weeks?"
"As I said, you were," Dumbledore paused, "quite injured when you returned. For the first 48 hours there was a great concern that you would not survive. Your friends and family were inconsolable, as you can imagine. It wasn't until the third day when you showed improvement that the healers felt comfortable in declaring your eventual full recovery."
"Professor? What happened that night? How do you know Voldemort returned?"
Dumbledore sighed and began to clean his glasses, "Are you truly sure you wish to continue? As I've always told you, the truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. You will learn the truth, that I promise, but you do not have to face it right this moment."
He continued in an almost pleading tone. "There is a very long, very difficult discussion about what happened after the third task that you and I, and eventually several members of our ministry need to have, but the timing and content of that conversation comes a distant second to your health and well-being. You've just woken up Harry, and I'm sure the healers are eager to run all manners of tests on you. This can wait for now."
Harry barely hesitated before answering. "I have to know sir."
Dumbledore waited several seconds before nodding, as if he had expected Harry's answer the entire time. "Very well. I believe you had two questions: what happened that night, and how I know of Voldemort's return. To the first, I can tell you that from the perspective of the audience, you and Mr. Diggory disappeared for approximately half an hour after touching the Tri-Wizard cup. There were of course a great many people who made every attempt to determine your location during that time, but the trap was too well planned, and we were unable to find your location."
He continued. "Ultimately, to the surprise of all in attendance the Tri-Wizard cup eventually returned its two champions back to the location of the third task. This point actually leads into the answer for your second question."
Dumbledore reached down and grabbed Harry's hands. Harry was completely thrown by the move, as he couldn't remember a time that the headmaster had acted so familiarly with him.
"Harry," he said, his piercing blue eyes locking onto to Harry's. "The reason we know Lord Voldemort was resurrected is because, as I said, the Tri-Wizard cup returned yourself and Cedric Diggory approximately a half hour after you touched it. You were not, however, the only two people or items to return with the cup. In addition to yourself, who was injured beyond comprehension, and the body of Cedric…the cup also brought forth the unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew, several priceless items thought lost forever, a dead snake, an anonymous note, and…"
Harry Potter, stunned nearly into silence, managed to utter one quiet word. "Professor?"
"The decapitated head of Lord Voldemort."
A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this felt like the natural ending spot for the chapter.
This will not be a super long story, most likely coming in between 20K – 30K words. I'm finishing up the second chapter, and should have it out in the next few weeks.
This is my first foray into a strictly HP fanfiction. I'm excited about getting back into writing, and doing so in a world that I've enjoyed immensely through the HP books and fanfiction. That said, I know my limitations, and a 100K + word story is definitely not in the cards right now.
As a side note, I'll be curious if anyone can figure out just what happened after Harry got that big ole' killing curse to the head the second time. I'm excited to share the answer as I think it may be a unique-ish plot point (which I obviously can't guarantee since there are literally still thousands of HP fanfictions I've yet to read – I'm looking at you, Wattpad)
And yes, Nicodemus Tonks is this universes' version of Nymphadora Tonks. He is much less touchy about his first name.